Monday, November 13, 2017

Release Blitz - Carolina Bad Boys for Life + Giveaway!

Title: Carolina Bad Boys for Life
(The Series Epilogue)
Series: Carolina Bad Boys #7
Author: Rie Warren
Genre: MC Romance
Release Date: November 13, 2017

Sometimes a Bad Boy can be good for a girl.

Finale of Carolina Bad Boys—the hot southern MC series readers have lusted after! 

The epic series epilogue includes all new original content from Stone to Chrome, featuring all the usual suspects, plus many, many more characters you won’t even expect. 

One big sexily-every-after for the entire crew. ’Nuff said.

Rainblow of Love 

Frankie and Preston 

 HEY, SEXY. PRESTON WALKED into the kitchen, fresh from his workout at the gym. Preston Legare, so posh. My downtown boy toy. In low-hanging shorts and a loose shirt he pulled up to wipe across his face. 

Baring carved abs, the thin trail of hair, and an indent of muscles that led to a cock I built frickin’ fantasies around. He looked fucking fine in one of my natty tailored suits. Even better naked. 

But I had to admit, the sweaty, ruffled, flushed-face look he had workin’ for him right now reminded me of the way he looked after I’d fucked him hard and put him up wet. 

Mmmm. A man could get used to that kind of thing. That’s Eye-talian sex god to you. I leaned into him, drawing his lips to mine with enough wetness and suction to make Preston groan before I turned back to the stove. 

The kitchen smelled divine, and I’d been cooking all afternoon for him. My mother’s famous cioppino, Caesar salad, crispy bread I’d made from scratch. Loved spoiling my man.

We lived in a restored carriage house in one of the finer spots of the French Quarter, Charleston, SC. A nice walk through scenic cobbled streets to my shop. Not that we couldn’t afford more. 

Being a mostly retired hit man and former Mafia enforcer, as well as a bespoke tailor . . . I was flush. And Preston, the executive assistant extraordinaire, wasn’t hurting for money, neither. 

But the place was private, quiet, and we had our own courtyard where I liked to fuck the holy hell out of him whenever the weather was warm enough, which was often. 

Why don’t you go take a shower then put your feet up? After you pour me a glass of wine. You going to join me? Preston turned me to him, pressing his fine body against me. Frisky? Madon’. I loved it when he rubbed all over me. 

Tight bod. Perfect hair. Nice cock. Great—fucking great—ass. I was tempted to get all sudsy and wet with him, but I needed to finish cooking in the kitchen before I cooked somewhere else. Capisce?  

Gotta decline that offer, babe. Why? Do we have plans tonight?” He kissed me, doing that crazy good thing with his tongue—which was pierced—that drove me absolutely up the wall. Nada, my voice rumbled out, way huskier than before.  

Do you have plans tonight?” He stiffened, and not in the good way. What’s that supposed to mean? My nerves were already a little on edge, and I stared at him. You’ve been acting sneaky lately. His eyes turned brittle and hard. 

What’s gotten your jockstrap in a twist all of a sudden? Preston grunted—a sound of sheer annoyance—and pushed against my chest. Jesus fuggin’ Christ, amante. You accusin’ me of something here? Crossing my arms over my chest, I stood my ground as he went all pit bull on me. 

I want to know who else you’re screwing! Complete and utter shock ranged through me. Quickly followed by a burst of anger. You’re on my cock so much, when am I supposed to have time to find a random fuck buddy?  

That’s all I am? A fuck buddy. Your flamer fag? Your backdoor boyfriend? My eyes widened with every word he said, insecurity oozing off him—Preston—the most self-confident man I knew. 

 Will you shut those gorgeous blowjob lips for just one second? Madon’, and I’m the one who’s supposed to have a temper. M’I right? 

Feeling Steele 

 Brodie and Ashe  


All the finer things in life. And the scent of Ashe—a little spicy, a little sweet—the finest thing in life. Back at Myrtle Beach Bike Week, in the Suck Bang Blow Roadhouse. The place we’d started. And in no way whatsoever the ending. 

With Boomer and Rayce on babysitting detail—Cara, now twelve, scoffed at the term baby—Ashe and I had complete freedom to ride when we wanted, party when we wanted . . . and more importantly fuck when we wanted.  

As the music grew louder and the commotion more raucous in the saloon-type bar, I set our beers aside, pulling my gorgeous wife into the mad mix on the dance floor. I chose a rock ballad so I could hold my woman tight and close.  

Too many roughnecks had been leering at her like she was free game, regardless of the fact I kept a very possessive arm around her at all times. Not that I hadn’t gotten my fair share of obvious looks that were nothing short of invitations to hook up and get raunchy. 

