BEND - 99 cents until May 11th
An Anthology from The Erotica Consortium
Published: May 5, 2014
An Anthology from The Erotica Consortium
Published: May 5, 2014
Stories and Authors:
Kick by C.D. Reiss
Unraveled by K. Bromberg
COME by J.A. Huss
Red & Wolfe by Ella James
The Devil in Me by K.I. Lynn
Worth by Shay Savage
These Men by Andrea Smith
STILL by Alessandra Torre
Unraveled by K. Bromberg
COME by J.A. Huss
Red & Wolfe by Ella James
The Devil in Me by K.I. Lynn
Worth by Shay Savage
These Men by Andrea Smith
STILL by Alessandra Torre
Eight mistresses of the erotic bring you eight original, never before published stories to excite and arouse, including USA Today Bestsellers Alessandra Torre and CD Reiss, and NY Times Bestseller K. Bromberg.
These are not your mother's erotic stories.
We're not giggling about foul language over tea, or avoiding smut talk at the Tupperware party.
This book is slick fingers and flesh on your lips. It's twisted bodies late at night when the city sleeps and the moans fall where no one can hear them. This book is pain and pleasure, lust and passion, a body brought to the breaking point. It's drenched in the musk of sweat, shuddering at the touch of a Master.
It's not your mother's erotica. It's yours.
By K. Bromberg
One night.
One mistake.
Filled with fear.
Sated by pleasure.
Robbed of control.
Blindfolded and bound.
Shamed she liked it.
Doomed to want it.
Limits tested.
Boundaries pushed.
Desire awakened.
Inhibition unleashed.
An identity unraveled.
Lives changed forever.
EXCERPT
My
body begins to writhe, its need to sate the burning ache a sharp contrast to
the warring emotions in my psyche. My only focus is on the slow slide in of his
fingers and the pressure and friction against nerves unexpectedly reawakened.
The tortuous withdrawal of leather not wet enough tugging softly on the most
tender of flesh, causing a different but equally arousing sensation.
I
try to fight it.
At
least I tell myself I do.
I
try to understand how this is possible. How an orgasm can rip me apart right
now—again—when fear still holds my breath captive.
I should have never accepted the
drink, never looked up to acknowledge him with a subtle nod of my head.
My
body vibrates as the swell of white-hot heat sears through me, taking nerve
endings hostage and overwhelming all thoughts.
I shouldn’t have looked up—no—so the
question is, why am I glad that I did?
-------------------------------------------------------------
The Devil in Me
by KI Lynn
In search of strength and guidance at a nearby church, Jared happens upon a temptation. One he cannot hope to resist. Each time he sees her, the overwhelming urge to have her consumes him. The lust is overpowering, dragging him deeper and deeper with each encounter, exposing the devil within.
EXCERPT
The
nerves on my neck lit up, tingling down my side. It woke me from my trance, and
I turned to find innocent eyes looking at me from one row up on the other side
of the aisle. When our gazes connected, she didn’t flinch, her eyes didn’t
widen, but a slight blush did appear on her cheeks.
The
strange current continued to move through me.
I
was caught, roped in, staring at her.
She
seemed young—early twenties maybe. I went from studying Jesus to studying the
woman who called to me. That was the only way I could explain the firing off of
every nerve ending in my body.
She
had large, blue doe eyes that bored into my soul. Dark brown, wavy hair curled
around her smooth, pale skin and full cheeks. She nabbed her full bottom lip
with her teeth before looking away, hiding from me.
It
didn’t stop me from staring at her. I tilted my head to the side, forehead scrunched
as I tried to figure out what the hell had just happened—and why my cock was so
hard. It was just a look, but at the same time, it felt like so much more. A
connection, and not that love-at-first-sight bullshit.
Base
level between a man and a woman—a need that populated the earth.
Our
strange interaction caused images of fucking her on the altar to course through
my mind. Was she as untouched as her innocent face suggested? She looked soft,
inviting, and corruptible. How would her full hips feel beneath my hands as I
thrust my cock into her?
I
turned back to the front and began to ask for forgiveness for the things I was
thinking about doing to her. My dick, however, continued to dream. A small
groan slipped from my lips, and her head snapped up. I cupped my cock through
my jeans, adjusting it so it didn’t press so hard against the seam. It twitched
against my palm as she squirmed in her seat.
Fuck.
