All posts by Jo-Anna W

#REVIEW – Filthy Vows by Alessandra Torre

Would you tell your husband everything?I was a loyal wife. But in my mind, I’d gotten on my knees in front of his best friend. I’d been pushed onto the grass of our back yard and violated by our landscaper. I’d visited the doctor and imagined an entirely different sort of exam.And then, I did the one thing a good wife should never do.I told him my fantasies.And my husband? He gave them to me.

Twinsie Jo’s Review

I read the blurb, loved the cover and needed this book instantly. Now that I’m done the book, it actually wasn’t what I was expecting. I’m not sure what I was expecting though. I didn’t realize that this book was about a married couple’s journey to exploring their kinky side. It was a nice surprise actually. I guess I thought the kinky fantasies would have happened sooner. Boy was I wrong. Lol!

I was traveling home and devoured this book in one sitting basically. Elle and Easton have an explosive chemistry. The love they have for each other melts off of the pages. Add to the fact that Easton fulfills his wife’s fantasies…

So this book lets us see how Elle and Easton met. Some sexy times they share. And a look into their friend’s lives as well.

I think I would have liked a little more chapters from Easton’s POV but again, I devoured the book, so it’s not a huge huge deal.

Once the fantasy finally takes place, it’s hot. So so hot. Oh and this is actually my first book of Alessandra’s but I’ve heard that it’s her hottest. There is a part 2 to this book coming out and I really can’t wait to see how else Easton fulfills his wife’s delicious fantasies.

#REVIEW – Sweet Enough To Eat by Alexa Riley


Nikki’s been crashing weddings with her bestie Sugar as she tries to find the one. When she least expects it, Dean pops up and he’s on the same page as she is. But a catastrophe involving a piercing, an IUD, and a trip to the emergency room has her running for the hills.

Dean always knew that when he found the woman that was meant to be his, he would know it. And the second he saw Nikki, he was ready for the white picket fence. But when they get separated she takes off… But not to worry – he loves the chase.

Warning: This quick follow-up to Wedding Cake Crasher gives you the whole story on Dean and Nikki. Read their side of the story and fall in love all over again…

Twinsie Jo’s Review:
This story is about 2 side characters from Wedding Cake Crasher. I haven’t read that story but plan on it. Even though this is a follow up, I wasn’t confused and I didn’t feel like I missed anything.
This story is super short but fun and of course, HOT.
Dean and Nikki meet at a wedding. Sparks fly and they feel an instant connection. Well things get moving pretty fast and while they’re getting hot and heavy. They get stuck. Literally.
How embarrassing??
After that unexpected incident, it doesn’t stop them from finding that happiness and love they feel from the very start.

#REVIEW – Too Many by Alexa Riley


Nellie has a desire so filthy she can’t say it out loud, but having two men at once was never on her radar until she met the twins. Now all she can think about is being sandwiched between Owen and Elijah. It’s all just a fantasy, because she could never have it in real life. Right?

Elijah and Owen have finally graduated college and are taking over the family business from their dad. The final step in creating the life they want is claiming Nellie. She’s the one they’ve been waiting on, and though she might be shy, they know she’s made to take them.

Warning: Can a woman really have too many men love her? We don’t think so! Grab the follow-up to Too Hard and find out if these three can find their happily ever after.

Twinsie Jo’s Review:
This hot little number continues right where Too Hard ends.
Nellie is attracted to both Elijah and Owen and wants them. Both of them. Not one or the other. Both. But she thinks it’s wrong because she doesn’t know that they feel the same way.
This little story is just that. Little but hot. And so delicious.
Elijah and Owen are twins who have been determined to get Nellie as soon as they graduated college. Now that their schooling is done and their careers are set, they just need their woman.
Grab this short but hot story now! And if you’re anything like me, you’ll end up binge reading the rest of the books by AR!

#REVIEW – Too Hard by Alexa Riley


Harlow Harrison has just moved into a new apartment. The only problem is that Harlow thinks she can do everything on her own when it’s better to leave it to a professional After a disastrous water leak and an emergency call, the man that comes to her rescue might be more than she can handle. 

