RSS Feed

Tag Archives: soulmates

New Release – Flowers Under My Pillow by Nell Iris @nellirisauthor #giveaway

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: Flowers Under My Pillow

Author: Nell Iris

Publisher: JMS Books

Cover Artist: Written Ink Designs

Release Date: June 26, 2021

Genre: Contemporary M/M Romance

Trope: Soul mates

Themes: Older characters (40+), instant connection, meet cute 

Heat Rating: 3 flames

Length:  17 477 words

It is a standalone story

Goodreads

 

Buy Links 

JMS Books  |  Universal Link 

Amazon US  |  Amazon UK

 

Smiling brown eyes. A dark beard. Dandelions. Sunny, happy dandelions.

 

Blurb

Smiling brown eyes. A dark beard. Dandelions. Sunny, happy dandelions.

For thirty years, Frode’s had the same dream. Every Midsummer’s Eve since he was a kid accompanying his sister to pick flowers to put under his pillow, he’s dreamed of the same man. A dream he never shares with anyone, that makes him wish for impossible things…like true love.

“It’s you.”

Then one Midsummer’s Eve, the man of Frode’s dreams stands before him in the flesh. Both men recognize each other despite never having met in real life. Both men are instantly drawn to each other and want to know more.

“Who are you, Viljar? Are you even real?”

Their questions are many but do the whys and the hows matter? Or should they allow the Midsummer magic that brought them together to lead the way into each other’s arms? Into each other’s hearts?

Traditional Swedish folklore tells you that if you pick seven kinds of flowers in silence and put them under your pillow on Midsummer’s Eve, you’ll dream of the man you’ll marry.

 

Excerpt

When I look around to take in my surroundings, I realize my feet have carried me to the cottage without me noticing, and something catches my attention on the lawn on the other side of the fence.

A closer look reveals a tripod with a big, professional-looking camera attached on top. And underneath it, a man lies on his back, surrounded by a starry sky of tiny white flowers growing low in the grass. I don’t want to disturb him and I’m just about to sneak away when he turns his head toward me. 

Warm brown eyes, with crow’s feet radiating out from the corners, meet mine. But it’s his full beard, scattered with dandelions, that makes my heart tumble over itself in my chest. 

Smiling eyes. A full beard. Dandelions. 

Dandelions

My hand flies to my chest as I forget how to breathe. 

It’s him.

****

The man’s eyes widen, then he springs to his feet, banging his knee into the tripod almost making it topple over, but his arm shoots out, his big hand landing on the camera, stopping it from crashing down onto the grass.

“It’s you,” he says, his voice a deep rumble emanating from the pit of his stomach, vibrating its way to me, settling in my core.

It’s you. 

What does he mean? Does he recognize me, too? 

“It’s you,” he says again as he takes a few hesitant steps in my direction. His eyes never leave my face. 

“It’s you,” I echo, brows furrowed. 

The improbability of it all, of my recurring dream materializing and standing in front of me, makes me take a step backward. He leaps forward, dislodging a couple of the dandelions from his beard by the sudden movement, and I watch them sail to the ground. 

When I look up at him again, it’s as though I’m zooming out of my body and look at the two of us from a distance. Two men, separated by a white picket fence, staring at each other as though they’ve seen a ghost, as though they both think they must be hallucinating. His features are so familiar; I know every line radiating from the corner of his eyes, every strand of his beard. I know all the nuances of brown in his dark eyes; as though someone swirled chocolate into a deep well of coffee and then sprinkled some gold into the mix to make it irresistible. I know the sensitive setting of his mouth. I know the intense gaze.

It makes me dizzy, and I stumble but manage to keep myself upright. I take another wobbly step backward.

“Don’t go,” he says. “Please.” He stops but holds out his hand as though he wants to touch me to make sure I’m real. 

The feeling is mutual. How is this even possible? How can the man I’ve dreamed about every Midsummer these last thirty years be right here a few steps from me? As though I’ve dreamed him into existence. 

I drag my gaze away from his face and take in the rest of him. He’s tall and broad-shouldered, his biceps are straining the short sleeves of his button-down shirt. He’s got a rounded belly and meaty thighs filling out his faded jeans, and his big wide feet are bare in the grass. 

Heat stirs between my hips. God, he’s not only the literal man of my dreams, but he’s hot as sin, too. When I force myself to look away from his body, our gazes meet. 

“You recognize me, too,” he says, eyes pleading. “I can tell from your reaction.”

I dip my chin once. “I do.”

My heart flutters in my chest like the wings of a colibri. Another dandelion falls from his beard and my gaze follows it down as it lands softly on the ground. 

My mind spins with questions and it’s making me dizzy again. How can the man from my dreams stand before me in the flesh? A living, breathing human being? A living breathing human being who recognizes me too?  

