Showing posts with label Adult. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Adult. Show all posts

May 16, 2018

Mikky's Review: Evolved by N.R. Walker



In 2068, androids are an integrated part of human life. Big Brother no longer just watches from the shadows. It’s in every household.

Lloyd Salter has OCD issues with noise, mess, and he’s uncomfortable with human interaction. When his ex claimed the only thing perfect enough to live up to his standards was an android, Lloyd dismissed it. But two years later, after much self-assessment, Lloyd thinks he may have been right.

SATinc is the largest manufacturer of androids in Australia, including the Fully Compatible Units known as an A-Class 10. Their latest design is the Synthetic Human Android UNit, otherwise known as SHAUN.

Shaun is compatible with Lloyd’s every need; the perfect fit on an intellectual and physical basis. But Lloyd soon realises Shaun’s not like other A-Class androids. He learns. He adapts. Sure that SATinc is aware Shaun functions outside of his programmed parameters, Lloyd must find a way to keep Shaun safe.

No one can know how special Shaun is. No one can know he’s evolved.



N.R. Walker.

I don’t know what I could say about this author and her books that hasn’t been said before. She’s THAT good.

When I first started reading MM, I stumbled upon Elements of Retrofit (Thomas Elkin #1) and I adored Cooper, his loyalty, his passion, dedication and ethics and I fell in love with Thomas’ gentle nature and his awkward stumbling through a new path in his life and a new and totally different relationship.


Isaac broke my heart and it was so easy to connect with him and understand his pain, his desire to have his sight back and be able to see and be “normal” just like everyone else. I cried so much while reading their story and had to take several breaks because I couldn’t handle it. I understood because I remembered when they told me I wouldn’t be able to walk anymore. I remember the pain of watching everyone around me getting on with their lives while I was stuck and dependent on others to do even the smallest thing. Years later I still cannot read without shedding tears for Isaac. 


I dare you to tell me you didn’t cry and wished their story will never end. I dare you!


Phew!! These two are so damn hot. I don’t care if it’s just fan-fiction or whatever. This is one of N.R.’s best stories and so damn funny. You’ll laugh your head off from beginning to end.

And I could go on and on, and on because every single one of her books has a special place in my heart.


Which brings us to the latest release, Evolved.

Sci-fi novels, cyborgs or androids are not my thing. Never have been but she was so clever at taunting us with this novel that I HAD TO give it a try. (You big tease!)

Oh, boy!

I don’t even know where to begin.

It’s the year 2068 and androids are a big part of day to day life. People use them for almost anything, from driving cars, cleaning the house, act as receptionists to offices and hotels, to having an android as companion.

This is how Lloyd Salter, a Professor of Philosophy at Melbourne University, ends up with Shaun, an A-Class synthetic android.

Lloyd has OCD and doesn’t like human interaction so he designs Shaun to be the perfect companion, someone who can live with all his quirks without complaining or making him feel like there’s something wrong with him.

But Shaun is different. He learns, he adapts and he evolves, which is something no one expected from an android. Not even an A-Class one.

Soon, Shaun and Lloyd find themselves in a tricky situation because SATinc, Shaun’s manufacturer, is likely to realize the truth and come for him, separating them just when they’re beginning a new life together.

Like any other N.R. Walker novel, this, too, was captivating from beginning to end but, the best part, at least for me, was Shaun.

Following his evolution made me pause and think about quite a few things.

Let’s start with technology. We’re so dependent on our devices and spend most of our time in front of a computer, tablet or glued to our phones that we fail to see what’s happening around us. 

Shaun is an android so he knows everything there is to know about how technology works so he’s curious about his surroundings, about things that humans take for granted every day. Take books, for example. In the year 2068 everyone has stopped reading or buying paperbacks, but not Lloyd. He loves the feel of a book in his hands, the smell of it, he loves reading words written on paper and he explains this to Shaun, tries to make him understand why a simple act, such as holding a book, can bring such pleasure and comfort.

In exchange, Shaun helps Lloyd rediscover the joy of small and big pleasures like holding a new partner’s hand for the first time, the first tentative touches between new lovers, the thrill of getting to know someone and allowing them to show you the world through their eyes.

