Wednesday, September 28, 2016

Waterloo Heroes #2 Call of the Wild Wind by Sabrina York

Call of the Wild Wind
By Sabrina York
Though the world is convinced that Lady Britannia Halsey’s fiancé perished on the fields of Waterloo, she is certain he is still alive. And she is determined to find him…before her twenty-fifth birthday.

When the Earl of Wick sees a portrait of her beloved Peter, and claims he looks just like a wounded warrior working on his highland estate, it only seems logical to hie off to Scotland and meet this man. 

To Britannia’s annoyance, she finds herself traveling with the Annoying Earl of Wick, a man who is far too attractive for her peace of mind. A man determined to seduce her…


Britannia gulped. The command had utterly thrown her for a loop.
Undress him?
How strange that a curl of excitement whipped through her belly. She resolved, however, to be as aloof and blasé as he, and stepped behind him to help him shed his coat.
A frisson of restlessness, a coil of tension shot through her at the sight of this man in his shirtsleeves. This was a shockingly intimate tableau. She reminded herself she was his servant and there was nothing more to it. But when he turned around, so she could untie his cravat, she began to shake.
She drew in a deep breath and began working the knot.
All the while, he glared at her with a muscle pulsing in his cheek. Surely she was not so clumsy or slow to deserve that.
When she began on his buttons, he snarled something that sounded like, “Never mind,” and turned away to finish the job himself.
It wasn’t wrong for her to watch.
She was a valet, after all.
And, frankly, she was curious.
Besides, it wasn’t as though she hadn’t seen plenty of naked men in her day. If one counted today.
But oh. That frightening and dismal experience had done nothing to prepare her for this. As Charles pulled off his linen shirt, and his bronzed back was revealed, she nearly swallowed her tongue. Mr. Cole-Winston had not had muscles like that, muscles that bunched and rippled when he moved. Mr. Cole-Winston had not had a bottom like that, either. Charles’ bum was beautifully formed and tight. His legs were long and thick and, all things considered, rather intriguing.
She tried not to stare, but could not help herself.
Had she really thought naked men were hideous?
This one was like an Elgin marble. Perfect. A Greek God.
As he shed the last of his clothing, and Charles turned to the side to step into the tub, it almost seemed as though he was shielding his most private parts from her, which was, all in all, a disappointment.
Everyone knew the most interesting part of an Elgin marble was the—
“Well?” he barked as he sloshed into the water.
“Well what?”
He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Are you going to wash my back?”
Wash his back? Touch him? She gulped. Dare she?
She tipped her head to the side. “If you wish.”
“I do so.” He waved to the cloth and soap Will had left on the table and she gathered them up and then slowly made her way to his side.
She didn’t even try to peek over his shoulder into the water.
Unfortunately, it was murky.
Or fortunately. Depending on one’s point of view.
Gingerly, Britannia dipped the cloth into the water and made a lather and then began scrubbing Charles’ back.
This was, again, a new experience for her. And again, a surprising delight. His skin was warm and smooth. His muscles were finely formed. She found she enjoyed washing him very much.
He, however, did not seem to enjoy it at all. His muscles were tense and he moved restlessly as she worked away on his back.
“Would you like me to wash your hair?” she asked.
“No,” he snapped, though there was no call for snapping.
“Shall I wash your front as well?”
He whipped around and frowned at her, then snatched the cloth away. “No.”
“What would you like me to do?”
She did not understand the consternation on his face. Really she didn’t. And…why did he look as though he was in pain?
“Just turn around.”
An odd command, but she did so, and then she heard him rise from the water. Her gaze flicked to the mirror and she froze as she caught a glimpse of…
Good. Glory.
He was magnificent.
And he was aroused.
She knew enough about the way of the world to spot that right off.
But why would he be aroused by his valet?
Oh dear. She’d heard about that, too.
She peered at him over her shoulder as he dried himself with the towel and dressed in what he assumed was semi-privacy. Oh, he was a beautiful man.
Why should it matter to her if he preferred young valets over ladies of the ton? It wasn’t as though the two of them had any kind of future. But somehow it did matter, and the fact that it did matter irritated her greatly. And made her sad.
Which was ridiculous.
She was in love with Peter.
She had no business wanting any other man. Most specifically, him.
He turned around without warning, catching her gaze on him, and he frowned. “This was a mistake,” he said.
“I beg your pardon, milord?”
His lips twisted bitterly. He raked his fingers through his hair. “Oh leave off, Britannia. I know it’s you.”
Shock whipped through her. Her knees wobbled and she sat with a plop on the bed. “What?”
“I know it’s you. How could I not know it’s you? How could any man not know it’s you?”
Well, blast. She put out a lip. “When did you realize?”
“Really?” He tipped his head to the side and gaped at her. “The first bluidy moment I saw you by the mail coach.”
“You did not know then! How could you?”