Butch Barton is busy running his company and raising his adopted twin sons. They’re almost ready for college and he doesn’t know what he’s going to do with himself when they’re gone. One night on an emergency call he meets a young woman who calls to every dark place inside him. He’s old enough to be her dad and he has to keep his distance. The only problem is, Harlow doesn’t agree and it won’t take long for her to break down his resolve. 

Warning: Butch isn’t too old to find love and Harlow isn’t too young to be taken like she wants. Find out what happens when these two finally give in to what their bodies have been begging for.

Twinsie Jo’s Review:
I’ll be honest. I grabbed this one because I want to read the one that comes after it. I’m a sucker for threesome stories and these ladies don’t disappoint! I also didn’t want to read out of order AND I need to catch up on all the AR books I’ve missed anyway, so it’s a win-win all around.
It’s been awhile since I’ve read an AR book and man, I have I missed these ladies and their filthy minds.
Harlow is a gamer/hacker/techy type person while Butch is a contractor. Sparks start flying high when she tries fixing a leaky faucet and water starts spraying everywhere. Butch comes to her rescue and fixes the issue but not the issue of his feelings for a much younger woman.
They try and fight their feelings and the intense connection they have but we all know, that neither of them win that fight.
This story was short, hot and oh so filthy.
Now onto the next one!!

#CoverReveal Unchaining You by Vic Tyler



If he hates me for what happened 8 years ago, just imagine how he feels now…

Do I feel bad for accidentally hooking up with the one who broke my heart?

… No.

Should I feel bad for extorting him for a job that I need?

… Probably.

But like I said, I need the job.

Life’s kind to some people.

Exhibit A: Devon Leo

Hot, brooding loner in high school → hot, brooding billionaire tech tycoon who’s an international mans!ut.

Exhibit Me: Skylar Kay

Your everyday average nobody → college dropout, moonlighting stripper nobody who’s drowning in debt.

The least he can do for breaking my heart is give me a job.

Yeah, the one I blackmailed him for.

I just didn’t think the job was for a position under him.

I’ll have to be careful not to get under him. Again.

Because this time, his reputation isn’t just on the line.

My heart is.

Excerpt

Chapter 1

Skylar

A slow, synth beat starts to thump, muted, from the speakers all around the dim room. I was hoping for something a little more upbeat since I’m running on three hours of sleep, and the velvety couches lining the walls of the VIP Room are starting to look like plush black clouds at this point of the night. If I strain my ears, I can hear the enthused and muffled whomp-whomp-whomp in the main room where everyone’s hunting — for money or attention.

The VIP Room is just quiet enough for the patrons sparsely spread throughout the area to converse with the dancers whose time they’re procuring hourly. Of course, some of them aren’t really looking for conversation.

Like Bill.

The pudgy, leering man sitting in front of me looks up hungrily as I lean forward to fill his vision with my heavy breasts. Even though they’re taped down securely, I’m still paranoid that the thin, elastic straps of my black, lacy bikini are going to snap, leaving me with no more than black, lacy pasties with sad, dangly tentacles.

I say ‘bikini,’ but it’s the kind you’d never wear in public unless you want to scandalize parents at the public pool and become a budding teenage boy’s first wet dream. The kind that would never survive a cannonball, and the one that makes your nightmare of seeing your bikini pieces floating up right next to you come true. More like a skinny dip-kini.

“Destiny.”

Bill holds out a few Andrew Jacksons, and I push my hip toward him so he can slip it into the side string of my thong. He takes his time, his dry fingers grazing roughly against my skin, taking advantage of the one opportunity during our time together that I let him touch me. After all, he’s more generous with his tips when I let him brush a feel or two during our hour.

Lowering my voice to a sultry hum, I purr, “Stay for a little longer, Bill.”

He chuckles in that not smooth way — the sound gutturally choked by his bubbling lust.

“Can’t tonight, baby.” He lowers his voice, trying to sound seductive. “Unless you want to come home with me.”

He arches his brow with a cheesy smile as his fingers touch his wallet.

It makes me feel dirty. Very, very dirty. And not in the sexy way.