I think one of the most interesting parts of this book was reading about Shaun seeing himself for the first time, the reaction of someone who has no preconceptions. There are no standards of beauty as far as he’s concerned and his curiosity is genuine. There’s a lot of focus on emotions and feelings rather than physical aspect. And, just like any other of N.R.’s books, you won’t find any senseless drama. 

Bottom line is, you have to read Evolved. 

To be honest, I had no idea what to expect but I loved it, every single part of it and I wish it would have been longer. I wanted to see more of Shaun and Lloyd building a life together after all the struggle. 

Evolved has been added to my “Favorites” list and I plan to read it again in a few days, which means I’ll probably add to this review. For now, I just wanted to share my initial thoughts. Looking forward to hear what the rest of you thought and to Mrs. Walker’s next novel.

Happy Reading!





Author also writes as A. Voyeur

N.R. Walker is an Australian author, who loves her genre of gay romance. She loves writing and spends far too much time doing it, but wouldn't have it any other way.

She is many things; a mother, a wife, a sister, a writer. She has pretty, pretty boys who she gives them life with words.

She likes it when they do dirty, dirty things...but likes it even more when they fall in love. She used to think having people in her head talking to her was weird, until one day she happened across other writers who told her it was normal.

She’s been writing ever since...



June 14, 2016

Coming Soon! Excerpt & Giveaway: Heavy Hitters, Caribbean Tales #1 by Taylor V. Donovan


*Standalone Gay Romance Saga

His toughest opponent is himself.

World Boxing Champion Santino Malavé González has been fighting since he was a kid. Poverty, domestic violence, and emotional abuse were early contenders. Guilt and self-loathing were beaten into him at an impressionable age, and now machismo, an integral part of the Latino culture, rules his life. In the ring he’s undefeated. Outside the ropes life constantly hits him below the belt. It takes a sucker punch from his best friend to finally knock the denial out of him and force him to face his true nature like a real man.

A natural born entertainer, Luca Jenaro Betancur Ferrer has grown up serving God, performing, pursuing a career in music, and celebrating life among his tight-knit Catholic family under the scorching Puerto Rican sun. Singing the wrong note on stage is not a mistake the multi-platinum award-winning singer would ever allow. Falling in love with a man is not a transgression his devout family may ever accept. The ties that bind him are strong, but the pull toward his childhood best friend may just be enough to tear it all to shreds.


Anger, mistakes, bigotry, and the need to conform put up a good fight throughout their life journeys. Their religious and chauvinistic society constantly challenges their pursuit of happiness, and only time will tell if their relationship will survive the battles, or if they’ll lose each other by technical knockout.

Releasing June 24, 2016 



“Take this.” Julito handed him the other bag. “It’s your boxing gear.”

“Why’s this here and not in the shed?”

“I’ve been bagging it up every night before going to bed and putting it back in the shed before leaving for work for the last couple of weeks. I told you to put on your shoes.”

Santi obeyed immediately. “Why’d do you do that?”

“I’m ready,” Omayra said from the door, sounding scared, sad, and excited in equal parts.

“We can’t leave without Ma,” Santi repeated. “He’s hitting her because—” He felt like he was choking on his own words. His father didn’t love him. His mom was sending him away because he’d told her he liked boys. She’d failed to stand up for him… hadn’t even tried to reassure him that she’d always want him regardless of who he was. It sucked. “Mami and Papi are disappointed in me,” he forced himself to say. “All this is happening because they think I’m gay.” 

“He’s hitting Ma because he’s an abusive prick,” Omayra countered.

“I’ve got to show him I’m not gay,” Santi whispered. “This is my fault. I’ve got to do everything I can to make things right for Mami.”

“And you’ll start working on it as soon as we’re out.” Julito grabbed his keys and wallet from the milk crate that served as a bedside table and took a few towels from his bed. He looked around the room one more time before pushing Santi toward the door. “We’ve got to go.”

Only muffled noises could be heard in their parents’ bedroom when they ran out of the shack they’d called home for the past two years. That was a good sign. Papi had either passed out, or he’d calmed down.

They were soaking wet by the time they ran across the yard, got inside Julito’s old El Camino and locked the doors.

Julito pushed their bags behind the seat and started the truck. Omayra grabbed a towel and wrapped it around herself, then used the other two to cover Santi and Julito before settling between them on the truck’s bench seat. Santi stared at the small, dilapidated ranch through the windshield, the rain, and the darkness of night. None of them said a word as they sped away from the house.