He snorted a laugh. “Because I’ve met you? I know your face. Your expressions. Your smile.”
“Why on earth did you pretend you did not?”
He snorted again; this one was not a laugh. “I thought to teach you a lesson.”
She couldn’t help it. She chuckled.
He was not amused.
“You thought to teach me a lesson?” How adorable. “Is that why you made me fetch and carry for you?”
“You hardly fetched or carried anything.”
“I intended to. That counts for something. And you’re the one who stormed downstairs all growly and rude.”
“Rude? Rude? I was worried about you. You disappeared and didn’t return.”
“I was right there in the—”
“Oh, yes. I heard the songs they were singing. What do you think your father would say if he knew you’d been exposed to such language?”
She batted her lashes. “He would probably think you were the one who exposed me to it.”
It was wrong of her to be amused by his chagrin. Or not.
“I was the one who saved you from a brigand and don’t you forget it.”
There was no call for finger shaking.
“I won’t forget it. I am certain my father will be very appreciative.” She frowned at him. “Would you mind finishing?” Not that she didn’t appreciate the glorious expanse of his chest, but it was a trifle distracting.
She waved at his person. “You are undone.”
Why he muttered, “You have no idea,” was a mystery. But he did make an effort to do up his buttons, though he got them wrong.
“So,” she huffed. “What do we do now?”
His gaze snapped to hers and his face went a little red and that muscle in his cheek began bunching again. “I…what?”
“Are you sending me back to London?” Might as well throw it out there. But she wasn’t going. If she had to, she would slip out in the night like a wraith and find some other means of making her way to Wick.
He huffed a breath and collapsed into the chair. “We both know how that would end up, don’t we?”
“Do we?” She widened her eyes in an attempt to look innocent. He was not fooled.
“At this point, it is better for you to travel with me, where you will be safe. Though we will need to hire a companion.”
“A companion? Whatever for?”
“You are a lady, remember?”
“Within the last week, I’ve been a boy and a valet. That seems to have worked out fine.”
“Has it?” He leaned forward and pinned her with a glare. “What do you think would have happened if I had not come along when I did this morning?”
She sniffed. “There is no need to belabor the point. I believe I did thank you.”
“In point of fact, you did not—”
“Well, thank you—”
“But your gratitude, or lack thereof, is hardly at issue here. You were in dire danger of being—”
“Being what?”
“Ravaged.” He scrubbed his face with his palms. “Can you imagine what could have happened?”
“I was prepared to protect myself.”
For some reason, her declaration did not appease him. “Really? And how would you have done that?”
She sat up straight and tipped up her chin. “Caesar has taught me to box.”
“Oh bluidy hell.”
“And I know where a man is most…vulnerable.”
“That you do.”
Again, she did not understand his insinuation. “Regardless, it seems perfectly obvious to me. We shall travel together to Wick, but there is no need for a companion. I can continue posing as your valet.”
“Wandering around strange inns and flirting with the stable boys?”
“I was not flirting!”
“It looked like that to me.”
“Will and I were simply being friendly.”
“And we all know where that leads, do we not?”
“Balderdash.” She turned away and stared at the door. “One would think you were jealous, the way you are carrying on.”
“Jealous?” A roar. One that shook the room. “To be jealous, I would have to want you for myself.”
The silence that fell, following his pronouncement, was a deafening one. Slowly, she turned and looked at him.
His eyes burned. His face was a mask. His hands were closed into fists.
And she saw it there. On his face, in his expression.
An unholy thrill rose up within her. Because there, in that moment, all thoughts of Peter faded. No man existed but this one. This large, perfectly-formed, glorious specimen. And she realized that her impatience with him, her restlessness in his presence all along, had been speaking to one thing and one thing only.
She desired him, this man who was not her betrothed.
It was really something of a surprise, but not nearly as surprising as the realization that he wanted her as well.
He stood and prowled across the room. He stopped just short of her, touching her with nothing but his breath.
“Britannia, I am trying to be an honorable man.”
She stood as well and faced him, toe-to-toe. “The way an honorable man pretends not to recognize a lady in distress so he can use her as his servant?”
“I think I explained, I was trying to teach you a lesson.”
“Which is so very flattering really. Women love it when men show them their place.”
“It was not meant like that and you know it.”
“Do I?”
“Goddamn it, Britannia…”
“Such language. Whatever would my father say?”
“I believe he would say you are in need of a spanking.”
Her eyes widened. Outrage swelled. If he even tried, she would saw him open with the butter knife. “You are something of a beast, you know.”
“I am a Scot,” he snarled. “What else would you expect?”
Well, there was no answer for that.
But then, he didn’t expect one.
Rather, he took that last step toward her, yanked her into his arms, and kissed her.
It was not a gentle, demure or respectful kiss. Not in the slightest. It was like the wild wind on the moors. A crashing tumult of a storm at sea.
And it was mind-boggling.

