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RELEASE BLITZ ~ The Sex Bucket List by Prescott Lane

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The Sex Bucket List
by Prescott Lane

Release Date: March 9th
Genre: Contemporary Romance

SexBucketListCover

Mateo

Emerson’s a sexy mom of three.

And if you call her a MILF, I’ll kick your a**.

She’s got a sex “to do” list, and I’m just the man to help her check some things off.

But this isn’t my story. It’s hers.

Unfortunately for me, her story involves an ex-husband, a kid that hates me, and a pretty nice shot to my nuts. She’s a woman who thinks too much, always with a plan, a list, but I’ve got a list of my own.

Emerson

Mateo likes to tease me that I have lists for my lists. But I didn’t hear him complaining when he stumbled upon my Sex Bucket List.

This is the story of how I brushed the cobwebs off my sex life, put myself back onto my list and not only fell in love with a younger man, but with myself, as well.

Grab a pen and make your own Sex Bucket List!


TheSexBucketListAN

Read Today!

(Free in Kindle Unlimited)

Amazon US:

Amazon UK:


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The Sex Bucket List by Prescott Lane from Bibliophile Productions on Vimeo.


About the Author:

Prescott Lane is the Amazon best-selling author of Stripped Raw. She’s got six other books under her belt including: First Position, Perfectly Broken, Quiet Angel, Wrapped in Lace, Layers of Her, and The Reason for Me. She is originally from Little Rock, Arkansas, and holds a degree in sociology and a MSW from Tulane University. She married her college sweetheart, and they currently live in New Orleans with their two children and two crazy dogs. Prescott started writing at the age of five, and sold her first story about a talking turtle to her father for a quarter. She later turned to writing romance novels because there aren’t enough happily ever afters in real life.

Connect with the Author:

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Instagram: 

Website



SALES BLITZ ~ Wrapped in Lace by Prescott Lane

 

 
 
 
 
Wrapped in Lace by Prescott Lane is available for this week for only 99c
 
 
Do not miss this beautifully written story while it’s priced so ridiculously low.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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When I was a little boy, the best thing about the holiday season was unwrapping presents on Christmas morning — tearing off the paper and tossing it on the floor. Now that I’m a man, I like to unwrap slowly, deliberately, taking my time to savor what lies before me. I still like to throw the wrapping on the floor, but now I know the best gifts come wrapped in lace.
 
And unlike when I was a kid, I won’t get sick of this present by New Year’s. I’ll definitely be playing with this girl day after day after day.
 
After six years avoiding my hometown, the last thing I expected when I returned was a wannabe bad girl to unwrap my heart and rip open my soul. But that’s exactly what happened. Now if I can just get the hell out of my own way, maybe I’ll finally get the best gift of all — her!
 
Come get unwrapped by Drew this holiday.
 
 
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I sat back and studied the canvas. I’d finally gotten it right — the way his lips turn up in that smile that makes both my heart and panties melt. It had taken me over a dozen tries to get it just perfect, but I finally had. Unfortunately, I didn’t feel any better. I thought if I could capture Drew’s smile on my canvas, my pain would somehow lessen. Because I’d always have his image, that his leaving me wouldn’t hurt so bad. It hadn’t worked. The pain in my heart was just as sharp, just as overwhelming as it was yesterday and the day before. I knew I’d never get over him. I knew it like I knew the deep blue color of his eyes, the rough spots on his hands. I knew it like I knew the way his lips tasted, the feel of his thick brown hair.
 

AP new -about the author.jpg

Prescott Lane is the Amazon bestselling author of Stripped Raw. She’s got five other books under her belt including: First Position, Perfectly Broken, Quiet Angel, Wrapped in Lace and her new release, Layers of Her. She is originally from Little Rock, Arkansas, and graduated from Centenary College with a degree in sociology. She went on to receive her MSW from Tulane University, after which she worked with developmentally delayed and disabled children. She married her college sweetheart, and they currently live in New Orleans with their two children and two crazy dogs. Prescott started writing at the age of five, and sold her first story about a talking turtle to her father for a quarter. She later turned to writing romance novels because there aren’t enough happily ever afters in real life. Connect with Prescott Lane on
 
 

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BLOG TOUR ~ The Reason For Me by Prescott Lane

 

 

 

 

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Holt
 
She likes it quick and dirty.
 