I
sat still, staring at her profile. Her lips parted, skin pink, and she moved
her ass again. I blew out a breath to calm myself. It was ridiculous. I was
just horny because I hadn’t had sex since Monica gave me a break-up fuck three
months prior.
After
a few minutes, she stood and headed to the confessional. I couldn’t help but
turn to look at her delectable ass as she walked. Soft curves called to me,
begging me to touch them, own them.
As
soon as she stepped out of sight, I ran down the steps to the restroom and
locked myself in. I splashed some water on my face, staring at the image in
front of me. Someone else stared back. My brown eyes were almost black, lids
heavy with a force of lust I’d never experienced.
My
teeth clenched, muscles coiled tight as my hips rocked, searching for her. I
grabbed hold of the sink, my breath heavy and hard.
What
is wrong with me?
It
was overpowering. An internal battle for control waged as consuming need pumped
through my veins. I popped open my jeans and pulled my cock out. It didn’t
matter that I stood in the bathroom of a church—I had to get off before I went
insane.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Kick
The first novella in Songs of Perdition.
by CD Reiss
Fiona Drazen, sex addict, submissive slave, celebutante, trapped in a mental ward until Dr. Elliot Chapman can help her remember why she's there. But once she does, she might not want to go home to the Master she tried to kill.
EXCERPT
The
club is thick with humanity. The dance floor stinks. The voices are like a bag
of broken glass. The music is a throbbing heartbeat. And the man is gone.
I
put my hands on bare, sweaty skin, pushing through. Amanda finds me, blonde
hair stuck to her forehead, lipstick fading, her bodyguard, Joel, two steps
behind in dark glasses and firearm. She kisses me on the lips. I push her away.
“You
see a guy in a suit? Tall? Hair like this?” I make a motion with my fingers.
“Hot?”
“Hot.”
She
points to the exit with a wink. I smack a kiss on her lips, and continue
pushing through.
She
calls my name as I walk away, but I pretend I don’t hear her. I have a man to
find.
Nothing
like coke to make the impossible seem within reach, or to make it within your
rights to shove, tread upon, growl and curse to get through a crowd just to get
a look at some hot stranger. Nothing like that expansion of the ego to make it
okay to push some squealing teeny bopper out of your way when she screams
“Fiona Drazen! You’re Fiona Drazen!” in your fucking face as if your name alone
is front page fucking news.
Of
course, they wait outside in a cluster, pressing against the red velvet ropes.
Paparazzi don’t care about the weather, which is rainy and cold for Los
Angeles. Lights flash. They call out my name as if I even answer to it any
more. Let them get their pictures. I have him in my sights.
He
hands the valet a tip and takes the keys to a black Range Rover.
He
is a thoroughbred, and there are twenty assholes with cameras between him and
me, which is too bad, because I have to have him.
I
put my knuckles out to them, both middle fingers extended for all it’s worth. I
have rings on top of rings, and I know the lights are going to glint on them
like hell in the pictures. I’m going to look like a flashy rich bitch and the
coke tells me I don’t give a fucking shit what Daddy thinks.
I
turn to the doorman, skinny ex-cop with a pencil moustache. He looks at my
chest, then at my face. I know Irv. He’s a hustler. He keeps these assholes off
us when we’re around, but he takes cash to let them know when Amanda and I show
up.
“Irv!
What the fuck?”
“I
got it,” he says.
“Outta
my way cocksuckers!” I shout, plowing through, with Irv’s help. They back off
for him in a way they’d never do for me. I know they’d chew me up, spit me out,
and photograph me crawling to the hospital.
I
get to the Range Rover and pound on the passenger side window. It’s tinted. The
car doesn’t move and the window stays up. Do I have the right one?
“Fiona
Drazen!”
They’re
behind me, and I’m on the curb, in the drizzle, out of Irv’s field of
influence. If he comes to get me, he’s leaving the door, and that’s not cool.
I
pound on the window again. Bursts of light flash on it.
I’m
about to get mobbed.
“Hey,
asshole,” I shout.
The
window rolls down so slowly I feel as if I’m in a movie about falling.
And
there he is. My heart jumps out of my chest.
“Hi,”
I say, sticking me head in. I can feel them behind me. I can hear them calling
my name, over and over. “You took something of mine outta the bathroom.”
“Really?”