“Where are we going?” Omayra whispered several minutes later, taking Santi’s hand.

“’Uela Esperanza’s,” Julito said quietly as he navigated the dark curvy road down the mountain.

Omayra sniffled and wiped her face. “How will we know if Ma’s okay?”

“I have Sister Dominga’s telephone number,” Julito said. “Ma’ll go to the convent after mass on Sunday and wait for our call.” 

Santi rested his head on the back of the seat and closed his eyes.

He thought about the conversation between himself and his mom. About the stupid Health class that had started this mess. About the moment his dad walked into the bedroom and about the conspiring looks he’d seen pass between Julito and their mom.

“Where’s Héctor?” he asked without opening his eyes.

“He’s living with Titi Migdalia in New York,” Julito said.

Omayra gasped. “But I thought he was still in juvie.”

“They reduced his sentence for good behavior. Papi had said he didn’t want Héctor in his house, and Ma didn’t want him to go back to that hell anyway, so she asked if I could help her buy a plane ticket for him, and I said yes.”

“How long has he been out?” Omayra asked. “Does Pa know?” 

“Six months or so, and no, that bastard doesn’t know,” Julito said with a smile. Santi’s eyes were closed, but he could hear the smile in his brother’s voice. “He’s working in Tío Tato’s bodega and going to school at night. He’s doing fine.”

“I’m so happy to hear that,” Omayra said with a laugh. “That’s a great opportunity for him. I hope he turns things around for himself.”

“When did you plan this?” Santi asked is a shaky voice. “When did Ma decide to get us out of the house?”

“Right after ’Uela Esperanza and Tío Miguel came to visit the last time. She talked to them. Made sure we’d have a safe place to live and a gym where you could start training again. She was hoping it wouldn’t be necessary, but she had to be ready in case—” Julito cleared his throat. “In case you turned out to be gay,” he finished in a careful tone. “She knew Pa would never leave you alone, so we came up with a plan.”

“Taunt Papi and let him think it was his idea to disown us and throw us out of the house?” Omayra snorted. “He’s an idiot, and Ma finally did something right. I wish she’d come with us, though.”

“We’ll figure a way to get her out,” Julito assured her. “Life will be different now. She found a way to give us a chance, guys. Let’s make it count.”

“I never said I am gay,” Santi pointed out. He opened his eyes and looked at his brother and sister, desperate to convince them that he wasn’t a pervert. “I’m not in love with another boy, and it isn’t my fault Papi’s hitting Ma.” He lowered his eyes and stared at the beaded bracelets he’d been squeezing in his hand the entire time. “This mess isn’t my fault…it can’t be my fault… It isn’t! I’m not gay.”

Julito clasped Santi’s shoulder and said, “I know, buddy. I know you wouldn’t let me down that way.” He patted him on the back a couple of times before focusing his attention on the road.

Omayra glared at Julito, and then kissed Santi on the cheek. “I’ll always love you, no matter what you do or who you are,” she whispered as she gave him an understanding smile. “Don’t forget that.”

Santi leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes.

He never let go of the bracelets or Omayra’s hand.



Taylor V. Donovan is a compulsive reader and author of gay romance and suspense. She is optimistically cynical about humanity and a lover of history, museums, and all things 80s. She shamelessly indulges in mind-numbing reality television, is crazy about fashion, and passionate about civil rights and equality for all.

When she’s not writing or making a living in the busiest city in the world, Taylor can be found raising her two daughters and their terribly misbehaved furry baby in their home.



May 20, 2016

New Release! The Doctor in Unit H, The Mockingbird Place #4 by Kris Cook



Maddox Butler

Some people say you can’t fall in love at 18. But I did. And the man of my dreams? Jaris Black. He was also 18. Our first year at medical school we moved in together. It was…perfect. Until…

I haven’t seen or talked to him in six years. But I’ve never stopped thinking about him. Jaris is a very successful doctor, which is no surprise to me. Still living in Unit H at Mockingbird Place. God, how I’ve missed him.

I won’t drag Jaris into the chaos that is my life. No. I won’t. But my mother who is dying has requested to see him. They were so close. Still are. I had to honor Mom’s wish. I called him and he’s arriving in an hour. Can I keep my feelings hidden from him? I need to, for his sake.









