ITS LIVE and ONLY 99CENTS!!!! WET by RUTH CLAMPETT.... EXCERPT inside**

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Book Summary   Hi Everyone! My name is Paul and I’m a recovering sex addict... Paul McNeill loves sex. Good sex. Bad sex. Oral sex. Any kind of sex. You name it; he loves it. But Paul's biggest passion is his greatest flaw. As a recovering sex addict, he's been abstaining and managing his addiction for over two years. Now, all he wants is to fall in love and find that certain someone he can settle down with. But when he finds himself on his knees on Elle Jacoby’s damp lawn, he knows there's going to be trouble. Elle quickly becomes Paul's biggest challenge yet. She's instantly set him ablaze while he begs to be hosed down. As he gets to know her more, the flames burn even hotter. How can he resist a hot divorcee who's amped up to have all the fun she's missed?

Excerpt    “So is sex really all that matters to you?” I ask Elle. She glides her fingers along the curve of the beer bottle before looking up at me with a coy smile. “Maybe it won’t be when I finally get some that’s satisfying.” Oh, good Lord. How much restraint can one man be expected to have? I let out a sigh of regret. “Well, I’d love to help you out but I don’t do casual sex. Been there, done that.” I square my shoulders after making my declaration. After almost two years of following my abstinence program, I can say I’m confident I’ve moved on from my sex-obsessed ways, but it still makes me cringe with a sense of loss after the words leave my lips. She pounds her fists on the table. “My timing is always shit. So if I’d met you during your been there period you would’ve screwed me?” “Without a doubt. Screwed is too simple of a word for all the things I would have done to you.” I take a deep breath and glance over my shoulder at the kitchen layout. “I’d have you bent over your kitchen island as we fucked, or your legs would be wrapped around me as I took you against that wall.” “You’re killing me here! Are you good in bed?” “Good?” I smile, remembering those days. “That wasn’t the adjective most women used. What do you think?”                “My guess is a big fat yes.” Leaning back, I stretch out my legs under the table. “Let’s just say, back in the day . . . I’m not ashamed to say I did all right.” She huffs and folds her arms over her chest. “I bet you did. And I bet you have a big cock too.” Good Lord, no more beer for her. My eyes roll back. “You’ve got a filthy mouth.” “So what. Do you?” “Have a big cock? Is this information you really need to know?” She looks down under the table. “Ha! You’ve got big feet!” Jesus, this woman. “And you’re so tall.” She grabs my hand. “And you’ve got thick fingers. You know what they say . . .” I watch her trail her fingers over mine as she gives me a sultry wink. I lean over, and whisper into her ear, “I’ve got a huge cock.” She looks drunk with lust as she bites her lip. “Hung like a horse?” she whispers. “Yep.” “Oh for God’s sake.” She scoots her chair closer. “Show me.” Her eyes are twinkling, yet it’s hard to tell if she’s teasing or not. “Yeah, sure.” I take a long draw from my second beer. “Come on,” she presses, seeming hopeful. “I can’t.” “Why not?”                “Well, besides the fact that that would be a complete violation of my new lifestyle, I’m hard right now. I don’t want to scare you, Elle.” “Ooo,” she moans. Her cheeks grow pink as she picks at the label on her beer bottle. She tries to peek under the table. “So are you really hard, or are you messing with me?” “Maybe. Maybe not.” I wink at her and set down my beer. “But I’ve got to go. I’ve got another client’s system to check out, since I’m the sprinkler man and all.”

BLOG TOUR with EXCERPT TEASERS & GIVEAWAY!!!!!!! WET by STACY KESTWICK

Title: Wet Author: Stacy Kestwick 

 Genre: Contemporary Romance 

Series: Water's Edge (Book 1)

 

 Doughnuts were her weakness. If Sadie Mullins hadn’t been running on the beach to burn off the calories from her doughnut addiction, she wouldn’t have noticed the man not moving out in the water. Wouldn’t have dived in after him. Wouldn’t have met West Montgomery. The cocky bastard should have been thankful, grateful even. Of course, he wasn’t. That should have been the end of it. Of course, it wasn’t. Damn doughnuts.