I like orders and rules.
 
She hates small talk.
 
I hate to share.
 
She’s an open book.
 
I’m a closed dresser drawer.
 
She rides a Harley.
 
And that drives me f’ing nuts.
 
Annalyse and I have both lived in our own personal hells for half a decade.  She’s learned to love the warmth, and I’m still consumed.  But my new neighbor is stoking more than my libido these days.  We agreed on only pleasure.  But she changed the rules.
 
And now I’m not even sure what they are.
 
Maybe there’s a reason she found me that night, maybe there’s a reason I can’t stop thinking about her, maybe there’s a reason for the pain.  Maybe not.
 
We all look for reasons in life.  Reasons for death, love, pain.  Why one thing happens and not another?  It’s human nature.  We’ve been looking for the meaning of life since the beginning of time.  But maybe the reason for all of it — life, love, loss, heartache — is the curvy brunette living next door.
 
 

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Annalyse


“You should have on a life jacket.”  

“When I kayak or when I ride my motorcycle?” I ask.

He tries not to smile, but he does.  “Pissed, huh?”

“Observant, aren’t you?”

“Motorcyclists are twenty-five percent more likely to die and five times more likely to be injured than a passenger in a car,” he says.

“You looked that up just to lecture me, didn’t you?”

“Not the point,” he says.  “No more motorcycle.”

Did he really think he could go all alpha male on me?  Usually, it would be hot as all-get-out to see a man in control, dominant, but right now alpha equals asshole!   Note to self — I should do a blog post on that.  Where have all the good alphas gone?  “Who do you think you are?” I say, walking away.  “You’re not my husband or my father.  Come to think of it, I wouldn’t let my father or husband order me around like this.”

His fingers lightly touch my elbow.  It isn’t a grab.  I barely feel it, and as quickly as he touched me, it’s over.  “I’m a doctor.  I’ve seen what . . .”

“You’re a gynecologist!  You’ve seen what a motorcycle can do to a vagina?”

Oh God, I’m in trouble.  He’s got the dirtiest look in his eye.  “I’d imagine the vibration would feel pretty damn good.”

I can’t help it and bust out laughing.  “You are impossible.”

“And it’s the law to carry a life vest for every person in a kayak,” he says.
I roll my eyes.  “You like rules.”

“I like order.”

“Ordering people around,” I say.

“Only certain people,” he says.

Don’t ask me why, but the thought of him “ordering” me around made my legs clench together, or maybe it was the mention of vibrations.  Either way, the idea of him taking control of my body didn’t sound bad to me at all.  It would be nice to not think so damn much all the time and just feel something good for a change.

 



 

 

 


 

$50 Amazon Gift Card

 

 


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Prescott Lane is the Amazon best-selling author of Stripped Raw. She’s got five other books under her belt including: First Position, Perfectly Broken, Quiet Angel, and Wrapped in Lace, and her new release, Layers of Her. She is originally from Little Rock, Arkansas, and holds a degree in sociology and a MSW from Tulane University. She married her college sweetheart, and they currently live in New Orleans with their two children and two crazy dogs. Prescott started writing at the age of five, and sold her first story about a talking turtle to her father for a quarter. She later turned to writing romance novels because there aren’t enough happily ever afters in real life.

 

Author links

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RELEASE DAY BLITZ ~ The Reason For Me by Prescott Lane

 

 

 

 

AP new - synopsis.jpg
Holt
 
She likes it quick and dirty.
 
I like orders and rules.
 
She hates small talk.
 
I hate to share.
 
She’s an open book.
 
I’m a closed dresser drawer.
 
She rides a Harley.
 
And that drives me f’ing nuts.
 
Annalyse and I have both lived in our own personal hells for half a decade.  She’s learned to love the warmth, and I’m still consumed.  But my new neighbor is stoking more than my libido these days.  We agreed on only pleasure.  But she changed the rules.
 
And now I’m not even sure what they are.
 
Maybe there’s a reason she found me that night, maybe there’s a reason I can’t stop thinking about her, maybe there’s a reason for the pain.  Maybe not.
 