Though starting in straight erotic romance, Kris's total focus now is on gay romance. When asked why recently, his answer was "My muse finally came out of the closet. Isn't it about time? I’ve been out since I was twenty-five." A voracious reader, Kris loves many genres of fiction, but this writer's favorite books are romances that are edgy, sexy, with rich characters and unique challenges. Kris' influences include Anne Rice, JR Ward, Lexi Blake and Shayla Black. Last year, Kris married the love of his life Stephen.


Teasers, Excerpt & Giveaway! Chimera by Stephie Walls


I couldn’t be anything other than a romantic at heart — it’s my nature, it’s who I am. But this isn’t a typical story of traditional love. It isn’t a fairy tale. No happily ever after neatly tied up with a shiny bow. It’s a memoir of the reality left behind in the wake of grief — the desolation, the resurrection, and final culmination life offers to the fallen. 

This is a journey through love…the love of self, love of a friend, and sometimes love is ugly, messy —destructive.

My name is Bastian Thames…and this is my story.





For Magoo…

chimera [ki-meer-uh] (n) – a thing that is hoped or wished for but in fact is illusory or impossible to achieve

Chapter One

When Sylvie died, it left a hole in my being that seemed prodigious. I adorn my face with the plastic appearance people anticipate from me, but internally, I weep. Continuing through the monotonous motion of my daily life, I increasingly find myself lost in what my friends—well, those who remain—refer to as a fictional world: novels, authors, artists, musicians, and the illusion of relationships on social media. The more time I spend on Facebook, the more entrenched I become in the fiction that exists on the screen. I believe these “friends” are truly concerned for me; they’re what relationships are in reality. Sadly, these seem to be the only things keeping me hanging on, but the thread threatens to break daily, frayed from top to bottom. The tightly woven fabric that was once my life has deteriorated beyond recognition.

That’s the crux of my juxtaposition. My life had value, it had meaning. It was everything I had ever imagined it could be. But without Sylvie, black clouds roll through my mind, hindering my ability to think, eliminating productivity, and stifling my creativity. My art is as dead as I am. But online…online I can be anything I want to be, whatever version of myself I decide to show to the world. I don’t have to be the pathetic artist who lost his muse. I don’t have to be the sweet, sensitive man Sylvie loved. I don’t know whom I want to reinvent myself as, but the idea of being whatever still exists in my soul doesn’t appeal to me. My craft has become recreating my persona, anything to escape the pain, the desolation, and the solitude. Surely there’s art in recreating an identity. 

Most days, I find it difficult to even get out of bed. The colder it gets outside, the shorter the days are, the deeper I sink—sometimes only escaping the protection of my covers to take a piss or get something to eat or drink. Although frequently, I let those things go in favor of marinating in my misery. My laptop calls to me from my nightstand when the loneliness becomes too much to bear, the darkness too black to see through.

That recognizable blue-and-white screen brings me comfort, the newsfeed seemingly a link to real conversation, touching base with the people I’ve known for years—but it always introduces the possibility of newcomers. The “friend recommendation” is the online equivalent to a friend introducing you to someone new; at least it is in my mind. I always check out the recommendations. They’re often other painters or singers that might have known Sylvie—or people I barely recognize from high school or college. But every once in a while, some totally random person surfaces with no tie to my past. 

Those are the connections I find most interesting, most appealing. 

They also seem to be the safest, having no knowledge of the person I once was, or how all that remains of me is a fragmented shell. I have made several “friends” this way, people I would say I’m close to—even though we’ve never met and likely never will. Herein lies my fictional world, the one my real friends don’t understand and believe to be emotionally damaging to me. I’m not processing my grief…blah, blah, blah. If I hear that shit one more time, I may scream.

As soon as I log in, the familiar recommendations bombard me as if the universe is playing some cruel joke. There she is, my Sylvie…only her name is Sera Martin. She’s a perfect duplicate with the same striking green eyes, long chestnut-colored hair, high cheekbones, and luscious, pouty lips. 

I realize I haven’t inhaled or exhaled. 

I gasp and hold my breath until my lungs burn. I haven’t seen her in years. The day she died, I came home and stripped our house of any reminder—every picture, every video, every stitch of clothing, anything she loved. It all had to leave. I couldn’t bear the weight of what the world took from me. I imagined if I discarded everything, she wouldn’t haunt me, and maybe, somehow, I would manage to learn to live again if reminders of her didn’t surround me.