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Tuesday, September 27, 2016

#Regency Romps Box Set by @CeriseDeland #99cents for limited time #romance

99 cents for limited time! BUY LINK: Amazon
Cerise DeLand debuts her box set of 3 novels in her Regency Romps series at 99 Cents on Kindle Unlimited for a very limited time!

This box set stars a group of men who have worked together, fought together and now, they band together to ensure every man attains the love of the woman he adores.  Don’t miss this exciting collection of three novels by this #1 bestselling Regency author, Cerise DeLand!

BUY LINK: Amazon

Lady Varney’s Risqué Business, Book 1
When a proper lady of the ton takes on a new client in her matchmaking business, she discovers he has one risqué demand. Spend the night with him!

Rendezvous with a Duke, Book 2
Anna Fournier secludes herself, scandal staining her family name and all her prospects for anonymity, employment and even love. But one afternoon she plays her newest composition in a piano shop—and one man who cannot forget her decides to right the wrong done her years ago.

Masquerade with a Marquess
She wanted to find her family’s stolen treasures. He wanted to avoid caring for her again. But together, they found more than treasure. They discovered love that had endured decades of war and loss.

Excerpt from LADY VARNEY’s RISQUE BUSINESS: Copyright 2016, Cerise DeLand. All rights reserved.
   Kitty glanced toward her friend Lucy and the smile wreathing the bride’s face made Kitty understand the full meaning of the word envy. “You’ve seen the scandal sheets? How someone found my fan in the pantry?”
    Justin nodded, looked horrid. “The gossip du jour.”
    She clutched her stomach. “Do not make light of this.”
    “Sorry, darling. I should have seen it there before I left, but I was in such a rush, I didn’t.”
    She reached out and squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry, too. I should have had my wits about me. But I—”
    “I was the same.” His gaze was consoling and incredibly sympathetic. “Undone. Wanting you.”
    She inhaled, sat back. He was so kind, so sweet, so unlike Henry. “Tell me what happened after I left the pantry.”
    “I cleaned up the glass. Found a kitchen maid who hailed the butler. Then I apologized and offered to purchase new glassware.”
   “But how did you explain why we—you were there?”
   Justin shrugged. “I lost my way in the house.”
  “He believed you?”
  “I thought so.”
  They stared at each other for a long moment in which she expressed more gratitude with her eyes than with her words. “As soon as someone connects the broken glassware to my fan, we will be done for.”
  “Not if you marry me, we won’t.”
  “Do not begin that again.” She warned beneath her breath.
  “I must.”
  “Why?” she asked him, stood and said, “I must find the ladies’ retiring room. Excuse me.”
  She made her way out of the dining room, but Justin was hard on her heels.
  In the hall, she spun on him and stamped her foot. “Following me is so obvious. Go away.”
  "No. You must listen to me. About the roses.”
   She put her hands to her ears and strode down the hall.
   In two steps, he pulled her from her chosen path and swung her into the family library. Pressing her against a stack of books, he braced his hands on either side of her head.
   Blocked, she fumed and fussed. “Say what you will and let me go.”
   He arched his brows. “I want to tell you about your roses.”
  “Your roses.”
  “Not mine. Yours.”
  “They have sprung their first blooms now,” he said, undeterred  by her testiness. “Rich reds and creamy whites. They have grown, changed. They need more space to mature. Some must be transplanted soon.”
   His declaration melted a cold, hard part of her resistance. She wanted to sob, run, be done here.   “They must be lovely.”
    “They won’t be for long.” He caught a teardrop from her cheekbone.
    “They need someone to tend them properly.”
    “You have a gardener.” She sniffed.
    “I have no wife. And I need one, my darling. I need you.” He wrapped his hand around her nape and sank his fingers up against her scalp. His lips brushed hers.