He’s older than I thought, and this makes him more attractive then humanly
possible. “What?”
“My
heart.” It’s a stupid come on, but I’m a girl. I can get away with it.
“Ah.
I thought maybe your shirt buttons.” For the first time, he glances at my
chest, and I feel that my breasts are chilled.
My
shirt is wide open. Fucking Earl with his octopus hands.
“Don’t
make me turn around,” I say. “They already got enough pictures.”
He
takes a second to think about it, looking me straight in the face. A little
smirk plays on the perfect line of his lips and I think I just might die.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Worth
by Shay Savage
An injured Roman Tribunus finds comfort in the touch of the slave commanded to tend to his wounds. As a slave, her value is measured as a couple of coins, but as Tribunus Faustus learns more about her, he begins to understand her true worth.
Still, a man of his station can never acknowledge feelings for a slave, and she is already owned by another man.
EXCERPT
Aia
squeezed my hand gently before releasing it and moving back to her bench. She
reached for a cloth and dipped it in a bowl of water and then ran the cool
cloth over my forehead and down the side of my face. She continued, apparently
determined to wash whatever remained of the blood of battle away from my flesh.
I
closed my eyes and evened out my breaths as her ministrations lulled me. My
shoulders still ached from the constant position against the bed, but I tried
not to think of the discomfort. When I opened my eyes, I saw Aia looking down
my body and couldn’t help but respond with a smile.
“Do
you still think of it?”
Aia
looked back at me.
“Of
what, Faustus?”
“My
cock pressed against your belly.”
She
looked away, but I could still make out the crimson shade of her cheeks and
neck in the glow of the candles on the table. I wanted to reach out and grab
her hand again, but she was too far away.
“I’m
still in need of distraction,” I reminded her.
“I
think you need sleep,” Aia rebutted. Her lips pressed together, and I was sure
she wanted to comment further, but chose not to do so. I found my eyes drawn to
the front of her dress as she leaned over me, partially exposing one of her
breasts.
Despite
the discomfort, my cock took notice.
“Distract
me,” I commanded again.
“I
think you know everything about my life now, Faustus.”
“Then
distract me another way,” I suggested. I kept my eyes on her, and when she
looked to me, I raised an eyebrow and smiled suggestively.
Aia
turned to drop the cloth in the bowl, and I watched her eyes as she looked down
my body. From my supine position, the state of my cock was becoming noticeable.
Her blush returned, and she looked back to the bowl again. Her hand trembled
slightly as she wrung out the cloth and hung it beside the table.
Reaching
out, I took her wrist and guided her hand to the hard length of my cock.
“How
long will it be,” I asked with lowered voice, “until I can fill you with this?”
------------------------------------------------
These Men
by Andrea Smith
Paige Matthews has a lot to learn, and more than just about being an intern with the F.B.I. Inexperience with all types of relationships leaves her looking for a new place to live. Eli Chambers and his partner, Cain Maddox, are looking for a roommate. It's the perfect arrangement, but one that will change all their lives forever.
EXCERPT
He
interrupted, pulling me closer to him on the bed. "Baby," he said
softly. "It's because I see that chemistry going back and forth between
you and Maddox…and, I guess I'm just not sure if there's enough of that same
chemistry—in you—left over for me. Because I know that there's plenty in me
left for you—if you want it, I mean."
And
I think he might've just blushed right then, like a guy that was wearing his
heart on his sleeve—just putting it right out there and so worried that it
might not be enough.
But
it was enough.
It
was more than enough.
"Oh
Eli," I sighed, "I can't believe you've told me all of this, but I am
so fucking glad that you have."
Our
eyes met and locked. In that moment, everything that Cain Maddox had assured me
of since we'd given in to our feelings was coming true.
I
leaned over and brushed my lips softly against his, waiting for him to snake
his arms around me and pull me against to him.
I
didn't wait long until that was exactly what he did.
We
kissed and it was unfamiliar, but it was sweet. And every second, it became
sweeter. I felt myself warm to his touch; my belly tingled with anticipation of
where he might touch me next and I wanted him to touch me in different places.
He
turned and pulled me into his lap, his fingers tilted my chin back so that his
eyes could study mine and I saw the warmth fill them.
"God,
baby. We're going to do this."
He
lifted me up into his strong arms, carried me to their room, and gently
deposited me on their bed. The same bed that I had shared with Cain, I was now
going to share with Eli and I wanted it. I wanted it more than I thought I ever
could.
