monique.p.author@gmail.com

Archive for the ‘Beauty’ Category

New Release: Kill Me by LP Lovell

 

Kill Me
Series: Kiss of Death #1
Author: LP Lovell
Genre: Dark Romance
Release Date: October 24, 2016
Blurb

Una

To many, I am little more than a myth. The Kiss of Death, a hired killer, revered by the some of the greatest criminal organizations in the world. Trained by the bratva themselves, without conscience, without mercy, the perfect soldier. I’ll kill anyone… for a price. Death doesn’t discriminate, she sells to the highest bidder, but even I have a weakness.

Nero

I want one thing—power. But power is merely a game of strategy. The pieces are on the chess board. Death is my queen, and also my pawn. She’ll paint this city red in exchange for the one thing she wants. Now all I have to do is watch it all play out. She’s nothing more than a weapon, and yet, I find myself wanting to dance with death, to possess her. And I always get what I want.

A game of power. A risk that could cost her everything. An obsession that would see the world burn at their feet. A bloodied king. A broken queen. Kill me or kiss me?

Purchase Links

AMAZON US / UK / CA / AU
 
Author Bio

Lauren Lovell is an indie author from England. She suffers from a total lack of brain to mouth filter and is the friend you have to explain before you introduce her to anyone, and apologize for afterwards.

Lauren is a self-confessed shameless pervert, who may be suffering from slight peen envy.

LP loves to hear from readers so please get in touch.

Author Links
Advertisements

BOOK BLITZ: Ugly by Margaret McHeyzer

image

Ugly by Margaret McHeyzer

Available Now!

From New York Times bestselling author Margaret McHeyzer….

If I were dead, I wouldn’t be able to see.

If I were dead, I wouldn’t be able to feel.

If I were dead, he’d never raise his hand to me again.

If I were dead, his words wouldn’t cut as deep as they do.

If I were dead, I’d be beautiful and I wouldn’t be so…ugly.

I’m not dead…but I wish I was.

GOODREADS LINK:  https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/25987654-ugly

See The Trailer:

GET YOUR COPY TODAY!

US:  http://amzn.to/1R2UjdD

UK:  http://amzn.to/1H0n8BR

AU:  http://bit.ly/1i2rTEj

B&N:  http://bit.ly/1LMvYoU

Kobo:  http://bit.ly/1SaOmO3

iBooks:  http://apple.co/1H0ng4g

image

FROM UGLY:

It’s days like today I wish I was dead.

“Lily Anderson, you get your ugly ass out here right this minute. Don’t make me come after you,” Daddy screams.

He’s so angry. I knew the moment I heard him come home from work I was in for it. I was in my bedroom, lying on the floor trying to do my math. He slammed the front door so hard the windows in my room shook.

And then I knew, I knew I was in for it.

“Lily Anderson!” he yells again.

As soon as I heard him yell I ran to my hiding spot. I’m inside the closet in the hallway, wedged as far into the corner as I can get. Mom’s old coat hangs in front of me and I can still smell a faint waft of the perfume she used to wear.

“Lily Anderson!” he shouts. I can hear the anger in his voice and I can already feel the pain he’s going to inflict on me when he opens the closet door. I know what’s coming.

I close my eyes tight, scrunching them up so no light can seep through. I put my hands over my ears so I can’t hear him.

“I swear to God; if I have to find you, you will not sit for a month.”

My knees are folded into my chest. I’m trying to make myself small, invisible, so he forgets I’m here. I’m rocking myself, trying to block out what he’s saying.

School is safe. School is safe. School is safe. I keep repeating the mantra because in a few short hours I’ll be back at school. Maybe tomorrow I can go to the library after school, stay there until it closes and then sneak in after Dad’s passed out, because he’s had too much to drink.

It was never like this before. Ever.

I’m twelve years old and I can remember when Mom, Dad, and I were all happy. But that was years ago. It’s been a long time since there’s been any happiness in this house.

Well, before Mom died anyway, and not a day since.

Mom died when I was nine. I don’t remember much about her, except I remember her telling me how ugly I am. How life would be better if I was taken away from them. How I’ll never be anything, because I’m stupid and ugly.

Sometimes I dream happy things. Like me, Mom, Dad and a little blond-haired boy all going for a picnic. The sun beamed down on us as we played outside and laughed. We’d eat yummy sandwiches Mom made for us, and we’d drink homemade lemonade. We’d spend hours outside, laughing and talking and just having fun. Mom would tell me how pretty I am, and how much she loved me. She would play with my hair, braid it, and then we’d go and pick bright flowers to take home and put in a vase. Dad would smile and call us “his girls”, always kissing Mom and hugging me. Dad would put the little boy on his shoulders and run around the park, trying to catch the clouds.