We all look for reasons in life.  Reasons for death, love, pain.  Why one thing happens and not another?  It’s human nature.  We’ve been looking for the meaning of life since the beginning of time.  But maybe the reason for all of it — life, love, loss, heartache — is the curvy brunette living next door.
 
 
TRFM.png


Holt

I can see the questions in her eyes.  Naked, I get on my knees in the bed, helping her up, her body pressing into mine, and lift her shirt over her head.  I can’t help but grin that she’s borrowed one of mine.  My hands slide down the curve of her waist and under the cotton of her panties, removing them.  Her hand softly strokes my cheek, and like an asshole, I jerk my head back, her soft touch doing damage to the hard defenses I’ve built.  How is that?  How can something so soft, so sweet, be my undoing?  And damn, the way she looks at me.  I can’t have her looking at me like that right now.  In one move, I flip her over and yank her ass in the air.

Her breath catches.  Dammit, sometimes I wish I could be one of those guys that only think about themselves during sex, but I’m not built that way.  Annalyse’s pleasure will always be more important than my own, and that’s just one small fucking step away from all her needs coming before my own.  It’s a slippery slope I’m on.

Using the tip of my cock, I outline her folds, feeling her open, drawing me in.  Running my finger down the curve of her back, her body rolls, her ass pushing against me.  She’s got the best ass, pure white, smooth skin, firm, but enough to hold onto.  

“Holt,” she begs softly.

She’s very impatient when it comes to her orgasms.  That’s a great quality in a woman; she wants what she wants and doesn’t apologize for it.  As I slip myself inside her, she lets out a breathless moan.  It’s amazing how well I know her sounds, her body already.  Holding her hips, I slide in and out, slowly.  Grinning, I know she’s going to hate and love that at the same time.  She likes to come quickly.  It’s almost like she’s afraid there’s not enough time.  She starts to move faster, wanting me deeper, and harder.  And I’m powerless to resist her, incapable of not giving her exactly what she wants.
And when she screams out my name, I follow right behind her.  My body covers hers as we lay collapsed in our orgasmic hangover.  Moving her hair off her face, I look down at her closed eyes, missing seeing the way she looks when she comes.  “Every night,” I say quietly, “I want you in my bed, naked, waiting.”

She doesn’t open her eyes, but a little smirk crosses her lips.  “Orders, orders.”

Kissing her neck, I nibble her earlobe.  “Say you’ll be here.”  She rolls over, her eyes meeting mine for the first time.  A subtle guilt rises in my chest; I just fucked her to feel better, to forget.  And I want to do it again.

 


 


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Prescott Lane is the Amazon best-selling author of Stripped Raw. She’s got five other books under her belt including: First Position, Perfectly Broken, Quiet Angel, and Wrapped in Lace, and her new release, Layers of Her. She is originally from Little Rock, Arkansas, and holds a degree in sociology and a MSW from Tulane University. She married her college sweetheart, and they currently live in New Orleans with their two children and two crazy dogs. Prescott started writing at the age of five, and sold her first story about a talking turtle to her father for a quarter. She later turned to writing romance novels because there aren’t enough happily ever afters in real life.

 

Author links
ArdentProse_LogoMain.jpg


 

EXCERPT REVEAL ~ The Reason For Me by Prescott Lane

 

 

Coming October 19th

 

AP new - synopsis.jpg
Holt
 
She likes it quick and dirty.
 
I like orders and rules.
 
She hates small talk.
 
I hate to share.
 
She’s an open book.
 
I’m a closed dresser drawer.
 
She rides a Harley.
 
And that drives me f’ing nuts.
 
Annalyse and I have both lived in our own personal hells for half a decade.  She’s learned to love the warmth, and I’m still consumed.  But my new neighbor is stoking more than my libido these days.  We agreed on only pleasure.  But she changed the rules.
 
And now I’m not even sure what they are.
 
Maybe there’s a reason she found me that night, maybe there’s a reason I can’t stop thinking about her, maybe there’s a reason for the pain.  Maybe not.
 

We all look for reasons in life.  Reasons for death, love, pain.  Why one thing happens and not another?  It’s human nature.  We’ve been looking for the meaning of life since the beginning of time.  But maybe the reason for all of it — life, love, loss, heartache — is the curvy brunette living next door.

 

 
 

TRFM.png


 

Annalyse

There’s just something about being wrapped up in the right man’s arms that makes your heart believe anything is possible.  