When our eyes meet again, I read the same confusion in him. 

 

About the Author 

Nell Iris is a romantic at heart who believes everyone deserves a happy ending. She’s a bona fide bookworm (learned to read long before she started school), wouldn’t dream of going anywhere without something to read (not even the ladies room), loves music (and singing along at the top of her voice but she’s no Celine Dion), and is a real Star Trek nerd (Make it so). She loves words, bullet journals, poetry, wine, coffee-flavored kisses, and fika (a Swedish cultural thing involving coffee and pastry!)

Nell believes passionately in equality for all regardless of race, gender or sexuality, and wants to make the world a better, less hateful, place.

Nell is a bisexual Swedish woman married to the love of her life, a proud mama of a grown daughter, and is approaching 50 faster than she’d like. She lives in the south of Sweden where she spends her days thinking up stories about people falling in love. After dreaming about being a writer for most of her life, she finally was in a place where she could pursue her dream and released her first book in 2017.

Nell Iris writes gay romance, prefers sweet over angsty, short over long, and quirky characters over alpha males. 

 

Author Links

Blog/Website  |  Facebook Author Page  |  Facebook Profile

Twitter  |   Instagram   |  Goodreads

Pinterest  |  BookBub  |  Newsletter

 

 

Giveaway

Enter the Rafflecopter giveaway for a chance to win

one of three ebook copies from Nell’s backlist

a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

Hosted by Gay Book Promotions

New Release – Xavier’s School of Discipline by S. Legend #KindleUnlimited #giveaway

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title:  Xavier’s School of Discipline

Author: S. Legend

Publisher:  Mockingbird Publications

Cover Artist:  Nadia Polyakova and Chiara Monaco

Inner Book Artist: Artsy Ape

Release Date: April 21, 2021

Genre: Erotic M/M Romance

Trope: Soulmates 

Themes: Belonging.  Found Family.  Spanking.  Domestic Discipline. 

Heat Rating:  4 flames

Length: 83 539 words/306 print pages

This is book one in the series but can be read as a standalone.

Add on Goodreads

 

Buy Links – Available in Kindle Unlimited

Universal Link  |  Amazon US  |   Amazon UK 

 

“… there’s something tantalizing about trouble and me in it with him.”

 

Blurb

Follow Your Heart’s Discipline Calling

Finnegan Brighton is twenty-seven, has never moved out of Dad’s house, can’t keep a job and has to rely on his brother for continued food and shelter. In a bold move, he ships himself off to one of those new, fangle-dangle, discipline schools hoping to turn his life around. But it’s not just a whim, he’s finally answering a calling inside of him, one he’s ignored until now. The school turns out to be more than he bargained for, giving him a family of men just like him, who want to teach him that he can love himself enough to have everything he’s ever wanted. He just has to do the one thing he’s never been able to do: Surrender. 

Enter Xavier. 

Xavier is the school’s unyielding headmaster and founder. Oh, and he happens to be interested in the one Finnegan Brighton. Surely with the forces of the strict headmaster and Finnegan’s affectionate, if overzealous domestic discipline family, he can overcome himself, his own worst enemy, and surrender to who he is inside, right? Or will his crushing self-doubt chain him to old patterns forever?

Either way, much spanking ensues! A polyamorous love story with brats and Tops.

 

Excerpt 

From Chapter 6

Dammit. I know what to do. I need to do it. As much as Tops are drawn to soothe us … oh fine ‘brats’, us brats are drawn to soothe Tops. I’ve watched Grayson do it a ton, Chris, Bellamy and Johnny too. Even Bray when he’s in the mood. I swallow. “Oh, sir? One more thing. We can still have people over, right?” It’s not against House rules for each of us to have one friend from another House over. If it’s more than that, it turns into a party, which would require permission, but as the rules stand, that means one for me and one for Grayson.

His eyes narrow. “Who?”’

I shrug. “Haven’t decided yet, but there is this hot Top, Nikolage, from one of my harder classes. Maybe he can uh, help me with my homework?” I waggle my eyebrows, suggesting that yes, fucking Nikolage is what I mean. 

His chair slides out, he stands, hands flat on the desk and my heart’s beating so damn fast. I have to take a stealthy breath. Maybe I should abandon the whole thing—I’m poking at a fucking lion and I know it—but I also know in my bones it’s the right thing to do. 

“No.” 

“Why?” I dare to cross my arms at him—a, God … a brat’s red flag, okay?

“Come here, my little Finnegan.” He flashes shark teeth at me. He is predator, I am prey. 

I want to buckle, I want to tell him I’m just kidding, but I’m in too deep now. I commit. “So you can spank me? Forget it. It’s not against the rules. I was kind enough to even run it by you. I’ll be leaving now.” 

I went too far didn’t I? Yep. Too far. 

