Promo Monday with Erika Pike

Another Promo Monday rolls around, and this time, The Walls Have Ears! That's right, Erika Pike is here to talk about her new release through No Boundaries Press!

The Walls Have Ears (College Fun and Gays #3)

by Erica Pike

Published by No Boundaries Press.

Length: 15,000

Blurb:

Short and scrawny college student Harley Santos has a strange relationship with the guy on the other side of his bedroom wall. For weeks, the two have been masturbating to each other's voices, but they have never met in person. 

When Harley's roommate (Ryan) is asked out on a date by one of his neighbors, Harley is devastated that his wall-mate mistook not-hot Harley for super-hot Ryan. Helping Harley through his heartache is Tasha Novokov, the other neighbor, who is tall, dark, and impossibly handsome. 

As Harley's affections shift to Tasha, his heartache hits an all time high because with all the girls hanging around, Tasha has to be straight.

Excerpt:

The walls have ears, or more like, the guy on the other side of the wall has ears…and a lovely voice. His moans are deep and sensual. They drive me nuts every time I masturbate to his grunts, like I’ve been doing almost every night since moving in.

I had been dreading going off to live with some stranger in the deep, dark forest that is Philadelphia. The rustle and bustle of city life was scary for a small-town boy like me. It didn’t help that the people I knew, who’d been to Philly, took great joy in stuffing my head full with stories of serial killers, mobsters, and nasty dorm mates. That last part scared the hell out of me, because I was a green-horned little girly-guy. I was sure I’d be pushed down and fucked by the first guy to cross my path. Of course, the idea of being fucked wasn’t all that unappealing, but I didn’t want to be made into the dorm’s butt boy or anything.

Naturally, nothing of the sort happened and I really hit the jackpot with my roommate Ryan. We don’t really run in the same circles. It’s not that he wouldn’t hang out with me if I asked; it’s just that he’s a very busy guy with his sports and other multiple after-school activities. The guy is so busy he barely stays in our small dorm apartment, so it’s almost as if I have it all to myself, which is another plus.

However, it isn’t Ryan who’s moaning so deeply on the other side of the wall. There’s a whole living room-slash-kitchen area between mine and Ryan’s rooms. No, the neighbor is one of the two smoldering hot guys who live in the apartment next to ours.

On my first night here, I was just about to fall asleep on the wooden bed, under my green comforter, when I heard these low, sexy grunts coming from the other side of the wall. He wasn’t alone. In between his deep groans were low gasps and moans coming from another guy. My cock immediately perked up at the sweet sounds. I jerked off as quietly as I could and came hard just about the time the owner of the deep voice did.

There were more nights like that. The guy had a lot of partners, and sometimes it was just him alone. Lately it’s just been him and me. See, one night, about a month ago, we were both getting off on each side of the wall. When he let out a particularly long and sensual groan, my own voice slipped with a low moan. I practically heard him stop for a few seconds, but then he continued and groaned again, only a little higher this time. I was curious, embarrassed, and thrilled all at the same time. Instead of stopping, I kept at it and let out an experimental moan. My neighbor’s voice grew louder and from the sound of things he was definitely masturbating. We ended up fisting our cocks, vocalizing our pleasures with moans, groans, grunts, and gasps until we climaxed. I hid under the comforter after that with a mind spinning like a hula hoop. I thought he’d want us to talk and that would only get me embarrassed, but he never said anything. We did, however, repeat the game every night after that.

With knees pressed in the thick mattress, I lean my head against the red wall with labored breaths. I yank on my cock so fast my vision goes blurry. He breathes equally hard on the other side. His forehead bumps against the wall, right against mine with only the thin wall between us.

“Fuck,” I whisper when the wonderful tightness in my balls gathers in a knot.

He groans deeply in response, which coaxes out a moan from me just before I cry out my groin-twisting ecstasy. His lovely voice lets out a series of deep grunts as he comes. We know each other’s voices so well now that we automatically tune in on each other’s rhythm and almost always come at the same time.

After my boneless body slumps down on the bed, I reach for tissues to wipe myself off. My neighbor runs his fingers along the wall and rustles about, maybe wiping himself off too or getting comfortable on the bed. When all is quiet again, he strokes the wall and whispers good night to me.

