Teaser Thursday - $5 Gift Card and 3 Ebook Giveaway!

We hope you enjoy these teasers from some fabulous authors! The TBR Pile is giving away  a $5.00 Amazon Gift card and 3 Ebooks from our prize list. To ENTER: Comment below on which of these books you'd like to read and why!

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Étaín interrupted Margie’s third iteration of what to expect when Brand consummated their marriage. She had not a shred of worry that the act would be anything but wondrous. “Be done with it, Margie. My head fair throbs with thoughts of peckers, stones, pearls, and quims. I trust in Brand. Did he not say he would cherish me when Da asked? I am a truthsayer. He spoke truly.”

“He is a very large man.” Margie picked up a tortoise shell horsehair brush and stroked Étaín’s springy curls.

“So is your Darren.”

“I am twice your height and weight. ’Tis easier for a woman like me to accommodate a large pecker. You must not overexcite him, otherwise he will be rough with you.”

“How could I overexcite him?” The mere sight of him made her woman parts moisten. Did the same happen with men?

“Do not caress his willy and touch not his balls.”

“Willy? Balls?” ’Twas a new language to be learned for this bedsport.

“Pecker, stones. Men have scores of names for their parts. Some e’en name them. Darren says his brother, Padraig, calls his prick ‘Olympus.’”

Étaín’s heart skipped a few beats when the sound of stomping feet reached her ears. “Did you hear that?”

“Aye. They approach. Quick, under the sheets. I will leave after the last man departs.” Margie drew the linen covers to right under Étaín’s chin and gave her a quick hug.

The doors slammed open, and the men of Caul Cairlinne, carrying a naked Brand above their heads, tramped into the room roaring the limerick Prick Her Well. The words ricocheted around the chamber:

The singing faded into the background when the men dumped Brand onto the other side of the bed. He quickly slid under the sheets, scrabbled to the middle of the mattress, and gathered her close.

The side of her breast skimmed the coarse hairs on his chest, her leg brushed a thigh forged of iron, and his male aroma, soap, some spice redolent of pine, and the yeasty smell of ale, intoxicated her senses.

“You can yet change your mind, Étaín. Do you still choose Brand of Bärvik?”

Concern and worry furrowed deep lines in Da’s forehead.

“I do, Da.”

For a few moments, the monarch’s cheeks puffed and hollowed. He stared at the far wall. Then he blew out a long exhale. “Be gentle with her. Out. All.”

The crowd left the room.

Margie curtsied to the king. “My liege, may I walk with you to the hall?”

Étaín fisted her hand against her mouth. Da looked so forlorn. She yearned to rush to him and give him a hug of reassurance.

Da offered Margie his arm, and the two of them left the chamber.

Brand jumped out of the bed, stalked to the heavy metal bar lying against the wall, and then heaved it into place. He scanned the room, moved to the fire, tossed two logs from a heap in a wire basket into the blaze, and poked the charred logs until plumes skirted the high stones topping the hearth.

Étaín could not drag her stare from him. The harshness of his male beauty proved mesmerizing. She winced at the jagged scar that ran from the small of his back to his shoulder. Twin dimples at the top of his buttocks winked at her when he rested the poker to the side of the fireplace.

He turned around.

She gasped and lurched to sitting.

In truth, Margie had been right to have been worried. His pecker jutted thick and high. ’Twas of an enormous girth, and when he strode forward, it bobbed. 

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Beefy hands wrenched Eve awake from a fevered sleep, pulled her from the cell, and shoved her into a musty-smelling hallway. I’m being moved? A guard pushed her with one hand, keeping a tight grip on an AK-47 rifle with his other.

Her shoulder throbbed in perfect cadence with the pains shooting through her broken wrist, and she had one badass headache from being punched in the face a few too many times. Using her good hand, she walked fingers across one cheek, then the other. The right side was totally numb. Her eye had swollen shut, and she couldn’t see a damn thing out of it. She ran her tongue across her teeth and tasted the tart, copper flavor of blood. Three teeth loose. Well, at least they’re still in place.

In spite of the relentless pain, she stayed determined to survive whatever Mendoza dished out. She wasn’t a quitter. No, sir. Duncan Falls, Iowa didn’t grow quitters. Eve ignored the constant ache in her ribs, courtesy of a guard’s overzealous kick, and took in a deep breath. She willed herself to stay alert, to keep pushing. Escape. Third times the charm.

Eve slapped the guard’s dirty hand. “Hey, Pedro, stop being so damned pushy. Where we going anyway? We got a hot date I’ve forgotten about?”

He looked puzzled then shoved her again.

“Don’t understand English, do you, Diego? Bet you understand this.” Eve drove her elbow into the guard’s face. Thick rubbery cartilage gave, and she whooped triumphantly.

Blood squirted from his nose and he screamed.

Eve stepped back. “Yep, I’m pretty sure you understand that.”

Unable to grab the guard’s assault rifle, she clutched her injured shoulder, and took off in a slow jog, no longer able to push any harder.

Her escape was short lived.

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Salem Richmond‘s strokes were long an even. She could feel her muscles tighten as she moved fast across the oversized pool. Without disturbing the rhythm of her movements she flipped over onto her back. Firm, round nipples peeked out from beneath the water. The seasons were starting to change. She knew it would be just a few more months and she would have to turn the heater on the pool, but for now she enjoyed the comfortable water just fine from the heat of the Texas sun. She had just finished doing her ritual morning laps when she stood up with the blue water rippling around her. She quickly turned when she heard the screaming and the back patio door slam.

