My Odd Little World: Kept An Anthology

Today's post is a tour for the anthology Kept, a collection of six capture themed novellas from six best selling authors. There will be lots of hot excerpts, and the grand prize for this tour will be one book from each of the anthology authors. This is a Rafflecopter contest, so sit back, enjoy the excerpts and fill in the Rafflecopter for your chance to win.

Blurb for Kept

From the darkest parts of the underworld, to aliens hunting on Earth, to planets far away, each of these capture-themed novellas by six bestselling authors takes you on a wild ride that will heat up your fantasies and keep you up all night long…reading.

From Holly S. Roberts - Can Sergeant Kelly Myers sacrifice her blood and body to a vampire to save her country or is Talon worse than the evil trying to kill them all?

From Angela Castle - Can alien King K’marr convince Ash they are Soul Bonds or will she let him succumb to the abyss of madness?

From Cari Silverwood’s new Preyfinder series - A Preyfinder is trained to withstand hardship and pain, and Jadd would rather kneel before a firestorm than leave his captive, Brittany, to be stalked and killed.

From Sorcha Black - Lying tangled in her sheets each night, dreaming of sex, virginal Shiloh never means to tempt the spying succubus.

From C.L. Scholey - Two hot aliens take the form of friends and spirit Cali away aboard their alien vessel.

From Leia Shaw - After accidentally turning off a device that could destroy earth, Maggie is abducted by a man with an accent as sexy as his looks and taken to Scotland to fix the device.

Explicit excerpt from Kept: Precious Sacrifice by Cari Silverwood

He walked into view at the other end of the row of parked cars, blocking out the taxi waiting for her with its engine idling, and he turned and headed toward her. Long dark coat. Mean look in his eyes...or where his eyes would be. His face was shrouded in darkness. He just looked bad.

Brittany’s throat closed in. Breathing, who needed it?

Big man, as in fucking huge, and with a totally deliberate way of moving.

Every step was calculated. Like a lone stranger walking into a lowlife Wild West town, about to rescue the folks from the two-gun killer kid. She could hear the theme song from The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly playing.

All he was missing was a Stetson and a pair of six guns.

Headlights from a passing car flickered over him. His face...oh god. He definitely needed a hat to pull over that. Were those parallel scars running across his cheeks? Or tattoos made up to look like American Indian war paint? Whatever. They were red and scary. Only he surpassed scary by a mile. She took a half-step back, surprised the man wasn’t snorting steam out his nostrils.

But he smelled good. From yards away. Was that even possible? Mm-Mmm.

It took all her determination not to squeal, run down the aisle between the parked cars, and jump his bones then and there. Loose stones on the concrete cracked under his boots. A breeze blew the front of his coat wide. She caught a glimpse of a wide, well-built torso that stretched his pants and shirt with a real man’s body.

Shit. Was that metal glinting there? Holsters? No. Couldn’t be. Unless he was a cop?

Fear reared its head. He wouldn’t be looking for her. Get the fuck outta his way.

Jarred into self-preservation mode, Brittany cleared her throat and squeezed back against the bus she was walking beside to allow him to shimmy past. Not that a man like this would ever shimmy. He’d saunter or stalk but never ever shimmy.

What would it be like to be underneath him being...

Shut up. She took a deep breath and held it when he seemed about to pass her.

Don’t faint. Unladylike.

Then he grabbed her under her shoulders, lifted her a few inches, and slammed her flat against the bus with enough force to frighten her but not hurt. Startled, she sucked in air.

His scent swept her awareness of danger far, far away and replaced it with pure unadulterated LUST.

Her pussy flooded instantly. She shut her eyes. Not Niagara Falls wet, just enough to make slippery every part of her down there, enough that a man could slide his cock right in without a second’s hesitation. That. Wet.

She inched open her eyes and found him staring down at her. Brutal and callous was her instantaneous impression.

From Succumb by Sorcha Black. A story of a succubus called Moth

“Who are you?” Her voice was small, her brows puckered.

“I am called Moth.” I was over her dream self, my lips almost on hers. The girl’s large dark eyes narrowed in confusion and she squirmed beneath me.

“What do you want?” She whimpered and the sound made me ache to ease her.

“I want what you want, Shiloh,” I whispered to her. “May I bring you pleasure?”

Although I’d waited until the phantom man had aroused her terribly, there was consternation in her eyes.

“But I don’t like women that way. How do you know my name?”

Because I watch you when you sleep. I walk in your dreams. Telling her this would serve no purpose, although it was true. Often, her dreams were sexual, but at times they were reflections of what she had done that day. Some nights she dreamed of a man called Brad, but their relationship had no relation to sex. Their interactions amused me, though, and I was glad that someone filled the space in her life just as Fox my own. Her dreams were filled with concern for others and worry over tasks she’d left undone. The brightness and intelligence of her thoughts were fascinating and I watched her dreams by the hour some nights.

But only through the window. I had never before crossed the threshold.

I brushed my lips against hers and she gasped, the feeling from me more intense than any a dream lover could provide. So close. Her lips under mine were almost too tempting to bear. I could taste the desire upon her breath and had to ignore the instinct to feed.

“You brought me here.” Although it had been unintentional, on her part. “If you close your eyes, you can pretend I am whomever you desire. The secret will be ours.”

When no response was forthcoming, I trailed my fingertips over the spectre of her translucent dream body and her eyes fell shut. Permission?

Men rarely refused me anything in their dreams.

In fascination, my fingers bumped over her ribs, upward to her breasts. She shuddered beneath me and the urge to fasten my mouth down on hers became overwhelming. I cupped her breast with one hand and lowered myself to lay alongside her, our naked flesh sliding together in a way even dream men did not feel. Smooth. Warm. How did a dream girl smell so erotic?

I toyed with her nipples for an age, circling and pinching them until she was a mewling, writhing doll.

“What do you desire?”

“Please!” she begged.

I drew my hand down, toward her sex. Her hips rose to meet me, attempting to rush me to what she wanted.

“Do you want me to touch you here?” I circled a lazy finger over her slit.

“Please, please, yes!” She sobbed, and for a moment I almost pitied her. Her arousal was more intense than most humans felt and I wondered if it was the fact that she was virginal, or that she was more attracted to the female form than she realized.

A stirring.

Warder.

My lips fastened over hers for the barest moment and the taste of her flooded my mouth. Although I had no hunger, the sexual power lanced down into my belly, spreading warmth throughout my body.

“I must go. I will return for you.”

“Please, no! Don’t leave me like this. I’ll die.” In her dream she wept, and guilt flooded through me. To have fed, even a little, and not bring her satisfaction was cruel.

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