“Good night,” I murmur back just before curling up and dozing off.

Available at No Boundaries Press, Amazon, All Romance eBooks, and Barnes & Noble.

Erica Pike
www.ericapike.com

Promo Monday's with Selah Janel's Mooner

This week I welcome another No Boundaries Press author, Selah Janel!

I have come to the conclusion that I’m terrible at being a girl. This is especially true with vampires. Not only do I not like them sparkly, but I really don’t care if I ever date one, either. I get the attraction, but I like my preternatural creatures to act the way they’re supposed to. I want to be scared by monsters, and make no mistake about it, vampires are monsters.

How terrifying would it be to have someone that you trusted take a chunk out of you? Your parents, kids, lover, best friend, bus driver, postman, boss, waiter…it would be really freaky if they suddenly came up to you one day and not only tried to kill you, but wanted to feed off of you. That’s what a vampire is supposed to be: that awful, horrible what if that’s going to make us distrust those in our inner circle.

They’re even better when they come out of nowhere. I’m also a big fan of the creepy monster that skulks out of the woods for no reason other than to have his way. Maybe he stumbles onto a highway and tries to hitchhike, or maybe he wanders into a local watering hole. What if he’s in a bad mood and wants to stir up trouble? What if he’s bribed to do so? It makes you think, doesn’t it? If vampires went back to acting like vampires, it would be terrifying. True, they may not exist, but they’re plausible. It’s easy to believe they could exist. And if they could exist and could be anywhere, then nothing, no aspect of your life would be
safe.

Of course, regular humans don’t always have good intentions, either…

Blurb:

Like many young men at the end of the 1800s Bill has signed on to work in a logging camp to earn a fast paycheck to start his life. Unfortunately his role model is Big John, the camp’s golden boy known for blowing his pay as fast as he makes it. On a cold Saturday night they enter Red’s Saloon to forget the work that takes the sweat and the lives of so many. Red may have plans for their whiskey money, but something else lurks in the shadows, something that badly wants a drink that has nothing to do with alcohol. Can Bill make it back out the shabby door or does someone have their own plans for his future?

Excerpt:
For a moment, Bill thought he was imagining things or was having a particularly bad reaction to the rot gut. Blinking a few times refocused his tired gaze and proved there was, indeed, a moving pile of…something at a table close to the other end of the bar.

Nancy shuffled back towards the bar, casting a wary look over her shoulder. “Red, he’s back,” she breathed as she scooped up another tray and fled to the other side of the room. Upon closer inspection, the youth realized it wasn’t a pile of something, but a figure draped in a patchwork of skins then cloaked with half-torn, moldy furs. Most who passed his way quickly avoided him, though whether it was because of his odd looks or his smell, it was hard to say.

Red hissed through his teeth and ran a sweating hand through his thick mane. “Tom Haskins,” he mumbled under his breath for the benefit of those crowded round him.

“I thought he lived on the edge of town,” Jack replied as he glared down the length of the bar.

“He tried to start a dry goods store, and it didn’t go over too well. He had it in his mind he could make up his loss with fur, though he ain’t no trapper. He moved out to the woods weeks ago and comes into town every so often to hang round and get his fix. Just when I think he’s finally died out there, he comes round again.” Not once did the saloon proprietor take his eyes off the body hunched over a table. Every breath made Tom’s ragtag cloak shudder, and every moldy hair on him quivered.

“You want me to kick him out?” Jack offered, already shifting his weight across the room.

“Nah, let him warm up at least. He doesn’t do much; just pesters everyone for drink now that he can’t afford it for himself. Give him time, and he’ll be up to his tricks.”

Bill couldn’t stop looking away. The pile of sloughed animals slumped as the man’s head rose. His skin was a cold grey and stretched taught across his face and hands. His hair had all but fallen out, but what was still left of it hung in clumps of long, ragtag strands that were paler than dried straw. His thin-lipped mouth was open and he sucked in air in painful, erratic pants.

“Look at ‘im! Actin’ like a piglet pulled away from its ma’s teat!” Big John sneered. “I bet his clothes are fulla maggots!”