   “I’m not a good bet, you know I’m not.” And there is your uncle’s demand for a rich heiress.
   “You married an old man and endured him. Marry a young man and enjoy him.” He kissed her then, his tongue darting inside to tantalize her with the promise of a different life.
   “I want you. I do,” she told him. “But I cannot take the chance.”
   “That I’d berate you. Badger you. Insult you? That’s what he did, isn’t it?”
   Daily. Hourly.
   Justin kissed her again, sweetly, desperately, lovingly. “Am I like him?”
   “No. Never.” She put her palm to his flies and beneath the superfine wool, she felt one piece of hard evidence that he resembled Henry Varney in no way.
   He crushed her hand to his firm body. “I mean to have you.”
   She fought to undo his buttons. “Do it then.”
   He glanced around the dim wood lined walls. “Here.”
   Following his line of sight, she saw the map table. “You wouldn’t.”
   “I will,” he told her and tugged her to the center of the room where a large table held maps. He lifted her and put her on it, her knees bent over the edge. “Let me raise your skirt, madam. I need to kiss you there.”
   Someone gasped.
   Kitty halted. Her gaze met Justin’s.
   Something plunked to the floor. A book? A shoe?
   She gulped.
   He seized her hand. As he pulled open the door, he whispered, “Wait. Have you left anything?”
* * *
Who is Cerise?
Cerise DeLand loves to travel, hates to dust, adores cooking...and lives to write!
She is #1 Bestselling Regency Author of spicy romances starring dashing heroes and sassy women.

Find Cerise:
Cerise DeLand's Website:  www.cerisedeland.com
Follow her on Twitter: @cerisedeland
Goodreads:  Cerise DeLand
Subscribe to Cerise’s Newsletter: here

Monday, September 26, 2016

Cain ~ Rage Of Angels

 ❤️      〰~    COVER REVEAL    ~〰    ❤️

CAIN: Rage of Angels
Releasing Oct. 25th

Elias, never saw it coming. The deception had been flawless. He had looked into the dark eyes of his half-brother Qaylin. The torrent of anger and rage rose from the dark abyss of his soul at what this bastard had done. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before or since… A million times a million Cains screamed across the Heavens. Their voices echoed in his head demanding the blood of the betrayer, Qaylin!

Elias knew it was time he stopped fighting from a position of weakness. He had to get up and take the fight to the enemy’s doorstep. He only had a small window of time to do so. He would have to strike while they thought he was beaten. Then stand toe to toe against the forces of Hell itself. Somehow he had to even the odds in their favor and give him and his men a fighting chance to win. But his ancient enemies were powerful. It appeared as though the heavens had been eerily quiet as if the matters of men no longer mattered to the angelic host. It seemed Lucifer had full dominion over this mortal coil. If that was so, what chance did Elias and his men have against such an enemy?

“The Rage of Angels” is the explosive second book in the CAIN series.

Get Cain: Sins of the Father NOW for $ .99

CAIN – Sins of the Father, By Elias Raven
The family has been cursed since the beginning of time. It’s a legacy CAIN inherits from his father - and all of the f...athers before him. Generation after generation has worn the mark - a right of passage that goes back to the beginning when Adam and Eve first walked the earth and were expelled from paradise.
But now vengeance from a bastard brother, who covets all that is CAIN’s including CAIN’s true love Genevieve, ignites a war between angels and demons, heaven and hell, good and evil. Two men, two brothers, two sides - they will battle for Genevieve’s body and soul – and for the fate of the world.
The story begins with two wounded people finding their way back to love, but legacies, destinies, vengeance and betrayal will tear them apart setting in motion tragic events and explosive battles that will unleash the power that is CAIN.
The great wheel has turned and the final game has begun.