For eight hours a night, a few nights a week, my sensitive bitties of skin are slapped on with cash like I’m a papier-mache project. I’m basically rolling around in money, and if you mix in a little paste, you can make a cash cast out of me. But let me tell you, the whole ‘rolling in dough’ thing is an idea that’s only appealing to be entertained theoretically.

I mean, money’s pretty gross if you think about it. You never know where it’s been. Stuffed in wallets, forgotten in pockets, hidden in shoes or bras, dropped in gasoline-laden puddles on the street, handled by greasy, pizza-oiled hands, rolled to snort coke, slid into a stripper’s asscrack.

The first time I went home with a huge stack of tips, I did it. I spread out a bed of green and laid down on it. It’s really not that exciting. But go ahead and try. And if you’re more like me than you are Ebenezer Scrooge, you’ll find out that carpeting your floor with money doesn’t make it any softer.

It’s still cold, hard cash. In a cold, hard world.

I fight the urge to scrunch my nose, instead lowering them to watch my manicured fingers walk up his white dress shirt, his suit jacket lying forgotten next to him to minimize the layers between us. “You know I can’t go home with customers.”

Can’t, won’t, don’t want to. What’s the difference? In the end, it’s not going to happen.

Some of my clients are sweethearts. Just lonely ones. But some men, like Bill, wave around their money using the carrot-and-stick approach. The cash being the carrot, and the stick being… well, their stick. When I say I don’t provide those services, they don’t back down.

They raise their offer.

Bill’s eyes travel over me as he continues fingering his bulge. The wallet, of course. It’s not the only thing bulging in his pants, but at least he knows which of the two I’m interested in, period.

The lines in his shoulders relax as he gives up for the night and leans back against the couch. His doughy cheeks pull back into a smile.

“Shame,” he drawls pointedly, hinting at how much I’m missing out.

Considering that chipmunk sized tent he’s pitching, I’m pretty confident I’m not missing out on much.

But I hood my eyes seductively and pout a little bit. “You can always stick around for a little longer. You know how much I love spending time with you.”

Ten months ago, I would’ve never imagined I could make a man empty his wallet just by changing where and how I look at him.

I still remember my first day at Starlette when Sage, the strip club’s house mom, pulled me back from making my awkward rounds waddling around the floor. It was my first wearing six-inch fuck-me heels when I’ve only ever worn two-inch-high Mary Janes for church.

She pursed her lips and said, “Honey, if these men wanted to look at a woman who looks as miserable as you do out there, they’d go home to their wives.”

She made a science out of flirtation and laughed when I whipped out my trusty pen and paper. Gave me a big “mhm, you do that” when I said I’d go research all about ‘the art of seduction.’

Even now, Sage likes to joke that her greatest accomplishment to date is turning “Sunday School Skye” turn into “Devilishly Dazzling Destiny.”

Flashing a toothy, hopeful smile, Bill changes tactic. “Then how about dinner? Tomorrow night?”

I’m obviously not going to get him to stay another hour tonight. Lowering my voice huskily, I brush back his hair with the lightest of touches. “Dating is against the rules. But you’ll be the first to know if that ever changes.”

My own rules. Nothing against the other dancers who do date their customers. Believe me, I heard some of the cute love stories shared in the back, and even I’ve dreamed about a sexy, respectful millionaire who can’t resist me after a crotch grind, a motorboat, or an hour of very fulfilling conversation in the half-nude who wants to get to know the real me. And then I remember my clientele includes… well… Bill and his ilk.

No offense. Bill behaves (most of the time), and some of my regulars are nice. But even if I were interested in any of them (which, spoiler alert, I’m not), my stomach doesn’t get all fluttery with butterflies when they’re talking about their wives and kids. A club isn’t exactly ideal breeding grounds for a relationship… or breeding.

That doesn’t mean I don’t pretend I want them. I do. I pretend hard.

Winking at Bill, I peel myself off the couch and straighten as I turn around, looking at him cutely over my shoulder. “Besides, I wouldn’t be able to handle a heartbreaker like you.”

He chuckles low in the back of his throat. “Baby, I’d never break your heart.”