“It’s too cold for maggots,” Ben snorted. “His clothes are thin. Wonder how the hell he stands bein’ out in the woods in weather like this.” “We do it,” Bill muttered. The recluse’s head jerked at the sound of his voice; the young man immediately snapped his mouth shut.

“Yeah, but we’re used to it! And younger’n he ever was!” John’s voice was purposefully loud and carried the haughty tone that won him admiration from the other loggers. “He’s durn crazy, that’s why he don’t notice.” He cocked his head Tom’s way with a sneer. “All that time on your own turn you yaps, man?”

Tom’s head very slowly shifted towards them, and Bill shuddered. There were days he’d survived the logging camp and the extreme conditions by will power and prayer alone, all the while wondering in the back of his head what it would be like if he didn’t have even that. Looking at the vagrant, he knew.

Ben was cursing behind them. “I saw him not more than a month ago and he didn’t look like that. Solitary life don’t turn a man in that short a’ time! Maybe he’s got rabies or fever n’ ague.”

Tom’s eyes sat so far back in his skull, it was impossible to tell what color they were, though they harbored a steady, unsettling gleam. They roved over the huddled group, searching hungrily for an easy mark. Bill’s heart plummeted to his boots when the hollow glitter locked onto him. He was suddenly as cold as he was when a seventh-year blizzard hit. All the frustrations and hell he’d endured since joining the logging team, all his good intentions and reasons, all he was trying to move forward to, swelled and jumbled together in a brief, howling wind of thought. The two distant stars in Tom’s eyes were the only thing that pegged him as a stable man in his otherwise rotting and dozy appearance.

All around the little group, the saloon’s weekend life went on. The distant sound of swearing and dice clattering across the floor mixed with discordant harmonies and a half- hearted mouth organ. But in the area by the bar, all was muffled and still. It was like the snows had come without warning over the forest, smothering everything in their path with chilled silence. Bill shuddered, and out of the corner of his eye, noticed Red do the same.

“You want I should knock his ears down, Red?” John’s bravado was the sudden yell that knocked the snow from the treetops, for better or ill. He had the relaxed look of a man who’d been in his cup just enough to throw caution to the wind. “I’ll toss him out and give ‘im a pat on the lip he won’t forget!”

“Leave be, John,” the barkeep muttered. His hand never stopped wiping down the bar. Though his head was tilted down towards his task, his eyes were set on their target across the room.

“What…what you want me to do for a drink?” At first it didn’t register that that thing, that man, had actually spoken. His voice was high and reedy, and cracked the way the thinnest ice along the river did.

“Pardon?”

“What you want me to do for a drink?” His lips cracked when his mouth moved. A thin trail of spittle dripped off his lower lip and was quickly caught up by the tip of the derelict’s seeking tongue. The distant gleam in Tom’s eyes burned as his mouth formed the last word.
Otherwise, it was hard to even say how he’d made it into the saloon; he looked more than a little dim.

Enjoy a lesson of lumberjack vocabulary here!
http://selahjanel.wordpress.com/2012/01/27/the-language-of-lumber/

Buy Mooner at:
http://noboundariespressstore.com/index.php?
main_page=product_info&cPath=19&products_id=16

Bio:
Selah Janel has been blessed with a giant imagination since she was little and convinced that fairies lived in the nearby state park or vampires hid in the abandoned barns outside of town. Her appreciation for a good story was enhanced by a love of reading, the many talented storytellers that surrounded her, and a healthy curiosity for everything. A talent for warping everything she learned didn’t hurt, either. She gravitates to writing fantasy and horror, but can be convinced to pursue any genre if the idea is good enough. Often her stories feature the\ unknown creeping into the “real” world and she loves to find the magical in the mundane.
She has four e-books with No Boundaries Press, including the upcoming novel ‘In the Red’. Her work has also been included in ‘The MacGuffin’, ‘The Realm Beyond’, ‘Stories for Children Magazine’, and the upcoming Wicked East Press anthology ‘Bedtime Stories for Girls’. She likes her music to rock, her vampires lethal, her fairies to play mind games, and her princesses to hold their own.
Catch up with Selah and all her ongoing projects at the following places:
Blog – www.selahjanel.wordpress.com
Fandom Scene Column – www.fandomfestblog.com/blogs/selah-janel
Free Read: ‘On Fire’ - http://noboundariespressstore.com/index.php?
main_page=product_info&cPath=4&products_id=189
Facebook – www.facebook.com/authorSJ
Twitter – www.twitter.com/SelahJanel

Promo Monday with Zillah Anderson Knocking Down Heaven's Door

This week I'm thrilled to welcome a new face to The Naughty Pages; welcome Zillah Anderson, here to talk about her release through No Boundaries Press, Knocking Down Heaven's Door!