Sunday, September 25, 2016

Detail, Character Creation and Missed Opportunities by Suz deMello (@nanowrimo #iamwriting)

Abba Eban famously said of his opponents, "They never miss an opportunity to miss an opportunity." That's also true of many writers.

I recently read a promising tale in which a newbie sub was trapped in a stalled elevator with a Dom she'd played with just the night before. The story being erotic romance, of course they fucked, and after the elevator was fixed, he took her to a nice dinner and wooed her properly. Unfortunately the author was more concerned with throwing words onto the page and finishing the story rather than writing the best story she could. For example, she described the dinner with generalities, such as "While they finished their appetizers and waited for the main course, they talked of their mutual interests..."

Lacking specificity, the recitation was drier and more boring than a cookbook. At least with the recipes, one can read glowing descriptions of food, such as ruby red tomatoes drizzled with an emulsion of champagne vinegar and extra-virgin olive oil, which puts me in mind of well-flogged buttocks festooned with a man's come.

How much more lively would the meal have been if such food had been eaten? How much more lively if the author had taken the time to detail the meal instead of boring the reader with generalities?

Emotion is at the heart of every good story. How much richer would the scene have been if it had been infused with emotion?

Remember the scene in Sex and the City, when a man devours a ripe apricot half as though it was a woman's cunt? Or the very famous scene in Tom Jones when the title character and a whore seduce each other over soup, lobster and roast chicken?

I often write scenes in which the hero cooks for the heroine. When a man cooks a meal for a woman, a stereotypically female task, it shows caring and affection. Here's such a scene from Fashion Victim, a romantic suspense novel.

“So what’s for supper?”

“Vegetable stir-fry on Chinese noodles. We’ve eaten out so much lately that I wanted an evening at home.”

“Umm.” His place wasn’t home, but why argue?

He drained the noodles in a colander, adding splashes of sesame and chili oil. He divided the noodles into portions, dumping them into bowls decorated with blue carp. The veggies went over the noodles with sprinkles of sesame seeds and crumbled seaweed.

“Awfully strange fare for a meat and potatoes man,” I said.

“Oh, I’m aware of your tastes, honey, as well as my cholesterol count.”

My mind tilted and whirled, as though I was on a carnival ride. I had never envisioned myself living in the world of Thirty Minute Meals with Fletcher as Rachael Ray.  My investigator's lousy dossier hadn’t revealed that he knew one end of a wooden spoon from the other, let alone that he liked nori and sesame on his stir-fry.

So you can see how detail contributes to the reader's understanding of the characters and their relationship. The scene is richer because of the detailed description of the food and its preparation. The hero knows that the heroine prefers vegetables and therefore cooks a meal that's to her taste, showing that he cares about her desires.

In a romance--and most erotica has some romantic content--never miss an opportunity to infuse a scene with emotion. While the characters in the snippet I quoted were interacting casually, nevertheless, there's a lot of emotion implied rather than shoved down the reader's throat.

And how does detail contribute to the reader's experience? Why?

Consider the maxim: show, don't tell.

When we use generalities, we're telling.

When we use specifics, we're showing.

The message? Never miss an opportunity to round out your characters by showing them in an unexpected setting. Fashion Victim is a good example--the hero is a wealthy corporate raider. Most writers would show him being served a sumptuous meal in a fancy restaurant. Boooring.

And never, ever be boring.

Thursday, September 22, 2016




Antiques expert Steve Carlson must face the mistakes of his past to discover a treasure he never imagined: the heart of a vulnerable yet determined widow.


Twenty-eight-year-old Victoria Van Orr just lost everything. With the death of her billionaire husband went his mature patience and warm encouragement; and the veneer of acceptance from everyone else. His friends and colleagues now ignore Victoria, and if his son succeeds she just might be forced back to the streets upon which she was raised. But money was never her goal. All she wants is love. Real love.