I feel a little bitter on behalf of his wife. She’s probably sitting home right now on a Wednesday night, helping their six-year-old son with his alphabets or maths or coloring homework, while he’s here, dishing out his paycheck for a few boob shimmies and butt rolls.

But I shouldn’t complain. After all, Bill is a platinum donor to the Skylar Kay Survival Foundation.

“You break my heart every time you leave.” I wink before walking away, swaying my hips and letting my ass shake.

A couple of wandering eyes flit over to me as I sashay through the room. This is about as private as it gets for those who don’t have enough dough to cough up for some actual one-on-one time in one of the Champagne Rooms.

Nothing sketchy happens back there, of course. At least, it’s not supposed to. But it’s not unusual for a dancer to take off her bikini top for the several extra hundreds she’s getting for the same hour-long session.

I’ve never, and I won’t ever. Not because I think I’m better than any of the other women (God knows I’m in just as much of a shithole, if not in a worse one, as some of them). But I’m just not that comfortable with exposing my nips to strangers who don’t even know my real name. Only my ex-boyfriend has ever seen my bare nipples, and that’s not going to change for any amount of money.

I envy the girls who dance here because they love flaunting their gorgeous bodies and basking in the spotlight. But I’m not one of them.

I love dancing — heck, I wanted to be a professional dancer — but I’d rather dance with clothes on and not on a stage with a pole on it. I’m a statistical cliche working here out of desperation.

“You can always come home with me,” Bill says optimistically, trying one last time as we head toward the exit. “You know I’ll take real good care of you.”

It does make me wonder whether men’s bedroom skills improve if they pay for sex. Do they try to make the most of their money? Or is it an easy done deal since the sex is an expectation?

I’d assume the latter.

Is it terrible that I assume they’re mediocre at sex? Maybe even bad at it? Horrible? The lose-faith-in-mankind’s-manhood kind of sex?

Either way, I wouldn’t know. I’ve only been around one and a half naked guys. The second one was a Tinder date that finished with a handjob that lasted twenty seconds. We took a longer time taking our pants off. Not our clothes. Just our pants. Like I said, he didn’t even see my nipples.

Tinder Dude definitely made me lose faith in Tinder, and I haven’t even tried hooking up with anyone since. Why bother if I’m just a heated, fleshy replacement for some Kleenex?

At the door, the bouncer stands menacingly with his thick, meaty arms crossed, glaring at the pasty, Pillsbury Doughboy-esque businessman.

Bill knows the drill. He pulls his wallet out so fast, I would’ve missed it if I blinked.

I brush my fingers along his elbow as I press my boobs against his arm, drawing his attention to my cleavage.

“Come see me again, Bill,” I coo. “You know I’m here from Wednesday to Saturday, eight to four.”

Maybe I should become a camgirl instead. I got the script down pat.

Thanks for watching my strip show! Don’t forget to click on that Subscribe button to watch me fiddle my channel!

Bill doesn’t bother hiding his disappointment when I pull away, but the tease is what keeps him coming back every week.

“Destiny,” he murmurs, his eyes still glued to my tits. He raises them to wink at me. “You’ll warm up to me one day.”

Internally, I cringe. I really, really doubt it.

But winking with a perfectly practiced, sugary sweet smile, I croon, “See you next week, Bill.”

About Vic Tyler:

Vic Tyler is a new author of contemporary romance novels.
She has a tinkering sense of wanderlust and loves to travel to new places, explore new cultures, and most importantly, eat delicious new food (yummm). Her dreams include finally having nice handwriting, owning a collection of onesies, and making a croquembouche.

Stay up to date with VT’s new works  → http://eepurl.com/dKoTO-/

Check out VT’s books  →  https://amazon.com/author/lovevictyler

Connect with Vic Tyler

Website  →  https://lovevictyler.wordpress.com

Facebook Group  →  https://www.facebook.com/AuthorVicTyler/

Twitter  →  https://twitter.com/LoveVicTyler/

Instagram  →  https://www.instagram.com/lovevictyler/



#CoverReveal Unchaining You by Vic Tyler

If he hates me for what happened 8 years ago, just imagine how he feels now…

Do I feel bad for accidentally hooking up with the one who broke my heart?