“What the fuck!”

“Largate de `mi cocina!”  

 Salem watched as he made his way across the yard to the poolside. His blondish hair made him look younger than what he probably was. She didn’t know a lot about him. Knew he had a mom who drank a lot because she remembered he joked about how odd it was he had a drunk for a mom and he picked bartender as his profession.

“Your maid just threw fruit at my head. A damn grapefruit just about killed me.” He rubbed the back of his head.

“What did you say to her?” Salem glanced up at the young man standing on the side of the pool with no shirt on. His muscles teased to pop out of his skin. Black jeans unbuttoned and slightly resting on his hips. Bare feet peeked out from beneath the bottom of the jeans. What was his name? Brandon, Brad?  She was so drunk last night names didn’t matter at the time. All that mattered now was that he was still here at her house. Why did she do this to herself? Bring these guys home and then the next morning regret it. She needed help. In the past few years it seemed to be happening more and more. She’d meet them and next thing she knew they would be in her bed.

 “I just asked her to make me some breakfast and she said ‘no’, and then I said ‘well you’re the maid aren’t you, isn’t that what you do’? Then before I knew it she was talking some Spanish shit to me and throwing a basket full of fruit at me.”

“You should have never called her that, she doesn’t like it.” Salem made her way to the steps and started exiting the pool. “Rosa has been with me a long time and I’ve never refer to her as the maid.” Salem was surprised the young man only got fruit to his head. Rosa Marquez considered herself the ruler of the Richmond estate. The mansion had come with a quaint guest house and she had set that up as her own little home but doing the day the mansion was her castle and no one crossed her moat without permission. Salem thought back to ten years ago when she interviewed Rosa. Even with her broken English she made it very clear she was no one’s maid. She would clean and cook and run the house while Salem ran the company but she was no maid, she wanted to be called a house assistant.  Salem was never sure what the difference was but she didn’t want to question Rosa on it and from that day forward Salem had a house assistant and it had worked out well for both of them.

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I’m not who you think I am. I’m never who I appear to be. I am the wind. I am the shadow that fades quietly into the night. I am the assassin.

 And tonight I was almost done with my assignment. Currently my hips were thrusting in tune with loud Poradu drums. I was wearing a small leather pouch cupping my erection as I spun and grinned. I bent to show the crowd of Poradu royals my tight ass. Black hair was ruffled on my head, creating a wild array of strands. All I had to do was get the attention of the king and see if he wanted a little after the celebration fun. I wasn’t exactly hard on the eyes. My training as an assassin kept me in fit shape. I had nicely cut abs, well defined arms and legs along with a well endowed penis. It was currently hard between my legs, cramped in the pouch as I slowly stood. All right, it was time to get ahead of the four other men dancing. I knew my talent and it was time to use my training. I spun, catching eyes with the king. His blond hair slicked back and his lips pursed in pout. I grinned, pushing my arms out and puffing my chest. Then the music began to beat faster. I front flipped, making the crowd of royals gasp. I made sure my thigh muscles flexed as I reached left with both arms and then right. I jiggled my ass cheeks, keeping my eyes on the king.

I rocked my hips back and forth, thrusting into the air. My breath was hitched as I performed another back flip, landing perfectly before moving to my knees. I gyrated my entire body, working the sensual movement from my chest down my abs and ending with another thrust of my hips. My cock was rock hard by now, each movement sending the pouch bobbing. Talk about an easy job. I liked having all the eyes on me, although the male eyes pleased me more than the females. It was all about the promise of pleasure. I jerked forward to all fours. My muscles flexing and I crawled like the slave I was pretending to be. I slithered, taking my time, licking my lips as I worked my way closer to the king.

His thin lips lifted into a smile as he watched me. King Faldor’s hand moved lower on his body, gripping his prick through the folds of his bright blue robes.

Well, at least I knew he was interested. All I needed was a few moments alone with him. I moved to my knees, easing back, making my covered erection the focus. All eyes were on me. The other men stopped dancing, fading away into the crowd. I reached my hands over my chest, gliding them down my skin misted with sweat then down the leather pouch. I gripped my erection, letting a little gasp escape my control before pulling the thin string that kept me covered.

The leather pouch shifted slowly, I inched my hips upward, which caused my cock to be revealed inch by delicious inch. When the leather slapped against my thigh I thrust upward. The foreskin on my cock had retracted baring the red, round head and my slit leaking pre-cum. The white cream dripped down my shaft amid the whistles and shouts in the crowd.

Good, I got the royals attention and now for the king. I spun on my knees, bending so my ass was toward him. He sat a few feet away on his pillows surrounded by guards and slaves. I wiggled, my dick swinging, my balls shifting with each movement. I rolled forward, jerked left at the last moment so I landed on my knees. The drums began to slow, ease the song to its end. I cart wheeled, showing off my nude body. My cock bouncing and bobbing as my hips wrenched left and then right. As the last beat resonated in the chamber, I faced the king, head down, arms behind my back and chest rising quickly with each breath. I grinned, licking my bottom lip.

When he returned the smile, I knew I had him.

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