Xavier clears his desk in a smooth, panther-like leap. I’m quick to respond, gripping either side of the leather chair I was just sitting in, catapulting myself over it. But I was a hockey player, not a gymnast and though my response is quick, my catapulting skills aren’t graceful. I catch the chair and hit my knee, landing like a rock on the other side. “Fuck!” I roll on the ground behind it, licking my wounds. 

How is it I can take one helluva spanking, but this paralyzes me?

Xavier’s there fast, reminding me of Superman, with the way his jacket flares. He crouches beside me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. Are you hurt?”

I laugh. “I’m fine. I wasn’t scared.” 

“You were a bit, but … well I thought you wanted me to chase you.” I’ve never seen the man blush, he does now. He can’t even look at me. 

I wait until he braves my eyes again. “Xavier, I did want you to chase me.” 

He stares frozen, my words sinking in, as my heart thumps loud drumbeats into my ears. While I wait for him to come to, I rub my sore knee. It is fine, but there’s gonna be a nice bruise I’ll have to explain to Ani later. I smile thinking of the arnica he’ll insist he has to apply to it. Xavier notices my rubbing. 

“Your knee.” 

“No, Xavier—” 

But it’s too late. He scoops me up and it’s fucking embarrassing how easy it is for him to lift me. It’s not like I’m small. He’s got me bridal style and he swings me around, placing me in the chair and bending down to inspect the knee. I wore loose jeans, he’s able to roll them up to have a look. “Doesn’t look to be swelling, but you’ll ice it anyway when you’re home. Understood?”

He’s holding my knee in both of his elegant hands, which are hot against my skin. I have to look down at him. “I will, sir.” 

I’m kicking myself now. This was a disaster. One point to me on not being a brat, a real brat would have pulled this off, I end up injuring myself. 

“Now that it’s established your knee will be fine, we will address, Nikolage.” His nose wrinkles, his form takes up all the space in the room once again. 

Shit. Already forgot about Nikolage. “There’s no Nikolage. I just said that to—” 

“—I know Nikolage.” 

“I meant there’s no Nikolage for me, sir. I only said that to, never mind. May I go?”

He’s staring at me for a new reason now, a smile spreads slowly, reaching his eyes. He yanks me up. We’re close, my lips aren’t far from his. “I want to spank you so badly right now.” 

That was the goal. “You uh, you can, sir.” My voice is above a whisper. 

“I know. I can spank you whenever I want. But that would not be a good idea. It’s day eight, Finnegan.” 

“I am well aware of the day, Headmaster Harkness,” I say, boldness returning. Two can play the game of cheek, but only one of us will win, we both know it’s going to be him. 

“All right, that’s quite enough cheek from you, brat.” 

I light up everywhere. Maybe him calling me brat isn’t so bad?

“I don’t date people, Mr. Brighton. I own them. Do you want to be owned?”

 

About the Author 

Some of you know her as Mock, others as S. Legend, or Miss S.  She welcomes all names but will often go by Mock, a name given to her by her readers.

Mock is an ambitious creative, weaving the most precious aspects of her soul into stories.  She is an architect, building fascinating worlds, designed from inquiry, rooted in worldly wonderings.  It’s an intuitive process where she is the scribe, the translator, the conduit. 

It helped that storytelling was the language spoken at home.  One simply didn’t say, “We have an ant infestation. ” In Mock’s family it was, “I was on my way to the living room, when a peculiar ant crossed my path.  I looked to my right, a suspicious line of them marched toward the pantry.  In that moment I knew; my kitchen was under siege.”  The natural flow of conversation always took this form.  

And so. 

When Mock wrote her first novel, she didn’t plan it chapter by chapter, there was no outline, no “plotting” to speak of.  But she didn’t “pants” it either, she didn’t make it up as she went along.  She knew how the story felt, where it curved in places and hollowed in others; she knew the destination it rushed toward.  Instead of orchestrating, she let the world inspire her, and held space for the words to come, trusting the characters knew what they were doing.  All she had to do was tell a story, as she always had done; like breathing.  

This is her peace, her healing and solace: Gifts better shared.

Mock’s works are the comfort you seek when you need to come home.  Her unique writing style will take you, wayfaring reader, to unexpected destinations. 

She always says, “I’m not in the business of making up stories, I couldn’t if I tried.  I’m lucky enough to get picked to share someone else’s story when I ask a question to the universe.  Someone answers; I write it down.” 

 

 

Social Media Links

Blog/Website  |   Facebook  |   Twitter  |  Instagram  

Newsletter Sign-up: Can either sign up at the website or email

Pinterest  |   BookBub

 

 

Giveaway 

Enter the Rafflecopter Giveaway for a chance to win

one of two signed paperback copies

a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

Hosted by Gay Book Promotions

Follow the tour and check out the other blog posts here

 

 

%d bloggers like this: