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Monday, July 11, 2016

Filthy English by Ilsa Madden-Mills with Review


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A smokin’ hot British player…
A jilted girl…
One night of mistaken identity…


*A modern love story inspired by Romeo and Juliet*

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Two weeks before her wedding, Remi Montague’s fiancé drops her faster than a drunken sorority girl in stilettos. Armed with her best friend and a bottle of tequila, she hops a plane to London to drown her sorrows before fall semester begins at Whitman University.

She didn't plan on attending a masquerade party.

She sure didn’t plan on waking up next to the British bad boy who broke her heart three years ago—the devastatingly handsome and naked Dax Blay. Furthermore, she has no clue how they acquired matching tattoos.

Once back at Whitman together, they endeavor to pretend they never had their night of unbridled passion in London.

But that’s damn hard to do when you live in the same house…

One night. Two damaged hearts. The passion of a lifetime.
Filthy English by Ilsa Madden-Mills
5 stars
POV first person (dual)

First let me start off by saying this can be read as a stand-alone, however I highly recommend reading Dirty English first. It's a great read (I literally couldn't put down) and you get an introduction to Dax Blay. You get an insight into his behavior and a little of his character. It will come up in the current read and I think it helps you understand a little more about Remi's perception of Dax. 

Now, with that being said…

Remi is on her much anticipated honeymoon with her best friend, Lulu. Not with the man she thought she would be. Lulu wants to make sure Remi makes the best of this trip, and not moping in her room. At Club Masquerade, she runs into the last person in the world she ever expected, Dax Blay.  She's traveled to another continent across the Atlantic. What is a boy from her small town university doing in the exact club at this time?  Well fate is a funny bitch. 

I love these "second chance" romances. 
Remi has had her heart shredded more than once and she has a hard time taking unreasonable risks anymore. She went the safe route with her ex-fiancé and still gets her heart broken. So why would she give Dax a second chance to crush her, especially when he's not even ready for a second chance. 
Dax has his own demons that only his brother can relate to. So it's easier to be the campus "man-Whore", than to actual have feeling that are more than superficial. Dax is a genuinely nice guy, but can come off as a douchebag. 
The sexual tension between these two is palpable. Neither wants to risk their heart but with time and a lot of tequila, windows begin to open. 
Not only do I love these characters and their journey together, but I also loved the secondary characters. Remi's bestie Lulu and Dax's cousin Spider are a hilarious addition and help relieve some of the drama. I suspect (at least hope), that these two will get their own story in the "English" series. 
Ilsa Madden-Mills is a great author and can construct stories you don't want to put down. She has not disappointed in this Series and Story. 
You can stalk her on her website as well as get signed books: http://www.ilsamaddenmills.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authorilsamaddenmills?pnref=lhc
IG: https://instagram.com/ilsamaddenmills/
Twitter: @ilsamaddenmills

★★ PURCHASE Filthy English Today!★★

English Series
Dirty English (English #1)
NOW ONLY $0.99

Ilsa Madden-Mills’ other books:

VERY BAD THINGS

VERY WICKED BEGINNINGS
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1K5NvX8

VERY WICKED THINGS

VERY TWISTED THINGS


ilsa madden -millsa.jpg
New York Times and USA Today best-selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills writes about strong heroines and sexy alpha males that sometimes you just want to slap.

She's addicted to all things fantasy, including unicorns and sword-wielding heroes in books. Other fascinations include frothy coffee beverages, dark chocolate, Instagram, Ian Somerhalder (seriously hot), astronomy (she's a Gemini), Sephora make-up, and tattoos.

She has a degree in English and a Master's in Education.

When she's not pecking away on her computer, she shops for cool magnets, paints old furniture, and eats her weight in sushi.





THANK YOU!
TRSOR_PROMOTIONS.jpg


Filthy English by Ilsa Madden-Mills


FILTHY_ENGLISH_RELEASE_BLITZ.jpg


FILTHY_ENGLISH_LIVE.jpg

A smokin’ hot British player…
A jilted girl…
One night of mistaken identity…

★★ PURCHASE Filthy English Today!★★

*A modern love story inspired by Romeo and Juliet*

FILTHY-ENGLISH-EBOOK.jpg
Blurb

Two weeks before her wedding, Remi Montague’s fiancé drops her faster than a drunken sorority girl in stilettos. Armed with her best friend and a bottle of tequila, she hops a plane to London to drown her sorrows before fall semester begins at Whitman University.

She didn't plan on attending a masquerade party.

She sure didn’t plan on waking up next to the British bad boy who broke her heart three years ago—the devastatingly handsome and naked Dax Blay. Furthermore, she has no clue how they acquired matching tattoos.

Once back at Whitman together, they endeavor to pretend they never had their night of unbridled passion in London.

But that’s damn hard to do when you live in the same house…

One night. Two damaged hearts. The passion of a lifetime.


filthy english use teaser 2.jpg

English Series
Dirty English (English #1)
NOW ONLY $0.99

About the Author
ilsa madden -millsa.jpg
New York Times and USA Today best-selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills writes about strong heroines and sexy alpha males that sometimes you just want to slap.

She's addicted to all things fantasy, including unicorns and sword-wielding heroes in books. Other fascinations include frothy coffee beverages, dark chocolate, Instagram, Ian Somerhalder (seriously hot), astronomy (she's a Gemini), Sephora make-up, and tattoos.

She has a degree in English and a Master's in Education.

When she's not pecking away on her computer, she shops for cool magnets, paints old furniture, and eats her weight in sushi.


SOCIAL MEDIA LINKS:

You can stalk her on her website as well as get signed books: http://www.ilsamaddenmills.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authorilsamaddenmills?pnref=lhc

IG: https://instagram.com/ilsamaddenmills/

Twitter: @ilsamaddenmills


Ilsa Madden-Mills’ other books:

VERY BAD THINGS

VERY WICKED BEGINNINGS
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1K5NvX8

VERY WICKED THINGS

VERY TWISTED THINGS




THANK YOU!

TRSOR_PROMOTIONS.jpg

Wednesday, December 3, 2014

VERY TWISTED THINGS * Series: Briarcrest Academy #3 By Ilsa Madden-Mills

VERY TWISTED THINGS
Series: Briarcrest Academy #3 (all novels are standalones)
Release Date: February 2015
Cover Model: Drew Leighty
Genre: Hot New Adult for 18+


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A sassy violinist who lives next door. An obsessed rock star who watches her through binoculars. And one night when she bares it all. Life will never be the same in Tinseltown.


Description:

Vital Rejects front guy Sebastian Tate never imagined his YouTube music video would go viral, sky-rocketing him to acting success in Hollywood. Okay, maybe he did. After all, he’s a cocky dude who knows he’s hot-as-hell, and it was only a matter of time before his stars aligned.

But life in Tinseltown is never what it seems.

After being cheated on, his only rule to falling in love is simple: Keep Calm and Don’t Do It. Spying on his mysterious new neighbor with binoculars seems innocent enough, but quickly escalates into an erotic game between two very unlikely people.

Twenty-year-old Violet St. Lyons is a world-renowned violinist who's lost her mojo on stage. She hides away in a Hollywood mansion, trying to find her way through her twisted past in order to make her future.

He’s the life of the party with girls chasing him down for his autograph. She’s the introvert with a potty mouth who doesn’t even know who he is.

When they meet, stars collide, sparks fly, and clothes come off. Yet, giving his heart to a girl isn’t Sebastian’s plan; falling for a guy who craves attention isn’t Violet’s.

Welcome to Briarcrest Academy—Hollywood style—where sometimes the best things in life are VERY TWISTED THINGS.


Heart Compact



VTT Prologue

Prologue:



Then he came along, and like a twisted piece of metal that’s burned beyond recognition, I emerged from the fire. Different. Changed.” –from the journal of Violet St. Lyons



This wasn’t happening.

Clad in a pair of red lacy bikini underwear—his favorite—I sipped on tequila—not my favorite—and glared at Sebastian Tate, sexy rock star and billboard model. Wearing low-slung jeans and nothing else, he paced around my chair in tight circles, his tall frame blocking most of my vision, the lion tattoo on his back heaving as he took deep breaths. Blonde and sporting faint stubble on his chiseled jawline, he looked like the heartbreaker the tabloids said he was.

Bad, bad boy.

But, oh, so good.

He sent me a hard look. Pissed.

From my living room in the Hollywood Hills, I gazed out the window at the Santa Monica Mountains, my eyes everywhere except on the glossy nude photos he clutched in his hand.

Of me. Of him.

Of us.

He swiveled his ice-blue eyes at me. Earlier today they’d burned with another kind of fire, but things change fast in Tinseltown. “These will be in the papers. Get ready,” he said, tossing down the pictures on the table, making me cringe.

I gazed down at them, my eyes lingering over one of us on my patio, him on his knees with his mouth between my legs as my body arched in ecstasy. My skin burned at the memory, echoes of the passion we’d shared—and now everyone in the world would see. My family. The society people in New York. The board of directors for the orphanage. My stomach heaved at the thought, bile threatening to rise up.

Another caught my eye, this one a full color close-up of me crying black mascara tears as I played my violin. Nude. It looked depressing as hell although in truth it had been love that made me emotional.

“Remind me to pass on the make-up next time. And to not have sex outdoors. Obviously,” I said, forcing my shoulders to move in a nonchalant shrug like I didn’t care, but he knew the truth. I was devastated by these.

And so was he.

Because we weren’t supposed to be together.

He said my name in that husky voice of his, the one that made me crazy, the one that made me want to rip his clothes off. “Violet—”

“Stop,” I said, clenching my fists. Because whatever he had to say didn’t matter. These pictures ruined us, ensuring that he’d leave me for her, the beautiful Bubble named Blair. Bubble, bubble, bubble. I wanted to pop her.

Why did I always come last with him?

I stood and faced him, tossing back the last of my shot. “First off, I wish we’d never met.” I held my hand up. “No. Wait. I don’t wish that because then I wouldn’t know Spider or Mila. I—I wish I’d never fallen in love with you. Loving means losing. Always. And I was stupid to forget it. I may have to sell this house and move to another freaking country to get away from you, but I’ll do it. I’ve done it before.” I sucked in a breath. “I’ll be fine without you.”

Lie. I would likely end up drunk on Mexican tequila, nursing what was left of my heart.

He closed his eyes, a dazed expression on his face as if my words crushed him.

“We were doomed from the very start,” I reminded him. “You want to be a star, and all I want is you.”

He stopped his pacing, a muscle jerking in his cheek as he leaned down until his nose was level with mine. “Then this is goodbye, Violet? You’re giving up on us already?”

Did I hear a break in his voice? Impossible.

“If I don’t say goodbye first, then someone else will.” Truth.

He’d never be mine, simply because he didn’t belong with me. I was a washed-up freak who had nothing but a mansion and a Maserati; he belonged on the silver screen with a pretty starlet on his arm.

We were over. Kaput.

I smiled, a bitter thing, and sashayed past him, enjoying the hiss of breath when I let my hand drift over his crotch. “This moment is begging for a soundtrack, don’t you think?” I said, coming to stop by the stereo system and cranking up Kurt Kobain’s Smells Like Teen Spirit. Holding my hands up in the horns rocking out signal, I bobbed my head to the beat while he watched, anger flickering across his face. I danced and twirled around, closing my eyes, the music vibrating through my body, my fingers itching for my violin.

Bam!

My eyes flew open. He’d strode over to me and clicked the stereo off, chest still heaving.

He shoved his hands in my hair and dragged my face to his, and I groaned at the fire that blazed in my body. I felt the warm heat of his skin and pressed closer and inhaled. He smelled like bourbon and sex—a rock star’s diet—and I panted, cursing myself at the same time.

How would I ever get over him?

He pressed his thumbs across my mouth. Gentle. But his voice was cold. “You can’t wait to high-tail it back to Manhattan to your lawyer boyfriend, can you?”

“I plead the fifth,” I said, staring at his full lips. I licked my own. “But you can kiss me goodbye if you want. I don’t mind.”

We stared at each other until he exhaled heavily and put his back to me, his muscles as taut as the guitar strings he played. He verged on breaking.

Yeah, well, welcome to my world.

Yet at the same time, I reached my hand out to him. Stupid hand.

But of course, he didn’t see it.

“So long, V,” he said soft as a whisper, staring at the ground as if I was breaking his heart, when all along it was the other way around. He took a step from me, then another, then another, until finally, he was nothing but a speck.

I clutched my chest and wanted to fall to the ground and rail on it. Alone. Again.

But tough girls like me didn’t cry over black-hearted boys.

Although in his defense, I owed him a thank you for saving me.

To show you, I’d have to start at the beginning, the day I lost everything.



© Ilsa Madden-Mills, NYT and USA Today bestselling author

--Unedited and may change before publication



Available Now on Amazon

Very Bad Things

Very Wicked Beginnings

Very Wicked Things



Author Bio

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Ilsa Madden-Mills writes about strong heroines and sexy alpha males that sometimes you just want to slap.



She spends her days with two small kids, one neurotic cat, and one husband. She collects magnets and rarely cooks except to bake her own pretzels.



When she's not crafting a story, you can find her drinking too much Diet Coke, jamming out to Pink, or checking on her carefully maintained chocolate stash.



She loves to hear from readers and fellow authors.



★ Sign up for her newsletter★



Receive a FREE Briarcrest Academy novella ($2.99 value) plus get insider info and exclusive giveaways!



Want to join her BA Street Team on Facebook? Click here to message Ilsa Madden-Mills
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Monday, October 13, 2014

Yes, Mistress by NJ Cole


Book:
Em
Grayson had everything she wanted—the perfect life, the perfect
job, nothing to hold her back. Or so she thought until she attended a
BDSM convention in Las Vegas that turned her world upside down and
had her questioning everything. Approached by an old friend about a
business opportunity in Reno, she’s forced to look at her current
situation and make life altering decisions. Violet Jennings is a
quiet submissive who longs for acceptance in her life. She begins to
find an inner peace while working as a receptionist in a BDSM club.
When she meets the mysterious M, she’s driven by a need to serve
more than ever been before. Together, will these two be able to find
the happiness that has alluded them? Will the need to dominate and
serve be enough? Or will they find more than they were looking for?




Grabbing my toiletry bag, I headed into the bathroom. After brushing my teeth

and washing my face, I slipped a gray tank top on and walked out in just

that and my panties. I struggled to keep a straight face as she stared

at me.


“Now, go ahead and get ready.”


I listened to her wash up and brush her teeth as I tried to remember the


last time I’d had someone spend the night. It had been a really long

time, and even then, it wasn’t like this. It was usually due to the fact

that one or both of us had been drinking and didn’t want to drive home.

This was totally different. I wanted her here, and she wanted to be here.


When she walked out of the bathroom, I felt the wetness gather between my

legs and my nipples harden. She was wearing the same pale pink bra, but

she also had on a pair of pink boy shorts.



She scampered to the bed and dove under the covers. I didn’t mind the

action, but the idea behind it—that I might not appreciate her

body—saddened me. I knew she’d need a lot of reassurance that she made

me happy, and her practically nude in my bed was an occasion to

compliment her.

“I love how sexy you look in my bed.”


She smiled and I kissed her gently, pulling her closer to me. We snuggled

like that for a moment before I allowed my hands to explore once again.

It wasn’t even two minutes later and I had her panties and bra off.


My fingers found her pussy wet and swollen. “I’m going to fuck that pussy

with my fingers and you are going to come every time I tell you to.”

“Yes, Mistress!”


Holding her still with one hand, the other parted her lips and pressed into her

tight body. She whimpered as I added a second then a third finger. She

was so tight I had no idea how I’d fist her, but it was something I

planned to do. When a woman allowed herself to be fisted, she was giving

total submission, and that’s exactly what I wanted from all of my pets.

This wasn’t the time for that, though. I had a feeling it would take a

lot of work to get her ready for that.


Tonight would just be about bringing her pleasure and teaching her to be

comfortable when responding to my commands. Already, my hand was coated

in wetness and her clit was swollen beneath my fingertip.

“Ungh, Mistress, help,” she gasped, bucking her hips away from me.

I leaned down and bit her breast hard. “Don’t you dare move away from my fingers,” I chastised.

She lay still but started to tremble. “Mistress, I’m…help…I’m…”

“Come for me. Come for me, my sweetheart.”


Her back arched as she ground herself into my hand. I felt her pussy walls

clench around me, and a moment later watched as the white fluid coated

my palm and fingers.


She collapsed onto the bed but I didn’t let up. Switching hands, I took the

come coated one and placed it against her lips while I began my

relentless fucking with the other hand.

“Fuck!” She screamed out and I slid my fingers into her mouth.

“Taste yourself. Taste how good you are. And when my hand is clean, you may come.”


She sucked hard on my fingers, but as she did, I lowered my head to her

breast. Choosing a milky white spot just below her left nipple, I sucked

hard and fast. I released her breast with a pop and looked down at the

dark purple mark I’d made. “That’s one.”


It wasn’t long before she was screaming as her body clamped down on my

fingers again. Pulling the come covered digits from her body, I placed

them in her mouth to clean off while pumping hard and fast with the

newly cleaned hand. Again, I lowered my head and marked her breast.


Some women can only come once in a given period of time. Others can come

multiple times if stimulated. Then there are women like Violet. The more

she came, the easier it was to find that next orgasm. By the fourth

one, the fifth one was only a minute or two away. In the end, there were

eight dark purple marks covering her left breast, one for each orgasm.

“You look absolutely beautiful,” I said, tracing each mark.

“Thank you, Mistress.”

“I gave you one mark for each orgasm. It will help you to remember how I made you feel.”

“I don’t think it would be possible to forget, Mistress.”

Her words made me smile. She’d been so obedient. “You are such a good girl. I’d like to give you a reward.”

She smiled broadly. “Thank you, Mistress.”

“I’d like you to pick your reward. What is it that you’d like? You may ask anything, though I might not agree. I’m still in charge.”

She nodded, and I could tell she was thinking. She bit her lip and crinkled her brow, but still said nothing.

“What is it, little one? Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Well, I want a few things and I’m trying to decide.”

I couldn’t help but smile at her dilemma. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re thinking and allow me to pick?”


She nodded. “Well, I really want to be able to use my fingers on you. And I

want to be able to bring you to orgasm.” I nodded, indicating she

should go on. “I’d like to see your breasts. I’ve been imagining them

all day. But what I really want is to mark you the way you marked me.”


She did want a lot, and some things she wanted, like finger fucking me and

marking, were simply things I didn’t allow submissives to do. Then

again, things with Violet were different than they’d ever been before,

so maybe it was time to branch out a little.


“Alright, I’ll allow you to see my breasts and to use your fingers on me. I’m not

promising that I’ll have an orgasm, but if I do, I’ll make sure that

you know it. You may use one or two fingers, nothing else. You may not

put anything near my asshole.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

I hadn’t addressed the marking of my breast, but she seemed more than fine with what I was allowing her to do.


I lay back on the bed and waited for her to make her move. She looked at

me expectantly. “This is what you want, little one. If you want to see

my breasts, you’re going to have to remove my shirt.”


Moving closer to me, Violet smiled and bit her lip. Her hands trembled as she

found the cotton hem of my tank top. She began to slide it up and gasped

as the thin material moved over my breasts. I loved the look on her

face.