But the heart is a liar — a cruel, vicious liar.  

It’s making me feel things that my head knows I shouldn’t.  Holt told me he can’t love me.  It was the first thing he said to me, so why is my heart telling me to believe the opposite?  

Abruptly, I sit up and wipe water on my face before covering my chest with my hands.  He simply leans up and gently rubs my back.  “Cold?” he asks.

I nod and get to my feet, his hand running down my butt cheek as I step out of the tub and reach for a towel.  Holt darts up and stops me, his fingers circling my hips.  

“You have bruises,” he says, causing me to look down.  He’s right.  A couple tiny bruises grace my hips.  He lightly grabs my hips, his fingers lining up with the marks on my flesh.

“Doesn’t hurt,” I say, reaching out to him, but he steps back.  

“You’re hurt because of me.”
I can’t explain it, but I can see darkness cascade over him, like a storm you see coming over the horizon.  His eyes get darker; his body seems heavier.  The weight this man carries — whatever it is — is so huge, even the air in the room seems to change.  I should be scared, but I’m not.  I can see it in his eyes — the pain, the regret, the guilt.  

“I just want to protect you,” he says, his voice low.

“Holt, I would tell you if you were too rough,” I say, stepping closer to him and stroking the stubble on his face.

His eyes spark, and he falls to his knees, kissing each bruise softly.  “Think I need to show you how good gentle can feel,” he says, standing and picking me up.  He carries me to the bed and lays me down, kissing my hair and whispering, “I want every inch of your body to remember me.  Remember the pleasure I give you.” A little moan escapes, and he chuckles low in his throat.  “I’m going to make you wait this time.”

“No,” I pout.

He raises his head and stares down at me.  “You like it quick and dirty, don’t you?” he asks.  Before Holt, I waited five years to have sex again, so my body must think it’s going to be sex deprived again, because he’s right.  “Say it.  Tell me what you like.”

“Quick,” I beg.  “I need to come — now!”

“Demanding,” he smirks at me, pinning my arms overhead.  “I’m the one who gives the orders, remember?”

I actually show my teeth.  It’s like I’m a wild animal in heat.  You know, the kind you see on Discovery Channel when sex looks more like a fight?  He just leans down and kisses the tip of my nose.  I wiggle my hips, grinding into the length of him, hoping I can catch just the right angle to push him inside.  His tip lingers at my entrance — Yes!  But just as I start to push into him, he lifts his hips up.
I actually show my teeth.  It’s like I’m a wild animal in heat.  You know, the kind you see on Discovery Channel when sex looks more like a fight?  He just leans down and kisses the tip of my nose.  I wiggle my hips, grinding into the length of him, hoping I can catch just the right angle to push him inside.  His tip lingers at my entrance — Yes!  But just as I start to push into him, he lifts his hips up.  

“Bad girl.”  Then he lifts his eyes to mine and says, “I told you, no quick and dirty this time.  This is a sweet fuck.”

Sweet fuck?  Those words do not go together, but something about them makes my body relax.  And Holt feels it too, releasing my wrists, his tongue finding mine and slowly exploring my mouth.  This is the way he kissed me that first night on his patio — softly and sweetly.  He’s winning me over already.  There’s definitely something to be said for a patient man.  

“Christ, you are so beautiful,” he whispers between kisses.

“Holt,” I say, my voice cracking.  It’s much easier to have him talk dirty to me than to hear him say sweet things.  Dirty talk equals fucking, not making love.  At least, it’s easier to fool myself into believing that.  I guess dirty talk happens when you love someone, too.  But sweet talk doesn’t happen when it’s just sex.  It means something more.

His head lowers to my breast, his tongue circling my nipple, and then I feel it a whole lot lower, my legs clenching together.  His hand goes to my other breast, lightly pulling up the nipple while he sucks, licks, and circles the other with his warm mouth.  A tightness builds in my thighs, and a wave of heat flashes over my body.  I don’t know how, but I know I’m close.  Another wave comes over me, and I say a few dirty words in my head.