… No.

Should I feel bad for extorting him for a job that I need?

… Probably.

But like I said, I need the job.

Life’s kind to some people.

Exhibit A: Devon Leo

Hot, brooding loner in high school → hot, brooding billionaire tech tycoon who’s an international mans!ut.

Exhibit Me: Skylar Kay

Your everyday average nobody → college dropout, moonlighting stripper nobody who’s drowning in debt.

The least he can do for breaking my heart is give me a job.

Yeah, the one I blackmailed him for.

I just didn’t think the job was for a position under him.

I’ll have to be careful not to get under him. Again.

Because this time, his reputation isn’t just on the line.

My heart is.

Excerpt

Chapter 1

Skylar

A slow, synth beat starts to thump, muted, from the speakers all around the dim room. I was hoping for something a little more upbeat since I’m running on three hours of sleep, and the velvety couches lining the walls of the VIP Room are starting to look like plush black clouds at this point of the night. If I strain my ears, I can hear the enthused and muffled whomp-whomp-whomp in the main room where everyone’s hunting — for money or attention.

The VIP Room is just quiet enough for the patrons sparsely spread throughout the area to converse with the dancers whose time they’re procuring hourly. Of course, some of them aren’t really looking for conversation.

Like Bill.

The pudgy, leering man sitting in front of me looks up hungrily as I lean forward to fill his vision with my heavy breasts. Even though they’re taped down securely, I’m still paranoid that the thin, elastic straps of my black, lacy bikini are going to snap, leaving me with no more than black, lacy pasties with sad, dangly tentacles.

I say ‘bikini,’ but it’s the kind you’d never wear in public unless you want to scandalize parents at the public pool and become a budding teenage boy’s first wet dream. The kind that would never survive a cannonball, and the one that makes your nightmare of seeing your bikini pieces floating up right next to you come true. More like a skinny dip-kini.

“Destiny.”

Bill holds out a few Andrew Jacksons, and I push my hip toward him so he can slip it into the side string of my thong. He takes his time, his dry fingers grazing roughly against my skin, taking advantage of the one opportunity during our time together that I let him touch me. After all, he’s more generous with his tips when I let him brush a feel or two during our hour.

Lowering my voice to a sultry hum, I purr, “Stay for a little longer, Bill.”

He chuckles in that not smooth way — the sound gutturally choked by his bubbling lust.

“Can’t tonight, baby.” He lowers his voice, trying to sound seductive. “Unless you want to come home with me.”

He arches his brow with a cheesy smile as his fingers touch his wallet.

It makes me feel dirty. Very, very dirty. And not in the sexy way.

For eight hours a night, a few nights a week, my sensitive bitties of skin are slapped on with cash like I’m a papier-mache project. I’m basically rolling around in money, and if you mix in a little paste, you can make a cash cast out of me. But let me tell you, the whole ‘rolling in dough’ thing is an idea that’s only appealing to be entertained theoretically.

I mean, money’s pretty gross if you think about it. You never know where it’s been. Stuffed in wallets, forgotten in pockets, hidden in shoes or bras, dropped in gasoline-laden puddles on the street, handled by greasy, pizza-oiled hands, rolled to snort coke, slid into a stripper’s asscrack.

The first time I went home with a huge stack of tips, I did it. I spread out a bed of green and laid down on it. It’s really not that exciting. But go ahead and try. And if you’re more like me than you are Ebenezer Scrooge, you’ll find out that carpeting your floor with money doesn’t make it any softer.

It’s still cold, hard cash. In a cold, hard world.

I fight the urge to scrunch my nose, instead lowering them to watch my manicured fingers walk up his white dress shirt, his suit jacket lying forgotten next to him to minimize the layers between us. “You know I can’t go home with customers.”

Can’t, won’t, don’t want to. What’s the difference? In the end, it’s not going to happen.

Some of my clients are sweethearts. Just lonely ones. But some men, like Bill, wave around their money using the carrot-and-stick approach. The cash being the carrot, and the stick being… well, their stick. When I say I don’t provide those services, they don’t back down.