When she began to reach for them I had to stop her. “I’m sorry, little one,

but you said you wanted to see them, not touch them.” She pouted a bit

but pulled back. “However, if you still want to finger fuck my pussy,

all you need to do is remove my panties.”


When they were off and laying on the floor, I spread my legs wide. I’d had

her head between them earlier, but this time it would be her fingers

bringing me pleasure.

“Oh, Mistress,” Violet cooed as she ran her index finger over my clit and between my pussy lips. “You feel so warm and soft.”


I didn’t respond, but her finger felt heavenly. A few moments later, her

second finger found the first and she pushed them inside of me. “Ungh,”

we both moaned at the same time.


She wasted no time in finding my G spot or in fucking me hard and fast with

two of her tiny fingers. It felt amazing, but the look on her face was

what excited me the most. It was pure joy as she watched my pussy get

wetter and wetter with each stroke. Occasionally, her eyes would look

away and to my breasts. I knew how much she wanted to touch them and I

admired her self restraint.


My breath hitched when she began to rub my clit with her thumb, but I was

still able to speak in a controlled volume. “You may touch my breasts,

little one.”


A low moan escaped her lips and her eyes closed for a minute before

reopening, zoned in on her target. With one hand in my pussy, her other

began to pinch and knead at my breasts.


The sensations she was giving my body were incredible. She had me close to

orgasm a few times, but I pushed it back. It wasn’t that I didn’t want

to come for her, I just wanted her to work for it, and, knowing my own

body, the longer I held off, the better it would feel when I did allow

my release.


I held back again and again as she knelt over me, fingers working

furiously. She pursed her lips together in what I first thought was

concentration, but when I noticed the a slight wiggle, I realized that

she was fighting an orgasm of her own. I loved that my little girl got

so aroused by serving me. Sliding my hand between her thighs, I found

her clit soaking wet and engorged beyond belief.

“You want to come, don’t you, little girl?”


She shook her head while still keeping her lips pressed together. I bit

back a smile at how close she was with just one touch from me.

“Answer me, little one.”

“Ungh. No Mistress. I want you to come.”

I admired her honesty and again held back a grin at her war with her own body.

“I’ll come if you do,” I offered her.

“Please, Mistress!” Her voice was a high squeal.


“Make me come.” I rubbed her clit gently as she finger fucked me furiously

and squeezed my nipple hard. Closing my eyes, I allowed the orgasm to

wash over me. I felt the come flow from my body moments before my hand

was drenched in her own liquid.


“Fuck, Mistress!” I listened to her pant and moan as her body shook, almost as

if she wasn’t in control of it, until finally she collapsed on top of

me in a lifeless heap.


“You did very well, little one. Thank you for serving me in that way.” I

rolled her onto her back and looked down at her breasts. One was covered

in marks, the other pale and smooth. Leaning down, I took the unmarked

one into my mouth and sucked hard. Leaving the biggest mark yet, I sat

up and smiled.

“That one is for the orgasm you gave me.”

She ran her fingertips over it lightly and smiled. “Thank you, Mistress. No one has ever marked me in this way before.”


It was my turn to smile. I loved her service, her honesty, and the

devotion she showed in her eyes. I also loved the way she made me feel. I

had no description for it, but I’d never really felt this way before

and the feeling seemed addicting.

She’d given her faith and trust to me and had asked for so little in return. I

wanted to grant her every wish. I looked into her eyes and ran my hand

up her back and to her hair. I nodded once and pulled her to my breast.

“Go ahead, my sweet little one. Mark me.”
 

NJ Cole is a midwestern girl with a kinky side. She works by day and

writes by night, all while being a mother to her wonderful boys and

serving her Sir. Unlike many of today’s authors, she chooses to
write in first person, allowing the readers to experience life
through the eyes of the unique characters that live in her head. Her
love of those characters and respect for their stories come through
loud and clear in her writing. Reaching Amazon’s top 100 list in
Erotica with Midnight Caller and Landslide, NJ Cole promises to
entertain and excite the reader with her newest tales of love,
romance, and as always, hot, steamy sex.


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