He keeps his eyes locked on mine as he slides down my body.  Clearly, he hasn’t given up on taking his time.  He kisses my folds gently, like he’s kissing my face, and my legs push together, but he brings my thighs to his shoulders and lightly runs his tongue across me.  “Don’t hold back,” he says.  “You know I love it when you talk dirty.”  His eyes close, and he moans, sending this incredible vibration through me.  He’s being so gentle, so slow.  It’s making me lose my mind.

“Fuck me with your tongue!”  My eyes flash open.  The whispered dirty words in my head have flown out of my mouth.  His eyes catch mine, and he does exactly what I asked, slipping his tongue inside me.  Oh, I like this game.  Ask and I shall receive.

 




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Prescott Lane is the Amazon best-selling author of Stripped Raw. She’s got five other books under her belt including: First Position, Perfectly Broken, Quiet Angel, and Wrapped in Lace, and her new release, Layers of Her. She is originally from Little Rock, Arkansas, and holds a degree in sociology and a MSW from Tulane University. She married her college sweetheart, and they currently live in New Orleans with their two children and two crazy dogs. Prescott started writing at the age of five, and sold her first story about a talking turtle to her father for a quarter. She later turned to writing romance novels because there aren’t enough happily ever afters in real life.

 

Author links
ArdentProse_LogoMain.jpg

 

COVER REVEAL – The Reason for Me by Prescott Lane

 new-ap-cover-reveal
Blurb

Holt

She likes it quick and dirty.

I like orders and rules.

She hates small talk.

I hate to share.

She’s an open book.

I’m a closed dresser drawer.

She rides a Harley.

And that drives me f’ing nuts.

Annalyse and I have both lived in our own personal hells for half a decade. She’s learned to love the warmth, and I’m still consumed.
But my new neighbor is stoking more than my libido these days. We agreed on only pleasure. But she changed the rules.

And now I’m not even sure what they are.

Maybe there’s a reason she found me that night, maybe there’s a reason I can’t stop thinking about her, maybe there’s a reason for the pain. Maybe not.

We all look for reasons in life. Reasons for death, love, pain. Why one thing happens and not another? It’s human nature. We’ve been looking for the meaning of life since the beginning of time. But maybe the reason for all of it — life, love, loss, heartache — is the curvy brunette living next door.

trfm


About the Author

Prescott Lane is the Amazon best-selling author of Stripped Raw. She’s got five other books under her belt including: First Position, Perfectly Broken, Quiet Angel, and Wrapped in Lace, and her new release, Layers of Her. She is originally from Little Rock, Arkansas, and holds a degree in sociology and a MSW from Tulane University. She married her college sweetheart, and they currently live in New Orleans with their two children and two crazy dogs. Prescott started writing at the age of five, and sold her first story about a talking turtle to her father for a quarter. She later turned to writing romance novels because there aren’t enough happily ever afters in real life.

Author links

Twitter Facebook Web Amazon page Goodreads Instagram


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BLOG TOUR ~ Layers of Her By Prescott Lane

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A Letter to my Readers

Rape. Just typing that word makes my gut tie up in knots. And that’s part of the problem.

Because it’s so uncomfortable, we don’t want to talk about it. So it gets buried at the bottom the newsfeed or forgotten altogether, like the backlog of untested rape kits.

 

Last March, I released Quiet Angel in which the heroine is a survivor of childhood sexual assault. A few weeks later, my husband became gravely ill, and we spent the rest of the year (5 long hospital stays and 4 long surgeries) fighting to regain his health. As I sat in the hospital chair next to his bed night after night, I got messages from women about how my book touched them. Some shared their reasons, and others didn’t.

 

I came to learn that April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month. How could I not know that? just released a book on the very topic. Yet I didn’t see one post about it on any of my social media accounts.

 

Early this year, I began writing Layers of Her with the intent to spread awareness and donate of April’s profits to charity. I was nervous when I started, and I still am. I mean, how much the profits be? Will readers assume I’m a survivor or I know one? Will I do the topic justice?

 

Why am I doing this? It’s a whole lot easier to stay silent. But that’s the whole problem, isn’t I work in a field, in the genre of fiction, that is mostly comprised of women, where sexual assault is one of the most common tropes. And with each passing page, we pull for our broken heroes and heroines to heal, find love, forge a new path. That’s all we want for them. We need to do same for the real life heroes and heroines, those brave souls who fight the real fight every single day. So join me this April in making some noise to raise awareness, not only for the survivors but for those who love them.