Sometimes stories are begging to be written and you don’t even know it. The inspiration for Knocking Down Heaven’s Door came from a contest a DJ at a local classic rock station was hosting on his blog: write a story about summer camp and use certain key phrases. Now, I’ve never been to camp, but there was something about the combination of the concepts of “classic rock,” “summer camp,” and “forced interaction with others” that really appealed to me. It also brought out my inner disenchanted youth.
Being a teenager isn’t easy, and writing this story brought back a lot of my own experiences. I never felt part of the group. I never knew what was going on. I liked what I liked, and it never matched up with what was cool. While my parents weren’t quite as antagonistic
about my likes, I will admit that my taste in music didn’t match up with anyone else in my age group. And like my lead character in this story, I may have gotten in heaps of trouble for accidentally exposing a very young relative to Bowie’s ‘Rebel, Rebel.’
Even though I haven’t experienced the same things as Layla, I remember all to well how it feels to be disappointed and left out. For whatever reason, I felt like I was taking back a little of my own by writing this. I also made the decision to not beat around the bush and tackle hard issues: religion, sex, social interaction, teen anxiety…these are things kids deal with. . Issues like these aren’t going to go away and they’re not exclusive to one age group. These are things young people actually do think about, whether they admit it or not. They’re people who have real concerns and real worries Instead of polishing them up and hiding them behind vampires, love triangles, and the rest, I wanted to confront the actual issues head-on, and hopefully still make things appealing to readers of all ages. Adolescence is a double-edged sword, and I wanted to explore all of that. We don’t know where we’re going as kids (we don’t know as adults, either, but let’s not tell the teenagers that). Things that may seem so cut and dry one day are confusing the next. Yet as poignant as these years can be, they’re also downright hilarious. Let’s face it: looking back on our teen experiences and angst…they’re pretty hilarious.
I cringe every time I stumble across my teen angst journal (and wonder why I don’t just burn it already). I laugh like a fool when I read through old yearbook entries and remember the little dramas that don’t matter so much anymore. Yet so many of these silly things were part of something deeper, of my growth into an actual human being. I still have my sense of humor and my same taste in music, I still don’t have life figured out, but now I can at least reflect on those cringe-worthy years with a grin and somewhat fond memories. I can’t help but think that writing this story helped me get there.

Blurb:
Remember when everyone else thought they knew you? Remember when everyone else thought they knew better?
Layla’s a small-town teen trying to be herself and is misinterpreted at every turn. She’s not popular because her dad’s a minister and her interests never seem to match those around her.
She’s learned to keep to herself and her music – big mistake. When her love of classic rock makes her parents wonder if she’s “getting ideas” she finds herself shipped off to church camp.
There she’s faced with horrible food and her day is planned out by the millisecond. To make matters worse her bunkmate is the cheery, tow-the-line sort and Donna, her nemesis, is at the same camp and is determined to make things hard for her. The only thing Layla has left to cling to is her music, but when her interests and character are challenged will her faith in herself and her shaky trust in something more be strong enough to see her through?