   

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Our second date kind of sucked. Yeah, it was fun to sit on a barstool and stare at West and watch his ass shake when he mixed cocktails and bent over to scoop up grog. It was far less amusing watching all the ladies, and I use that term loosely, offer themselves up to him as not-so-virgin sacrifices. The Wreck clearly did not have self-respect on tap. I sighed as a girl just happened to spill her drink down her shirt. A sheer white tank top. Her big doe eyes widened as she pressed the cocktail napkin to her breast, rubbing at the damp spot until her nipple hardened. Oh, look! West had more napkins to save the day. How nice. West sent me a pained look and rolled his eyes. The girl looked barely legal as it was. It was like a guppy taunting a shark. Stupid girl. Sharks like to chase their prey. Needing a break from all the calculated desperation clogging the bar area, I escaped to the bathroom. The stall I picked had a working lock — thank God for small favors — and I forced myself to take a deep cleansing breath as I sat there. Okay, yeah, that was poor planning on my part, since the bathroom reeked of covert cigarettes, drugstore perfume, and stale urine, but it was the thought that counted. Like the rest of the bar, the bathroom was covered in graffiti. I never understood how people always just seemed to have Sharpies handy when they felt like marking their territory. I looked over the scribbled messages that peppered the wall. Ohmygod — West lives up to the hype, every inch of it! <3 Jaymie Wyatt is mine 4ever. The mine had been crossed out and Kim’s was written above it. Right below that it said, Kim’s a slut-faced hoebag. Huh, eloquent. Several seemed to echo the popular sentiment, West is so hot. I spotted a bubble-lettered, Theo is a sweetheart, which probably wasn’t what he was hoping the girls bathroom said about him, considering the other notes about male anatomy it was tucked between. But what started to piss me off was the drawing of an erect cock with the words, West and life-sized scrawled next to it. Other inscriptions saying, agreed! and totally! and yum! had arrows pointing to the image. The artist was accurate too. Whoever the slut-faced hoebag was. I did a quick survey of the other wall of the cramped stall and saw my date for the evening was the star attraction and, boy, did he shine. Just as I started to flush and rearrange my bikini bottoms under my dress, I heard two sets of footsteps echo off the stained concrete floor. “Amber, did you see that hopeless blonde that’s been hovering at the bar all night? I think West feels bad for her or something, he keeps going to check on her.” “Yeah, but I asked him about it. He said she was his date!” Her sarcastic tone conveyed how ridiculous she considered that. They snickered and the sound of running water gurgling in the sink did little to muffle their words. I stilled, shamelessly eavesdropping. “She doesn’t even look like she’s taken a shower today.” “I know! And her skin looks creepy under the lights! Maybe West had too many shots or something tonight. He has better standards than that. It’s an insult to all of us who’ve come before her.” They dissolved into laughter, and the water turned off. “Let’s try offering him a combo. He’s gone for it before.” “Mmm, you know I love a good BOGO deal, Tipper. It’s worth a try. I think his date’s disappeared anyway. She must have gotten the hint.” Their