 

Prescott

 


 

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Amazon US  Amazon UK  Amazon CA  

 

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People always say it’s what’s on the inside that matters. If that’s the case, I’m screwed. On the outside, everything looks put together — blonde hair, blue eyes, tall and lean. By society’s standards, I’d be considered attractive. But f*ck society, I know what I am. I know what I’m made of. The recessive genes that reared their heads and created a decent looking package on the outside don’t make me who I am. What about all the evil lurking inside? What about all the other parts of me that aren’t so easy to see? Some of the most beautiful animals are also the deadliest. Take the polar bear, for example. Cute and cuddly on the outside, but it’s really a predator that will bite your f*cking head off. That’s a dangerous combination.

 

And that’s exactly like me, exactly who I am. Bad — and once you go bad, you can never go back.

 

WARNING: This book deals with the harsh reality of rape that could be upsetting for some readers.

 


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“What made you come for me?” she asks.  I tell her my theory about men making decisions based on one of three body parts — head, heart, dick.  “So which led you to my house tonight?” she asks.

 

“Let’s just say two out of three ain’t bad.”

 

Her giggle fills up the room.  “Stone?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Don’t let me forget.”

 

“Forget what?”

 

“How good I feel right now,” she says.

 

I know exactly what she’s feeling.  She doesn’t think she deserves to be happy.  It’s a constant waiting on the other shoe to drop so you can prove to yourself that all the bad shit you fill your head with is true.  That you’re bad, and that’s why bad things happen around you, or to those you love.  Dealt with that myself when Tate got her diagnosis.  Who am I kidding?  I still fight those demons, knowing she’s suffering because of my mistakes.  Self-blame is a bitch.  Self-hatred is even worse.  Guess I’ll just have to teach Campbell to love herself as much as I love her.

 

Yeah, yeah, it’s fast.  But how long does it really take to fall in love with someone?  A minute?  An hour?  A day?  A year?  For me, it took exactly one kiss.  The moment her lips touched mine in that hospital room, I was gone.

 

Besides, what do you really have to know about a person to love them?  Not a damn thing other than how they make you feel when you close your eyes at the end of the day with them wrapped in your arms.

 


 

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Prescott Lane is the author of First Position, Perfectly Broken, and her new release, Quiet Angel. She is originally from Little Rock, Arkansas, and graduated from Centenary College with a degree in sociology. She went on to receive her MSW from Tulane University, after which she worked with developmentally delayed and disabled children. She married her college sweetheart, and they currently live in New Orleans with their two children and two crazy dogs. Prescott started writing at the age of five, and sold her first story about a talking turtle to her father for a quarter. She later turned to writing romance novels because there aren’t enough happily ever afters in real life.

Happily Ever Afters Guaranteed

 

Author links

Twitter  Facebook  Web  Amazon page
Goodreads
Instagram


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RELEASE DAY BLITZ ~ Layers of Her by Prescott Lane

layers of her - release day.jpg

 

A Letter to my Readers

 

Rape. Just typing that word makes my gut tie up in knots. And that’s part of the problem. Because it’s so uncomfortable, we don’t want to talk about it. So it gets buried at the bottom the newsfeed or forgotten altogether, like the backlog of untested rape kits.

Last March, I released Quiet Angel in which the heroine is a survivor of childhood sexual assault.

A few weeks later, my husband became gravely ill, and we spent the rest of the year (5 long hospital stays and 4 long surgeries) fighting to regain his health. As I sat in the hospital chair next to his bed night after night, I got messages from women about how my book touched them. Some shared their reasons, and others didn’t.

I came to learn that April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month. How could I not know that? I had just released a book on the very topic. Yet I didn’t see one post about it on any of my social media accounts.

Early this year, I began writing Layers of Her with the intent to spread awareness and donate of April’s profits to charity. I was nervous when I started, and I still am. I mean, how much woud the profits be? Will readers assume I’m a survivor or that I know one? Will I do the topic justice?

Why am I doing this? It’s a whole lot easier to stay silent. But that’s the whole problem, isn’t it. I work in a field, in the genre of fiction, that is mostly comprised of women, where sexual assault is one of the most common tropes. And with each passing page, we pull for our broken heroes and heroines to heal, find love, forge a new path. That’s all we want for them.
We need to do same for the real life heroes and heroines, those brave souls who fight the real fight every single day. So join me this April in making some noise to raise awareness, not only for the survivors but for those who love them.