Excerpt:
After getting checked in, I headed out to my cabin to dump my gear before orientation. No, cabin was an optimistic word. I can still see that building in my head: an enormous brown wooden structure that looked more like a workhouse or a barrack than a happy little camp house. Like the main buildings my home away from home could have used a coat of paint and some insecticide. It was amazing that the wooden structure hadn’t rotted away from being stuck back in the damp forest so long. The inside of my cell didn’t give me a reason to be any more optimistic. Besides the obligatory sections of bunk beds there were wooden chests of drawers and a couple wobbly tables and chairs. It was all very Berenstain Bears meets Camp Crystal Lake. Still, it wasn’t like I had a choice in the matter. All I could really do was make the best of it and wait things out. Common sense ruled that most of the beds in the room were occupied, or else they’d grown their own bedding out of boredom. Sighing, I dragged my stuff to the one empty lower bunk and began to make myself at home. I was so wrapped up in self-pity that I was only interested in getting my bed made so I could escape the humid, musty-smelling place.
“Wow, you’re new aren’t you?” a perky voice chirped. I jumped hard enough to slam my head into the rickety bunk above mine.
“Wild observation,” I hissed through the throbbing in my skull. A girl the size of my forearm slid gracefully off the top bunk and dropped to the floor without a sound. I’d been in high school long enough to be an expert profiler and there was no doubt in my mind that she was a cheerleader. The summer just kept getting better.
“I’m Missy; I’ve been coming here ever since I was nine,” she added then beamed a smile any dentist or orthodontist would probably be tempted to frame. I was tempted to ask if she wanted a medal for the accomplishment but held my tongue. I’d been around youth group enough to know that if there was something to count attendance for, there were pins and badges to commemorate it. Sure enough, on the crisp white polo shirt she sported was a small gold pin with a series of added bars to show off each year she’d returned to the asylum.
“I’m Layla,” I managed as I gracefully slammed my stuff onto the bottom bunk in an effort to encourage her to leave me alone.
“Isn’t that Hebrew for something?” she asked with a tilt of the head that was probably meant to show off her blonde locks. It just made her look like a curious Labrador retriever.
“Dunno. I think my parents’ gave me the name because they were listening to Derek and the Dominoes when I was conceived,” I said as I busied myself tucking clothes away and dutifully slid my Bible under my pillow. It was an outright lie, but it was worth seeing Missy’s baffled expression. Having an unusual name meant you got tired of explaining it really quick. I’dalready come to the conclusion that as soon as I was old enough to get a tattoo I would get my name, its pronunciation, and its meaning inked someplace really visible so I’d never have to have that conversation ever again.
“Are you planning on wearing that to the orientation?” she asked in an attempt to change the subject, and nodded to my Led Zeppelin shirt. As she stared her expression grew dubious. I wasn’t a size zero blonde cheerleader, but I wasn’t anything to sneeze at. Still, it seemed she was more interested in the strange, presumably satanic writing scrawled across my chest than my
chest itself. At least I hoped so.
“Sure, what’s wrong with it?” I asked, my raised eyebrows practically daring her to say it. In those days, I had fun antagonizing girls like Missy. They were all for preaching peace and acceptance and knew they should lead by example. Despite that philosophy, quite often the synapses just didn’t connect the saying to the doing, especially once Sunday was over.
“Well, it’s just that…we don’t really wear stuff like that here. What’s ‘Stairway to
Heaven,’ anyway?”
“You’ve never heard of that?” I blanched and slid my bag under the bed. “Oh, wow, Missy; you’ve never heard that song? I mean, it’s ‘Stairway to Heaven!’ It’s like one of the best Christian rock songs ever, all about God’s forgiveness and salvation and stuff! You have to climb the Stairway to Heaven if you’re gonna be saved, right?”
I could see her ticking through her mental Bible retention in the silence that followed. Luckily, most Sunday school lessons focus on the same ten to twelve stories over and over again. It was one advantage of being a pastor’s kid – I could do far more than hold my own in a fight over the Bible, though I hated to get into those types of arguments. No one ever won and it wasn’t about the book or spirituality, itself, but about proving that you were right. No thank you.
“Yeah, I think I remember reading that somewhere. I’ll have to go looking for that song…though Led Zeppelin doesn’t really sound like a Christian group.”
I shook my head in pity. “C’mon Missy, you’re forgetting where it talks about the absence of faith causing one to descend from salvation with the strength of a zeppelin crafted from lead,” I went on, more and more amazed when she nodded somberly. That was the trouble with all the new, watered-down translations; for all I knew there was a verse that had been
retranslated as such.
“You’re so right, Layla. You’re so, so right,” Missy nodded and placed one of her perfectly-manicured hands on my shoulder. She looked like she was nearly in tears, moved as she was. “I’m so glad you’re my bunkmate.” I followed her numbly towards Harmony Hall.

Buy Knocking Down Heaven’s Door at:
No Boundaries Press