I love those dreams, and I hold onto them; wishing they were real. But I’ve never had a mom like that, and my dad doesn’t talk much unless it’s with his fists, or to tell me how ugly and useless I am.

I feel him walking around the house. The floorboards creak and the vibrations from his footsteps come through the floor to where my bottom is. I close my eyes tighter and try and breathe as quietly as I can.

Please go away, Daddy. Please go away.

My heart is beating so fast. My hands are shaking and I’m trying really hard not to think about what’s going to happen the minute he opens the closet door.

Shhh, it’s so quiet. The only sound is my heart thrumming in my ears. Nothing else. Not a whisper, not a rattle…nothing.

Maybe Daddy’s left. Maybe he’s gone to the pub to have a few drinks. Maybe, just maybe, he’s left…forever.

I take a deep breath and just relax for a moment. My shoulders drop and I finally stop rocking.

Slowly I take my hands down from my ears, and I’m so happy because I can’t hear him yelling at me. I can’t hear him at all.

Gradually, I begin to unscrunch my eyes from the way I’ve tightly closed them. But something’s not right. There’s light coming into the closet.

I don’t even get a chance to open them fully before a rough hand reaches in, latches onto my ponytail and yanks.

“I told you it’d be worse for you if I had to find you,” Dad says, as he drags me out of the closet by my hair.

I’m desperately trying to hold onto my head so he doesn’t rip my hair out. My feet are trying to find traction on the dirty floorboards.

“Please, Daddy. Please. You’re hurting me,” I begin sobbing as I plead with him.

“Then your ugly ass should’ve come when I called you, you stupid bitch. You’re fucking worthless, you ugly idiot,” he says. But now his voice is calm as he continues to drag me toward the family room.

That’s when he’s most scary. When his voice is low and his eyes are filled with hate.

He throws me against the side of the sofa and takes a step back to look at me.

I look up and can see he’s the angriest I’ve ever seen him. “You dumb, ugly piece of shit,” he says, as he paces back and forth in front of me.

“Sorry, Daddy. Whatever I did, I’m so sorry.” I cower into myself, trying to make myself as small as possible.

“You’re just too fucking stupid, aren’t you?” he spits toward me as he brings his hand up to scratch at his chin.

“I’m sorry,” I say again. Tears are falling hot and fast down my cheeks. My head hurts from where he was pulling my hair, but I don’t dare try to rub the spot.

“You ugly fuck.” He kicks a boot into my leg.

The pain is instant and my leg feels like it’s shattered. “Please, Daddy,” I beg again, burying my face into my hands.

But ‘please’ never seems to work.

Nothing does.

I’ve just got to take the beatings, because that’s what stupid, ugly girls do.

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
There’s something about the written word that is pure magic.

Possibly it’s the fact there are 26 letters in the English alphabet, and they can create something so beautiful or so empowering they’re capable to change our lives.

How important is it that we break suit and stretch our minds?

I like to think of myself as ‘unique’. My stories aren’t for everyone, and sometimes I may push what you believe to be ‘normal’.

Normal is subjective.

I prefer to be known as a person who’s never been ‘bound by custom’ but is ‘unique by choice’.

I hope you do read and enjoy my stories.

FOLLOW MARGARET:
Facebook:   https://www.facebook.com/authormargaretmcheyzer

Twitter:   https://twitter.com/MargaretMAuthor

Website:  http://mackandmilo.wix.com/margaretmcheyzer

Goodreads:  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7084793.Margaret_McHeyzer
image

Watch “Giveaways and Shit and Ready Whip” on YouTube

Check out these wild ladies! Authors Caitlyn O’Leary and Elle Boon with some tidbits of insider info on upcoming releases, some awesome giveaways, some drinking, some sweets and let’s not forget cleavage!
Enjoy!
Monique P.

A Small Helping Of Poetry

DROPLET

I’ve waited for you to return
And bring me closer to you.

I’ve watched as others ran down your
Eyelids and brushed against your lips.

I’ve seen them crowd around your
Shoulders and caress your neck.

The lucky have traveled over your breasts
Or gotten lost between them.

Many have slid down your fingers
And slipped through your intimate places.

I’ve watched as they’ve relished
The feel of your skin, cool under their heat.

I’ve studied the pleasure they’ve brought you
When washed over your lovely face.

I’ve envied those who’ve made it
Down your thighs and worshipped at your feet.

My turn to please you is coming
With merely a turn of your hand.

I’ll drift over your eyelashes
And warm your perfect cheek.

Sliding down your luscious neck
I’ll devote my existence to your care.

I’ll soothe you as I travel down your back
And over your inviting curves.

I’ll wander down the back of your leg
Taking in the beauty of you.

Before I leave you
I too will worship at your feet.

And when I’m gone
I’ll have left you changed.

As I will be changed for always.

 

Monique P.

Tag Cloud