Prescott

AP new - buy the book.jpg

Amazon US  Amazon UK  Amazon CA


 

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People always say it’s what’s on the inside that matters. If that’s the case, I’m screwed. On the outside, everything looks put together — blonde hair, blue eyes, tall and lean. By society’s standards, I’d be considered attractive. But f*ck society, I know what I am. I know what I’m made of. The recessive genes that reared their heads and created a decent looking package on the outside don’t make me who I am. What about all the evil lurking inside? What about all the other parts of me that aren’t so easy to see? Some of the most beautiful animals are also the deadliest. Take the polar bear, for example. Cute and cuddly on the outside, but it’s really a predator that will bite your f*cking head off. That’s a dangerous combination.

 

And that’s exactly like me, exactly who I am. Bad — and once you go bad, you can never go back.

 

WARNING: This book deals with the harsh reality of rape that could be upsetting for some readers.

 


 

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“What made you come for me?” she asks.  I tell her my theory about men making decisions based on one of three body parts — head, heart, dick.  “So which led you to my house tonight?” she asks.

 

“Let’s just say two out of three ain’t bad.”

 

Her giggle fills up the room.  “Stone?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Don’t let me forget.”

 

“Forget what?”

 

“How good I feel right now,” she says.

 

I know exactly what she’s feeling.  She doesn’t think she deserves to be happy.  It’s a constant waiting on the other shoe to drop so you can prove to yourself that all the bad shit you fill your head with is true.  That you’re bad, and that’s why bad things happen around you, or to those you love.  Dealt with that myself when Tate got her diagnosis.  Who am I kidding?  I still fight those demons, knowing she’s suffering because of my mistakes.  Self-blame is a bitch.  Self-hatred is even worse.  Guess I’ll just have to teach Campbell to love herself as much as I love her.

 

Yeah, yeah, it’s fast.  But how long does it really take to fall in love with someone?  A minute?  An hour?  A day?  A year?  For me, it took exactly one kiss.  The moment her lips touched mine in that hospital room, I was gone.

Besides, what do you really have to know about a person to love them?  Not a damn thing other than how they make you feel when you close your eyes at the end of the day with them wrapped in your arms.


 

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Prescott Lane is the author of First Position, Perfectly Broken, and her new release, Quiet Angel. She is originally from Little Rock, Arkansas, and graduated from Centenary College with a degree in sociology. She went on to receive her MSW from Tulane University, after which she worked with developmentally delayed and disabled children. She married her college sweetheart, and they currently live in New Orleans with their two children and two crazy dogs. Prescott started writing at the age of five, and sold her first story about a talking turtle to her father for a quarter. She later turned to writing romance novels because there aren’t enough happily ever afters in real life.

Happily Ever Afters Guaranteed

 

Author links

Twitter  Facebook  Web
Amazon page
Goodreads Instagram


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BLOG TOUR ~ Stripped Raw by Prescott Lane

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Buy The Book

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Kenzie

 

I’m a yes girl.  Get your mind out of the gutter; I’m not talking about sex.  I’m talking about saying yes to whatever comes my way in life.  So when I had the chance to move to Europe after college, I said, yes.  When I had the chance to open my own lingerie line, I said, yes.  And when my stepsister got diagnosed with cancer and needed me to come home and help her raise her daughter, I said, yes.  That’s me, Kenzie — the yes girl!  In every area of my life but one —Love.  Always the first to leave a relationship.  Will I be able to say yes to love — to Kane — to being happy?  Or will I simply come undone and be stripped raw?

 

Kane

 

Don’t let Kenzie fool you!  She’s a master at hiding behind a laugh and a smile.  Being an attorney, I prefer the facts.  This story isn’t as light and happy as my yes girl would have you believe.  No laugh can sugar coat what we are facing:  I’ve lost everything.  I know what it’s like to be left raw.  But sometimes that’s the only way to find love.  To strip yourself down, let the other person see all your shit, and hope they love you anyway.

 


 

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“I’m the good girl, very responsible, girl-next-door type.”