laughter faded and a hollow thunk of the door closing signaled their exit. Wow. Just — wow. My mind whirled, and I was annoyed I hadn’t been able to see them through the crack between the stall door and the wall. How many other girls out there had already screwed my West? I made a face as I flushed the toilet, berating myself for letting things with him go past a quick fuck-and-duck. I finished adjusting my admittedly wrinkled dress, opened the stall door with more force than necessary, and peered at myself in the crappy mirror. What the hell had that slut said about my skin? Oh. Oh! I looked down at my arm, pressed the fingers of my other hand onto my skin, and let go. Five fingerprints glowed white before returning to an angry, lobster-red hue. The skin around my eyes seemed okay, thanks to the protection my gold-rimmed aviators had provided, but the rest of me looked almost fluorescent, like a raccoon in reverse. My hair was crinkled like old straw, frizzed and barely contained by my sad excuse for a braid. I might have been so caught up in West earlier that I had forgotten sunscreen. And to look in a mirror once we got off the boat. Maybe. Possibly. No wonder those girls had been mocking me. I looked like a hot mess. Like, roasted. Running a cautious fingertip over my shoulder, the tenderness of my skin confirmed the extent of my sunburn. I needed to roll like a pig in a puddle of aloe, stat. The time had come to call this date a failure and make a quick exit, only I didn’t have my Wrangler. We’d dropped off the dog and picnic supplies at West’s place and come straight here in his oversized truck. Twisting to see the back of my head, I finger combed my hair as best I could, letting it fall around my face to try to hide my Ray-Ban tan lines. Then I took the coward’s way out and sent West a text that I wasn’t feeling well and was taking a cab back home. Slipping my tote bag over my shoulder, I skirted the perimeter of the bar, escaping out the front doors without looking back. I was standing on the front sidewalk and searching for the number of the cab company on my phone when it was suddenly snatched right out of my hands. I gasped, taking a step back, and tucked my bag to my side. “Running away?” How the fuck had West gotten out of there so fast? I dropped my gaze and let my hair hide my eyes, trying to disguise the worst of the damage. “Yeah, I think I got a little too much sun,” I mumbled, not wanting to meet his eyes. Even though it was after eight, the sun was just beginning its descent, and there was still plenty of daylight. He hooked my hip with his hand and tugged me closer. Using his free hand, he tipped my chin up, exposing my face. Eyes widening, he touched my cheek with the tip of his finger, wincing as he removed it. “Shit, Sadie, you’ve got to be in pain. Hold on, let me tell Wyatt I’ve got to get you home.” I snorted. “Wouldn’t you rather stay here? I’m sure there are other toys you can play with instead.” “What the fuck are you talking about?” “Amber and Tipper would be more than willing to entertain you tonight. Together.” West glanced toward the bar then back at me, annoyance splashed across his face. He moved closer, invading my personal space, and loomed over me, his eyes flashing gray storm clouds, but I stood my ground, refusing to step back. “I’m two inches from the person I want to be with tonight. Two inches. And I’d be happy to erase those two inches if you’re still not clear on that.”