They raise their offer.

Bill’s eyes travel over me as he continues fingering his bulge. The wallet, of course. It’s not the only thing bulging in his pants, but at least he knows which of the two I’m interested in, period.

The lines in his shoulders relax as he gives up for the night and leans back against the couch. His doughy cheeks pull back into a smile.

“Shame,” he drawls pointedly, hinting at how much I’m missing out.

Considering that chipmunk sized tent he’s pitching, I’m pretty confident I’m not missing out on much.

But I hood my eyes seductively and pout a little bit. “You can always stick around for a little longer. You know how much I love spending time with you.”

Ten months ago, I would’ve never imagined I could make a man empty his wallet just by changing where and how I look at him.

I still remember my first day at Starlette when Sage, the strip club’s house mom, pulled me back from making my awkward rounds waddling around the floor. It was my first wearing six-inch fuck-me heels when I’ve only ever worn two-inch-high Mary Janes for church.

She pursed her lips and said, “Honey, if these men wanted to look at a woman who looks as miserable as you do out there, they’d go home to their wives.”

She made a science out of flirtation and laughed when I whipped out my trusty pen and paper. Gave me a big “mhm, you do that” when I said I’d go research all about ‘the art of seduction.’

Even now, Sage likes to joke that her greatest accomplishment to date is turning “Sunday School Skye” turn into “Devilishly Dazzling Destiny.”

Flashing a toothy, hopeful smile, Bill changes tactic. “Then how about dinner? Tomorrow night?”

I’m obviously not going to get him to stay another hour tonight. Lowering my voice huskily, I brush back his hair with the lightest of touches. “Dating is against the rules. But you’ll be the first to know if that ever changes.”

My own rules. Nothing against the other dancers who do date their customers. Believe me, I heard some of the cute love stories shared in the back, and even I’ve dreamed about a sexy, respectful millionaire who can’t resist me after a crotch grind, a motorboat, or an hour of very fulfilling conversation in the half-nude who wants to get to know the real me. And then I remember my clientele includes… well… Bill and his ilk.

No offense. Bill behaves (most of the time), and some of my regulars are nice. But even if I were interested in any of them (which, spoiler alert, I’m not), my stomach doesn’t get all fluttery with butterflies when they’re talking about their wives and kids. A club isn’t exactly ideal breeding grounds for a relationship… or breeding.

That doesn’t mean I don’t pretend I want them. I do. I pretend hard.

Winking at Bill, I peel myself off the couch and straighten as I turn around, looking at him cutely over my shoulder. “Besides, I wouldn’t be able to handle a heartbreaker like you.”

He chuckles low in the back of his throat. “Baby, I’d never break your heart.”

I feel a little bitter on behalf of his wife. She’s probably sitting home right now on a Wednesday night, helping their six-year-old son with his alphabets or maths or coloring homework, while he’s here, dishing out his paycheck for a few boob shimmies and butt rolls.

But I shouldn’t complain. After all, Bill is a platinum donor to the Skylar Kay Survival Foundation.

“You break my heart every time you leave.” I wink before walking away, swaying my hips and letting my ass shake.

A couple of wandering eyes flit over to me as I sashay through the room. This is about as private as it gets for those who don’t have enough dough to cough up for some actual one-on-one time in one of the Champagne Rooms.

Nothing sketchy happens back there, of course. At least, it’s not supposed to. But it’s not unusual for a dancer to take off her bikini top for the several extra hundreds she’s getting for the same hour-long session.

I’ve never, and I won’t ever. Not because I think I’m better than any of the other women (God knows I’m in just as much of a shithole, if not in a worse one, as some of them). But I’m just not that comfortable with exposing my nips to strangers who don’t even know my real name. Only my ex-boyfriend has ever seen my bare nipples, and that’s not going to change for any amount of money.

I envy the girls who dance here because they love flaunting their gorgeous bodies and basking in the spotlight. But I’m not one of them.