"Get
undressed," he ordered, "We'll do the sensual shit another time, but
for right this second, I need to be inside of you and claim you as mine,
too."
God,
his words made me wet and yeah, that surprised the hell out of me as well. I
scrambled to do as he ordered, shedding my clothes quickly; leaving my thong on
so that he would be the one to relieve me of it when it was time…
He
was standing there naked and he was every bit as beautiful as Cain. His body
was well-muscled and his belly flat. He had a lighter complexion than Cain, but
God he was beautiful in a "golden-boy" sort of way. I felt myself
getting wet just in anticipation of what would happen next.
He
opened the bedside table drawer, and pulled out a handful of condoms.
Holy shit.
He
pushed me back against the pillows on the bed, his eyes taking in all of my
nakedness with a hunger. He straddled me with his strong, muscular thighs,
leaning forward to capture my lips with his.
I
laced my arms around his strong neck, pulling him in closer. I felt his
fingertips lightly caressing my breasts, slowly and methodically tugging at my
nipples until they grew hard for him. He moved his mouth to one, his tongue
circling the soft peaks, and his fingers gently kneading my breast so that he
could begin suckling.
I
drew in a sharp breath as he took the nipple into his mouth and sucked hard on
it, my pussy now fairly soaked in anticipation. I needed him inside of me every
bit as much as he wanted to be there.
---------------------------------------------------
COME
by JA Huss
He must have her, take her, control her, keep her. She will submit. But she will do it when she is ready and willing. The bond is uneasy and the future uncertain. But one thing's for sure.
Alone... Harper and James are dangerous.
Together... they are unstoppable.
.jpg)
EXCERPT
“You said, ‘You don’t want to know me…
I’m no one.”’ He turns to face me head-on now, his expression blank, his mouth
a flat line. His eyes impassive and empty. I can see it now. This is a killer’s face. The dimples are
hiding underneath the frown. The emotionless facade of a hardened assassin. A
man who sees death as nothing personal, just a job to be completed.
“But you’re wrong, Harp. I’m the invisible one. You’re a beacon
in the dark as far as I’m concerned. I’m the unknowable one. And if you were my
contract, I would kill you.” He stares down at me with those impassive, cold,
businesslike green eyes. “Just as sure as I did my brother. Because that’s what
I do. That’s who I am. You might have all the moves, but you have none of the
venom, angelfish.”
He turns to walk away but I grab him
again. “You wouldn’t kill me—”
His hands grab me by the waist and yank
me to his chest. “You think you want me? You think you want to know more?” He
leans down and breathes into my neck for a moment. “Would you like me to take
you, Harper?”
Tingles erupt throughout my whole body
and the throbbing between my legs is begging for more contact. More skin on
skin. More conversation, more soft, whispered words. More of everything. I want
more of everything.
“Because I will. I’m that kind of guy.
The kind who’ll seduce a little girl and fuck her wild just because he can make
her think she wants him so bad, she’ll spread her legs and do as she’s told.”
“I’m almost nineteen. I can handle more
than you think.”
He laughs. “A baby who has no idea what
to do with a cock in her mouth.”
I’m ashamed to admit it, but instead of
embarrassing me, his words hurt.
“I’m not interested in the babies,
Harper. I just take what I want. And you were right to demand to know me before
you let me fuck you. Because you reminded me of what I am. Why I’m here.” He yanks his arm from my grip and turns
again.
My leg reaches forward and tangles with
his, making him stumble, and then I grab his arm and twist. He reacts faster
than I can plan the next move, and two seconds later he’s got me pinned to the
concrete. Straddling my waist, hands holding me down, hunched over and leaning
into my face. “You want me to stay?”
I can’t answer because I’m not sure.
He rises up on his knees a little bit,
and then his hands release mine and begin to unbuckle his belt.
I lie absolutely still.
Once the buckle is out of the way, he
makes quick work of the button, then the zipper on his pants.
I swallow hard.
“You will take my cock in your mouth.”
--------------------------------------------------
Red & Wolfe
Part I - An erotic telling of Little Red Riding Hood.
by Ella James
After years attempting to contact her estranged grandmother, an artist who lives on a remote island, Sarah "Red" Ryder is surprised to receive an invitation. When she arrives at the island, she's shocked to find it is now the home of J. Wolfe, the reclusive artist, who has his own plans for her.