Yet, her loss possesses me daily.

This girl. This Sera. Could this be Mother Nature returning my Sylvie to me in a strange twist of fate? The notion there’s a doppelganger roaming the world has always been a thought I believe in. It’s possible after years of suffering, dying inside, barely hanging on, that my savior has come. Without hesitation, I click “add friend.” 

Sera responds to my request with a private message.

Sera: Wow! Are you really Bastian Thames?

Me: Yes. Have we met before?

Sera: Once, but I doubt you’d remember. It was at a gallery down on the West End where your work was being featured a couple years ago. Is this the real Bastian? Not some lurker claiming to be the famous artist?

Me: Far cry from famous, but yes, one and the same. Are you certain we met that night? I remember the opening and can assure you I would have remembered you. 

Sera: Yes, you were with your wife. She’s quite lovely. I’m not sure which was more beautiful, her or the nudes you had in the collection. That showing was the talk of the art community for months around here.

Me: That was the last opening I did. Seems like a lifetime ago.

Sera: Are you not painting anymore? I hate to admit that I lost track of your work when I went off to college but for years, I was a huge fan.

Me: Life happened. I haven’t painted in some time.

Sera: I can’t imagine you quit painting. Surely you just quit putting them out for the public.

Me: No. I haven’t so much as held a brush in five years. 

Sera: That’s a shame. Hey look, Bastian, I have to run out but I accepted your request. I hope maybe we can talk some later. Maybe you’ll let me pick your brain about a project I’m working on?

Me: Certainly. I hope to hear from you soon.

Sera: Bye

Me: Later

My mind races with possibilities. I immediately go to her profile to see what information I can garner on her before our next conversation—assuming one comes. Jesus, she’s twenty-five, went to the Rhode Island School of Design, graduated with her Masters in Fine Arts, and holy hell, she’s a sculptor. If these pictures are of her work, then she has phenomenal talent. Scouring her profile provides only surface-level information. There’s almost nothing personal. The pictures all seem to be with other artists or at galleries or in a studio. Moving to her wall, I find tons of posts by other local artists, memes about artwork, jokes…the proverbial Facebook bullshit. 

I almost quit scrolling when I see a post that grabs my attention. There’s a picture of two beautiful women, scantily clad, one bent over, the other yielding a paddle, and the words, “Someone’s been a bad girl.” Jesus Christ. There are one hundred forty-seven comments and two hundred fifty-three likes on the thread posted by a Maria Martin. 

I click on Maria’s name first, assuming it will be a sister or cousin, not expecting it to be her mother. Holy shit, whose mother posts this kind of profanity on their daughter’s Facebook wall? Making my way back to the thread, I find myself enthralled by the dialogue. 

It’s cheeky and playful but talk about insight. This one picture, one conversation, tells me scads about who she is personally, not about her work, but seemingly what she enjoys—intimately. Reading her responses to the comments ignites a fire in an area of my anatomy I thought had died with Sylvie. As my cock starts to twitch, that old, familiar heat seeps through my crotch. 

I stop myself, realizing I’m staring at dialogue—about a woman who could be my dead wife’s twin—between people I don’t know. It’s morbid, really. Backing out of the comments and Sera’s profile, then I set the computer aside. I don’t close the laptop for fear of missing a message from her. Lying back, I stare at the all-too-familiar ceiling. I know every blemish on the drywall with aching familiarity. There have been hours of loneliness and isolation. The depth of pain is so fathomless, I often wonder how I made it to the next day without feeling the cold steel in my hand, without pulling the trigger.




I've lived all over the country but have made Greenville, South Carolina my home for the last 20 of my 37 years. I have a serious addiction to anything Coach and would live on Starbucks if I could get away with it. If you follow me on Facebook you'll also find that I'm slightly enamored with Charlie Hunnam. I'm an avid reader (literary whore to be more precise) averaging around 300 novels a year. I have a penchant for great love stories, sensual poetry and am a romantic at heart. 
I currently work full-time in the Greenville area and fill my "extra" time with writing contemporary romance novels with a hint of erotica. I couldn't do it without the support of my family and friends who push me to keep going when I don't have the confidence or patience.