I love dancing — heck, I wanted to be a professional dancer — but I’d rather dance with clothes on and not on a stage with a pole on it. I’m a statistical cliche working here out of desperation.

“You can always come home with me,” Bill says optimistically, trying one last time as we head toward the exit. “You know I’ll take real good care of you.”

It does make me wonder whether men’s bedroom skills improve if they pay for sex. Do they try to make the most of their money? Or is it an easy done deal since the sex is an expectation?

I’d assume the latter.

Is it terrible that I assume they’re mediocre at sex? Maybe even bad at it? Horrible? The lose-faith-in-mankind’s-manhood kind of sex?

Either way, I wouldn’t know. I’ve only been around one and a half naked guys. The second one was a Tinder date that finished with a handjob that lasted twenty seconds. We took a longer time taking our pants off. Not our clothes. Just our pants. Like I said, he didn’t even see my nipples.

Tinder Dude definitely made me lose faith in Tinder, and I haven’t even tried hooking up with anyone since. Why bother if I’m just a heated, fleshy replacement for some Kleenex?

At the door, the bouncer stands menacingly with his thick, meaty arms crossed, glaring at the pasty, Pillsbury Doughboy-esque businessman.

Bill knows the drill. He pulls his wallet out so fast, I would’ve missed it if I blinked.

I brush my fingers along his elbow as I press my boobs against his arm, drawing his attention to my cleavage.

“Come see me again, Bill,” I coo. “You know I’m here from Wednesday to Saturday, eight to four.”

Maybe I should become a camgirl instead. I got the script down pat.

Thanks for watching my strip show! Don’t forget to click on that Subscribe button to watch me fiddle my channel!

Bill doesn’t bother hiding his disappointment when I pull away, but the tease is what keeps him coming back every week.

“Destiny,” he murmurs, his eyes still glued to my tits. He raises them to wink at me. “You’ll warm up to me one day.”

Internally, I cringe. I really, really doubt it.

But winking with a perfectly practiced, sugary sweet smile, I croon, “See you next week, Bill.”

About Vic Tyler:

Vic Tyler is a new author of contemporary romance novels.
She has a tinkering sense of wanderlust and loves to travel to new places, explore new cultures, and most importantly, eat delicious new food (yummm). Her dreams include finally having nice handwriting, owning a collection of onesies, and making a croquembouche.

Stay up to date with VT’s new works  → http://eepurl.com/dKoTO-/

Check out VT’s books  →  https://amazon.com/author/lovevictyler

Connect with Vic Tyler

Website  →  https://lovevictyler.wordpress.com

Facebook Group  →  https://www.facebook.com/AuthorVicTyler/

Twitter  →  https://twitter.com/LoveVicTyler/

Instagram  →  https://www.instagram.com/lovevictyler/


#REVIEW – The Five by Lily White

This is not your average love story…

Every man who meets Rainey wants her. Having lived a life of sex, drugs and manipulation, she is a temptation with far too many secrets.

When psychologist, Justin Redding, is assigned to Rainey’s case, he has no way of knowing the tale of debauchery he will encounter.

On a twisted path of love, loss and murder, Rainey leads Justin through the events of her life.

Death follows Rainey…
Justin fights to discover her secrets…

But will he discover the secret of THE FIVE in time to resist Rainey’s ultimate seduction?

***DISCLAIMER: This book deals with sensitive subject matters that may be upsetting for some readers.

Twinsie Jo’s Review

Anyone who knows me knows that I’m a HUGE fan of Lily White and her dark, delicious stories. No one writes like her. She is her own and her craft is top notch. Anyway, enough girl-crushing.

Everyone dies around Rainey. It says it in the blurb. But the what, where, when, why and how are to be determined. Well, in comes Justin. A psychologist who gets paid to figure out basically, what the heck is going on.

Rainey is beautiful. More so than your average woman. Tall. Curvy. She has men lusting after her by a mere look. But again, everyone dies she comes into contact with. Maybe not everyone exactly but enough people that it causes some questions.