EXCERPT
I
refresh my red lipstick about twelve times before leaving the shrimp shack,
then point my Camry toward the water.
The
clouds are darker now, hanging low over the harbor. Gulls crisscross the sky,
moving frenziedly. I follow the instructions of my GPS and pull into a parking
lot that reaches to the water’s edge, where there’s a long, wooden dock lined
with boat slips.
I
shoot off an e-mail. “I’m here.” Then I grab my duffel bag, lean against my
hood, and wait.
What
will Gertrude look like? I watch the boats docked, serviced by fluttering
figures, heads bowed against a muggy but swift breeze, and I wonder which of
the boats could be hers.
My
phone vibrates. “Walk closer to the dock. The boat name is ‘Fog.’” My heart
hammers. My mouth feels dry. I tuck my hair behind my ears, adjust the bag on
my shoulder, and start walking. I walk along the long plank of the dock,
passing boats—“Double Trouble,” “Choppy Cass,” “Stupid Does.” The wind blows my
hair across my cheeks. A few strands stick to my lips. I’m pushing at them with
my fingertips, looking down a few slots, watching for a woman with gray hair
and my mother’s mouth. I’m walking slowly I see him: a tall man with broad shoulders,
a short beard, and piercing black-brown eyes. He’s wearing a pair of slacks and
a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, so I can see his muscled forearms.
His face is partially shaded by a baseball cap. And even so, I know he’s here
for me.
Before
his eyes even meet mine, my body flares like a lit match. He takes a few
strides toward me, and his gaze touches my face. The heat fades from my cheeks,
replaced by bloodless cold.
“You’re
Red,” a low voice says.
“You’re
not my grandmother.”
-----------------------------------------------
STILL
by Alessandra Torre
I was raised right. To mind my manners, keep my knees together, to put my napkin in my lap. But somehow, with one look at the dark sexuality that is Brett Jacobs, I forgot my Southern graces. They may have gotten lost in the pushmeupagainstthewall and takemehere action that occurred. In the clothes-ripping ohmygod action that followed. They may have, along with my sanity and common sense, deserted me, leaving me with bruised lips, ripped panties, and multiple orgasms.
EXCERPT
Midnight.
Thirteen hours left in paradise, then our hungover selves will be strapped in
and flying back to ATL. I hang an arm around twin necks, inhaling the scent of
hairspray and feminine energy, leaning my head back, weight on their
shoulders,and bellow the chorus of Sweet
HomeAlabama, the club singing along, my mouth breaking into a grin too big
too contain, the familiar tune never failing to raise my spirits. Never mind
that,between the six of us, we’ve set foot on Alabama soil less than ten times.
It is the anthem of the South, and seeing as it took Jena flashing the Bahamian
DJ her breasts to get it played, we own every syllable of the damn thing.
The last chorus rings out, and I
release the girls, spinning on the floor, my arms up, getting bumped by sweaty
bodies, the dance floor getting tighter by the moment. A heavy bass begins, drowning
out the country chorus and starting back into the hip-hop that had been
dominating the speakers all night.
I slow my hips, glance at our table,
seeing Beth and Tammy there,the rest of us sprinkled between the dance floor
and the ladies room. I am pushed forward, hands settling on my waist as a
stranger tries to pull me into his crotch-thrusting imitation of a dance. I
yank at his wrists, shooting an annoyed look over my shoulder, and move to our
table, snagging my purse off its surface and moving toward the neon lit exit
sign. Air. I need air. Air and a moment to regroup, focus. Come to terms with
the fact that none of the men in this club will be taking care of my needs
tonight. None of them seem worthy of a drink. Too young. Too immature. Too
available. Too … not who I am looking for.
I bang through the exit door, the rush
of cool night kissing my skin. I take two steps to the right and lean against
the brick exterior wall, legs out, head flat against red brick. God yes. I
almost wish I still smoke. I remember the escapes from life that it provided,
the moment to take a pause from the world and do nothing but relax. Now, I
don’t need the nicotine—just the combination of air and quiet are enough to
ease my tension and take me one step closer to
I-Can’t-Even-Remember-His-Name-Ville.
I sense the presence before I see it.