Antiques expert Steve Carlson knows the value of everything. Pain and betrayal? Those he gave away--and now they're coming back. His worst mistakes were all with one man: an old friend, the son of a father figure, now the stepchild of a beautiful young widow who wants Steve to help her auction off the family estate. To help Victoria, Steve must face his past and become a better man. To find true love, he will discover her surprisingly pure heart, vulnerable yet determined. And beyond price.

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Wednesday, September 21, 2016

Would your rather read or listen to a book? Sample #romance #audiobooks from @SSaraDaniel

I'm a reader and a writer. Written word is always my preference for absorbing information and relaxing. However, if you're more like my husband and daughter, you might prefer books in audio. I currently have audio versions of one standalone office romance and three Wiccan Haus paranormal romance books in my collection. Listen to a sample to see which one might be to your liking. But don't worry. You don't have to choose. You listen to and read them all!

Captivating the CEO
He only plans for the future. She might not have one.

Audio Version - Narrated by Nina Price
Buy Links:

A Man Worth Fighting For - audio version
He has nothing left to offer. She's determined to show him how much he's worth.
narrated by Hollie Jackson
 Buy Links:

Psychic Lies - audio version
What if you could read minds during sex? What if the government wanted to exploit you for your ability?
narrated by Hollie Jackson
Buy Links:
A Bride Worth Fighting For - audio version
If she remembers the past, they won’t have a future.
narrated by Hollie Jackson
Buy Links:

Tuesday, September 20, 2016

Private Wolf ~ New Release and Giveaway!


Shawn Blu, tracker and private investigator, has come home. As a pack tracker, he’s ready to defend Los Lobos and use his contacts to find pack members and bring them back into the fold. So, when Miss Fern, his aunt, asks him to find Brienne Talbert, he’s happy to help out. What he isn’t expecting is to find his mate.

Brienne left home at sixteen, knowing she’d return to the Black Hills and Los Lobos one day. As it stands, in six months she’ll graduate with her master’s degree and there’s no way anyone will stop her now. However, when the hunky slab of wolf Shawn Blu shows up with a tempting offer—a week with her pack, no strings attached—she’s willing to reconsider her harsh stance about not going home.

When one weekend turns into a mating she hadn’t planned on, will she be able to leave it all behind and return to school, or will the call of her pack be too much to turn her back on?


Shawn Blu walked into Los Lobos Café and spotted his aunt at a table near the far wall. In front of her sat a paperback book and a mug, along with a pastry. Behind the counter, Ero took the order from a new female. Her long dark hair was pulled into a messy bun, and her gray eyes glittered with—arousal? If the other wolf noticed, he appeared indifferent to it. Oh well. Bypassing his normal routine, of ordering coffee and Danish, he marched over and sat at the table where his aunt waited. Fern glanced up at him. Her warm, affectionate smile greeted him.

“Good morning, Auntie.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “That twinkle in your eye says you’re up to no good.”

Fern laughed and patted his hand. “I have a job for you.”

A job. Why hadn’t she mentioned it last night when he came over for dinner?

Why did they have to meet in the café? “Okay. What is it?”

“Well, technically, it is two jobs….”


Ero approached with a cup in one hand and a sweet treat in the other. “You didn’t order. I see why now.” He grinned then winked at Fern.

“I didn’t want to interrupt your time with Cynthia,” Shawn teased. “She’s interested in you.”

“Don’t I know it.” Ero frowned. “But there’s…the spark’s not there.” He glanced at his brother, Luc, who sat in his usual spot.

“Say no more, I understand.” He did, too. They were waiting for their perfect mate. Might be a while, but Shawn had a feeling it would happen. “Thanks for the coffee.”

“You’re welcome.”

Taking a sip of the piping-hot brew, he waited for Ero to leave before returning to the conversation with his aunt. The way Fern watched him—assessing him—left him uneasy. “Should I be afraid of what you’re going to ask of me?”

“Never,” she assured him. “In fact, you’ll win tons of brownie points with Miss Claire if you do this for me.”

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Author Bio

TL Reeve, is a bestselling, multi-published author with Cobblestone Press, Decadent Publishing, Evernight Publishing, Loose-Id and ARe Books. Living in Alabama, TL misses Los Angeles, and will one-day return to Southern California to ride the waves at Huntington Beach. When not writing something hot and sexy, TL can be found curled up with a good book, or working on homework with a cute little pixie. ​

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