I wasn’t interested in gettin’ raunchy with anyone but my missus. Securing Ashe against me, I moved with her to the song, cradling her pelvis with my groin, her tits against my chest. My hands slid to her waist, the strip of bare skin beneath her T-shirt soft as silk and way more tantalizing. 

The damn T—bearing a Triumph logo—was an old one she’d slashed to bare even more tempting flashes of skin. And her nipples poked the thin material, bra clearly not in evidence.  

Fancy meeting you here, Detective. Her pretty eyes flickered up, sparkling with mischief. Want me to pat you down? Most definitely. I hitched her closer by the seat of her ass, grinding my cock against her. 

 I remember how much you liked it the first time. Her hands roamed to my back and up to my shoulders, drawing her firm body even tighter to mine. Her lips skimmed along my throat, and her tongue tickled my earlobe.  

But my attention was caught by some asshole ogling her ass. I cursed in a harsh tone. What? Ashe asked. I don’t like all these schmucks staring at you like they wanna take you for a ride. And not on their bikes. 

I hadn’t noticed, she murmured with a sultry smile that said she’d definitely noticed. Bullshit. Mmmm. Her lips curved even more. What? I bit out the word between my teeth like I was gnawing on rawhide.  

I love your eyes. Tryin’ to change the subject. I dragged her infinitesimally closer. And my eyes ain’t the only thing you love. Ashe kissed the other side of my throat all the way up to my jawline. You’re not wrong.  

The dancing continued, grinding, rocking, touching . . . kissing. If we were horizontal we’d be fucking. In fact, if I had a wall to press her against we’d be fucking. 

Are you gonna give me some steel later? Her hand reached between us, one lone fingertip traipsing lazily along the thick rod of my cock until she must’ve felt the Prince Albert piercing in the blunt engorged head of my dick.  

Give you some right now if you wanna head out to the parking lot. No joke there. Ashe, with her rocking body—so fuckin’ fit. Blonde hair and all the earrings and the tiger lily tat I kept getting glimpses of through the tattered T-shirt. 

Skin glistening. Wearing ripped jeans plastered to her legs. One frayed tear so close to a plump ass cheek I kept tilting my head to get a better look. Detective Ashe Kingston-Steele was definitely off duty for the weekend. 

We danced through another few songs, sexual heat radiating between us. I ordered a couple more beers, hoping to cool down. But that was impossible. Nothing would cool the fire running through my body, the fire caused by Ashe.  

Always, always Ashe. Later we watched some drunk tool on the mechanical Harley—just like a mechanical bull but for bikers—with Ashe plastered against my front, her ass nestling my dick. I’m up next. She grinned over her shoulder at me.  

I swear to fuck, if any dick hole starts throwing dollar bills at you, I’m draggin’ you to our hotel room and fucking you through the wall. I can’t wait. She flicked a saucy smile my way as she sauntered toward the ring. 

Growling, I tried to keep the jealousy to a dull roar when she lasted on the mechanical Harley past the sixty-second mark. She drew an ever-increasing crowd of shouting, salivating bozos.  

Her tits bounced all around, thighs flexing, hair lashing back and forth. She finally got knocked off, and I was right there to help her out of the ring, holding her against my chest to the sound of roaring cheers. Making it clear she’s mine. 

 Oh, stop looking like I just ran over Twatson with my motorcycle. She linked her arms around my neck, mentioning the cat otherwise known as Watson. Besides, who am I going home with? Me. I acceded, grudgingly. 

And who’ve I been going home to, and with, for years? Me. I brought her hand to my lips, kissing the engagement and wedding bands then the heart of her palm. Are you taking me back to the hotel now? She hit me with flirty eyes.  

Most definitely. I guided her through the tangle of people, the MCs out in full force from all over the country. Even the parking lot heaved with folks continuing the party outside amid lines and lines chrome horses, hogs, and choppers. 

 Race ya! Ashe challenged, straddling her dope Triumph.


(the book within the book from Stone)

Rie is the badass, sassafras author of Sugar Daddy and the Don’t Tell series–a breakthrough trilogy that crosses traditional publishing boundaries beginning with In His Command. Some of her latest endeavors include the Carolina Bad Boys and Bad Boys of Retribution MC series. 

A Yankee transplant who has traveled the world, Rie started out a writer—causing her college professor to blush over her erotic poetry without one ounce of shame. Not much has changed. 

She swapped pen for paintbrushes and followed her other love during her twenties. From art school to marriage to children and many a wild and wonderful journey in between, Rie has come home to her calling. Her work has been called edgy, daring, and some of the sexiest smut around. 

Stay up to date with Rie by signing up for her Newsletter!

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