Should I tell her I took the virginity of the girl next door?  Probably not.  “I think you’re more than that,” I say, taking a step closer to her.  That wasn’t a line.  I really mean it.  I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think so.

 

I inch even closer, but she looks confused — a little like she wants me to kiss her, a little like she wants me to screw her, but mostly like she doesn’t want me to do anything more.  I can’t blame her; we only met a few hours ago.  Deacon is wrong about the one night stand thing.  This woman isn’t looking for a hookup.  I’m not, either.  One night with her wouldn’t be enough.  So I take a step back, my fists clenched at my sides to redirect my energy.

 

“That was my first catalog,” Kenzie says.  “I plan on doing two a year.”  She reaches for a sketchbook on her work table.  “This is what I’m working on for the next line.  I’ll be photographing them pretty soon.  The line is inspired by men’s clothing, so pinstripes and. . . .”

 

She keeps talking about the different fabrics, colors, and textures she plans to use.  I have no idea what she is saying, but marvel over what I’m seeing — corsets and bustiers, vests with garter belts, bras, and G-strings.  I love that these ideas, these fantasies, came out of her mind.  She is so much more than she thinks, so much more than the girl next door.

 

Kenzie flips to another sketch, this one of a navy bra and panty set with stockings and heels.  That will look perfect on her — especially bent over my office desk.  My cock throbbing, I take a deep breath and try to focus on what Kenzie is saying.  My eyes search the catalog pages for anything to distract me.  “What’s this?”

 

“Cuffs,” she says, “like on a man’s dress shirt.  But these double as handcuffs.”

 

Okay, that’s it.  The arts-and-crafts show is officially driving me crazy.  My dick is rock hard now, and I can’t take it anymore.


 

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1 x $25 Amazon Gift Card

1 x Signed copy of Stripped Raw & swag

Giveaway Link


 

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Prescott Lane is the author of First Position, Perfectly Broken, and her new release, Quiet Angel. She is originally from Little Rock, Arkansas, and graduated from Centenary College with a degree in sociology. She went on to receive her MSW from Tulane University, after which she worked with developmentally delayed and disabled children. She married her college sweetheart, and they currently live in New Orleans with their two children and two crazy dogs. Prescott started writing at the age of five, and sold her first story about a talking turtle to her father for a quarter. She later turned to writing romance novels because there aren’t enough happily ever afters in real life.

Happily Ever Afters Guaranteed

 

Author links

Twitter  Facebook  Web  Amazon page
Goodreads Instagram


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RELEASE BLITZ ~ Stripped Raw by Prescott Lane

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AP - Synopsis

Kenzie
I’m a yes girl. Get your mind out of the gutter; I’m not talking about sex. I’m talking about saying yes to whatever comes my way in life. So when I had the chance to move to Europe after college, I said, yes. When I had the chance to open my own lingerie line, I said, yes. And when my stepsister got diagnosed with cancer and needed me to come home and help her raise her daughter, I said, yes. That’s me, Kenzie — the yes girl! In every area of my life but one —Love. Always the first to leave a relationship. Will I be able to say yes to love — to Kane — to being happy? Or will I simply come undone and be stripped raw?

Kane
Don’t let Kenzie fool you! She’s a master at hiding behind a laugh and a smile. Being an attorney, I prefer the facts. This story isn’t as light and happy as my yes girl would have you believe. No laugh can sugar coat what we are facing: I’ve lost everything. I know what it’s like to be left raw. But sometimes that’s the only way to find love. To strip yourself down, let the other person see all your shit, and hope they love you anyway.


 

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AP - about the author


Prescott Lane
is the author of First Position, Perfectly Broken, and her new release, Quiet Angel. She is originally from Little Rock, Arkansas, and graduated from Centenary College with a degree in sociology. She went on to receive her MSW from Tulane University, after which she worked with developmentally delayed and disabled children. She married her college sweetheart, and they currently live in New Orleans with their two children and two crazy dogs. Prescott started writing at the age of five, and sold her first story about a talking turtle to her father for a quarter. She later turned to writing romance novels because there aren’t enough happily ever afters in real life.

Happily Ever Afters Guaranteed


Author links

Twitter | Facebook | Web | Amazon 
Goodreads | Instagram | Pinterest


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