Rainey begins to tell Justin her story. Her life. Her tragic tragic life. And I can’t…it takes a lot to make me cry, or get choked up while reading. But Lily…her writing is on a whole other level that most have mastered yet. I’m a writer and I haven’t even mastered that and I’m fine with it because like I said above, Lily is her own and she’s the Queen of dark. Did I tell you that I was a fan?

This book is raw, emotional, upsetting, gripping, page-turning and uncomfortable. Rainey unfortunately makes stupid choices. So so many bad decisions that I wanted to wrap her in my arms and give her a hug.

But enough of my gushing and rambling. I’ll leave you with one word:

Rowan.

#REVIEW – Her Master’s Courtesan by Lily White

I am a Master.

You must know this fact to understand my story.

I capture women.

I break them down.

And I rebuild them.

If they are lucky, they are sold into the professional hands of another Master. If they are less fortunate, they are buried beneath the ground, never to be thought of again.

I lust for the control, I demand absolute submission and my body yearns to warp the minds of those I train.

Power is the only thing I’ll ever need and I am addicted to the feeling of ultimate control.

I am wealthy, good-looking, educated and charming.

And I am – in no way – a good man.

I do not want love.

I do not want kindness.

She thought she could change me by giving me the two things I knew I never wanted.

She was wrong.

Twinsie Jo’s Review

So I decided to re-read this series to get ready for the new one that just came out and I forgot how much I love Aiden. Although, he’s the biggest douche known to man, he actually does have a sweet side. Kind of. Just don’t tell him I told you that.

Rebecca and Aiden meet at an art gallery when she stumbles upon an erotic photo. Aiden woos her and not too long later, she wakes up and has no idea where she is. Well it all goes down hill from there. Or up hill? Eventually up hill. If it’s your thing.

One thing I love about Lily’s books, especially this series, she’s a Master of mind f**kery. Just when you think you know Aiden, the tables turn.

Rebecca thinks she can over power him, manipulate him into falling for her but she’s wrong. So so very wrong.

Now when this book first came out years ago, it was banned everywhere. It’s not for some. It’s actually not even for most but I personally love it. Once you get through all the torture and abuse, it’s about a man who meets a woman who cracks some part of him. What that part is, we don’t know yet but it’s cracked. And I can’t wait to find out what else Lily has in store for us.

BANNED BY RETAILERS

To Purchase – https://www.lilywhitebooks.com/her-master-s-courtesan.html

#REVIEW – Death Blooms by Yolanda Olson

I deal in beautiful things.

I’m paid to create unique masterpieces and I enjoy my work.

I’m the best there is because I’m patient, kind, and quick.

I wear the mask of humanity when I need to, and I play the part of just another stranger walking past you on the street, but there’s something I want that I can’t quite seem to get my hands on.

For all of the blood I shed—for all of the flesh I’ve stripped, there’s only one touch that I long to feel. I may be a master of manipulation, yet when it comes to the hope of something that’s just mine—something unexplainable toward another living creature that I long so desperately for, I’m a coward.

But there’s only so many times I’ll be willing to stand by and watch what I want walk away from me before I acquire it.

I’ve had enough patience and I’ve scolded myself more than once over this and I refuse to wait any longer.

We belong together.

Twinsie Jo’s Review

While we usually review romance books on our page, I decided to read something new. I’m a huge fan of Stephen King and he’s usually the only horror author that I read. Or have read anyway. But I’m taking 2019 to read all new to me authors. Or try to at least.

So I didn’t read the blurb to this book but fell in love with the cover when Yolanda shared it forever ago. I’ve also had this book on my kindle for awhile now and finally got a chance to pick it up. And I’m glad I did!

So we meet Gray. Gray is an artist of sorts and he has a secret. His best friend, Aiden, knows about this secret and supports him fully. She even helps him with his final art pieces.

Gray has had a crush on Penn for awhile. Aiden finally helps him in that department and both Gray and Penn end up together. Woot!

All through the book, Gray is working on his latest art project. He ends up showing Penn this piece as well and he’s also super supportive of Gray’s work. He even wants to help him.

I don’t want to ruin it but the ending has an epic twist. Not what I was predicting exactly but definitely what I was expecting. I think if you’re a fan of horror movies, you would definitely like this book.