In the shadows to my right. I stiffen, lowering my chin and staring,
confronting whoever it is with my gaze. Then he speaks, and I relax, need and
heat and want flooding my body with just the scrape of my name. In that one
word, that one growl, every lieI’ve told myself is exposed. I need him. My body
needs him. Wants more. I had behaved in the hallway of the 8th floor. I had
made a mistake. I don’t intend to make another.
“Come here.”
He stalks forward, in a suit, his hands
leaving his pockets as he walks, his head level, stare direct, and eats me with
his eyes as he moves without hesitation, not pausing until he is suddenly
against me, his hand firm, gripping the side of my face, his mouth taking mine
in a possessive kiss that has me back against the wall, his palm against my
skin almost hurting me in its need. I gasp for breath when I can grab it, his
kiss desperate, dipping,pulling me tighter. I love it.
“I need you,” he grunts, his free hand
sliding up my thigh,pushing my dress inappropriately high, his fingers
gripping, squeezing, the heat of his palm sliding over my skin like he owns it,
his large hand ending on my ass, and he feels every inch of it as if he is
memorizing, worshiping,taking it in his mind as his own.
“Yes,” I gasp, lifting my leg and
hooking it around him, the shift in my body opening the place between my legs,
his fingers finding and running reverently over the line of silk that keeps me
tied to the edge of sanity.
The door next to me opens, shielding us
for a moment, and I freeze behind it, my body tensing. His hand drops from my
face, wrapping around my body, the other hand returning to my ass, both of them
working in concert and lifting, carrying me into the dark shadows where he had
just stood, a new wall replacing the brick, this one rough stucco, and I feel
lines of it dig into my sunburned skin as sets me down, his mouth taking a
break from the kiss and moving to my neck, the rough journey letting me know
the level of his need.
Further proof is against me, his pelvis
pressed tighter than possible against my own, the hard ridge of it against my
sex making my breath hitch with every twitch of him along me. God, I want this
man. Am made weak from his touch yet have never felt this aggressive.
Feather soft brushes against silk.
Teasing. Torturing. His hand keeping my leg in place, though there is no way
I’m moving it. Not when it opens me up to him. Not when it keeps that iron
against the place where I want it most. My panties are so wet it is embarrassing.
I pant against the night air, struggling for silence, the murmurs of the couple
who have stepped outside breaking the silence of the night, the orange embers
of their smokes reminding me of their presence, their attention on each other,
a giggle escaping from their conversation and sending a moment of intelligent
thought to my head. Am I really being humped in the shadows against the side of
a building? Is this beautiful man really running the pad of his fingers back
and forth, lower and higher, finding the—oh my god. My head drops back, and I
can’t stop the moan that escapes me when my silk-covered clit is brushed by his
fingers.
Jesus.
It’s not a curse. It is a thankful message sent upward. I have been lost and
now, in that light brush against my most sensitive place, I am found.
He chuckles against my neck, his
fingers moving back an inch or two, until they are back at my soaked opening,
pushing on the indent there,the silk moving far enough inside for me to feel
the brush of skin on skin, andI just about lift off the ground in my need for
more.
“Don’t stop,” I gasp.
“Honey, I’m not going stop until you
fall apart in my hands.I need that. I’m not releasing you until it happens.”
This set will only be available for a limited time, so get it before it disappears.
GIVEAWAY 1
Prizes: 2x $50 and 2x $10 Gift Cards
GIVEAWAY 2
Prize: Kindle Cover & Nook Cover Signed by all BEND Authors
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
The Erotica Consortium was the brain child of CD Reiss. In December 2013 she asked JA Huss to help her pull together the hottest erotica writers to start a private Facebook group that would encourage support in all areas of bookish things. Members of The Erotica Consortium were personally invited by JA and CD and the group is complete with six additional authors: Shay Savage, Andrea Smith, KI Lynn, K Bromberg, Ella James, and Alessandra Torre. BEND is their first anthology together.
K BROMBERG
TWITTER: @KBrombergDriven
KI LYNN
TWITTER: @KI_Lynn_
SHAY SAVAGE
TWITTER: @savage7289
JA HUSS
TWITTER: @jahuss
CD REISS
TWITTER: @CDReisswriter
ANDREA SMITH
TWITTER: @maybebabyauthor
ALESSANDRA TORRE
TWITTER: @ReadAlessandra
ELLA JAMES
TWITTER: @author_ellaj
No comments:
Post a Comment