    

 

 

I’m a Southern girl who firmly believes mornings should be outlawed. My perfect day would include lounging on a hammock with a good book, carbohydrates, and the people around me randomly breaking into choreographed song and dance routines. It would not include bacon, cleaning, or anything requiring patience.

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COVER REVEAL with EXCERPT TEASERS & GIVEAWAY!!! WET by STACY KESTWICK

Title: Wet Author: Stacy Kestwick 

Genre: Contemporary Romance

 Release Date: May 7

   

  

 Doughnuts were her weakness. If Sadie Mullins hadn’t been running on the beach to burn off the calories from her doughnut addiction, she wouldn’t have noticed the man not moving out in the water. Wouldn’t have dived in after him. Wouldn’t have met West Montgomery. The cocky bastard should have been thankful, grateful even. Of course, he wasn’t. That should have been the end of it. Of course, it wasn’t. Damn doughnuts.

    

 

 

I woke up slowly to the sound of panting. Hot, damp air was puffing rhythmically against my face. When something wet poked my cheek a few seconds later, I jerked away reflexively. Confused, I cracked my eyes open blearily and staring back at me were saddest, droopiest brown eyes I had ever seen. What the hell? I smothered a scream and struggled to sit up in bed. Blinking against the sledgehammer banging in my skull, I fell back to my elbow and realized two things at once. One, I knew those eyes. General Beauregard was staring back at me forlornly, opening his mouth in a huge yawn, drool stretching between his jowls. Two, I was most definitely not in my own bed. Looking down to see a tattooed arm draped over my hips, I was slower to realize the most important fact. I wasn’t alone in the bed either. The arm moved into a stretch, and the man next to me yawned too. West. My elbow fell out from under me, and I laid on my back staring at the ceiling, trying to force my sluggish brain to work. What the fuck happened when I left Grady’s? West leaned over me to rub General Beauregard’s ears. “Morning, boy. You ready to go out?” West’s voice was a raspy rumble that resonated through me. His bare chest pressed against my left side, and if I lifted myself up the smallest fraction, I’d be able to lick his shoulder. I closed my eyes against the temptation and took a deep breath. I smelled soap, salt, and citrus. I smelled West. I swallowed back a moan. General Beauregard let out a soft whine of pure bliss and laid his head heavily against me. When I turned to glance at him, his tongue swiped my cheek and his tail thumped against the floor. West laughed softly and gave the dog one last pat. “I know, buddy. She does look good first thing in the morning.” My cheeks warmed. And other parts of me did too. His arm brushed against my breasts as he pulled it back, and my nipples budded in response. He flipped back the covers on his side and padded quietly across the room to a set of sliding glass doors, opening one enough so that the hound slipped out. The sunrise peeked over the ocean through the glass, but it barely registered before my eyes returned to West. He stood looking out the door in just a pair of boxer briefs. He was all golden skin and lean, ropy muscle and a tight, tight ass hugged by some thin black fabric. I was jealous of that fabric. As he turned back to face me, the grooved definition of his abs was on display, his torso narrowing to a tempting V before disappearing. My eyes dropped lower, taking in the prominent bulge in his shorts. Maybe I was still dreaming. That would explain everything but the jackhammer in my skull. The light dimmed as he drew the curtains and shut out the light. Slipping back into bed and covering his lower half back up, he turned on his side and faced me, one arm tunneling under the pillow beneath his head, the other resting between us. I stared at his fingers and tried to focus. I dida quick inventory of my body. My head was pounding, but the darkened room helped. My stomach was clenching, but I blamed that more on the view than the hangover. I tensed my legs experimentally. My thighs felt… fine. Not sore at all. What did that mean? Had the sex been bad? Or maybe he had been like Jared, and the act had been over so fast that my muscles never even got a workout. “Coffee,” I croaked, turning away from him. I couldn’t be expected to think clearly without coffee. I sat up on the side of the bed and swayed dizzily for a moment. Jesus Christ, my head. Looking down, I saw I was only wearing one of the logoed bar shirts from the Wreck and my underwear. My cutoffs were on the floor near the end of the bed and I slid them on quickly, grateful for the oversized length of the shirt. Without looking back, I slipped from the room, figuring the kitchen couldn’t be that hard to find. Sure enough, it was just down the hall and to the right. I pushed my wild hair out of my face and squinted around the too-bright room. Morning light filtered through curtainless windows and glinted off the oversized stainless steel fridge. I reached for my wrist, but apparently my hair tie had disappeared along with the rest of my clothes. Coffee. I smelled it. I had to be close. Turning around farther, I spotted it. Just past the retro enamel toaster, a glass pot sat beneath the small coffee maker, filled halfway with steaming brown liquid gold. . I plucked a cup out of the sink, not caring if it was clean or dirty, and filled it to the brim. Leaning back against the counter, I inhaled deeply, trying to expel the smell of West from my mind. As I took my first tentative sip, Wyatt walked into the room, wearing only board shorts. I swallowed the wrong way, coughing and sputtering before setting the cup down behind me, my lungs burning. What was it about these guys that messed with my basic ability to breathe properly? And what the fuck was Wyatt doing here? Wyatt reached around me to pour himself a cup. “Mornin’,” he said, smiling at me knowingly, his eyes running down the length of my body. I stared at him in dawning horror. Oh. My. God. Did I have a threesome last night?

  

    

 

 I’m a Southern girl who firmly believes mornings should be outlawed. My perfect day would include lounging on a hammock with a good book, carbohydrates, and the people around me randomly breaking into choreographed song and dance routines. It would not include bacon, cleaning, or anything requiring patience.

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