Out
Now! - Something Else by Nia Farrell
BLURB: Grace
Murphy is the local psychic medium who dreams of her soulmates –Nico White, a
bisexual American Indian musician, and J.T. Santiago, an ex-Navy SEAL and
former cage fighter with PTSD on top of the guilt that he’s still carrying from
other lifetimes that they’ve shared.
J.T. is a dominant, but he’s never had a male submissive and Grace and
Nico are a package deal. It’s a learning
curve for all of them, with J.T.’s initiation into MMF and MM relations and
Grace’s introduction to BDSM. With
Grace’s yin, J.T’s yang, and Nico’s center balance, the three of them come
together as far as J.T.’s PTSD will allow, but forging a future means healing
the past, however painful it might be, in an interracial paranormal MMF ménage BDSM
erotic romance.BUY LINKS:
Amazon US http://amzn.to/1N081iP
Amazon
UK http://amzn.to/1NYepnG
Barnes
and Noble http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/something-else-nia-farrell/1122571287?ean=2940151122504
BookStrand
http://www.bookstrand.com/something-else-mmf
Dark
Hollows Press http://www.darkhollowspress.com/#!something-else/c1tdc
EXCERPT:
With the appearance of him, I feel the shift in my own energy,
like he’s a generator crystal that’s amplified every sense, common or
otherwise. My zipped perceptions are razor sharp, dead on accurate, and
delivered with lightning speed. When half hour readings go to twenty minutes, I
start giving discounts and the line never ends, not until the ten minute
warning that the fair doors will be closing soon.
At five p.m., one of the New Age shop assistants starts walking the
aisles, clearing the crowd and the room’s energy with a ringing pair of Tibetan
tingshas. I smile my thanks when she manages to herd the last hopeful from my
queue. Smile bigger yet when I see that my Latino angel has returned.
“Hi,” I say, sounding rather shy for someone who’s had no problem all
day, delving deep into other people’s lives and issues.
His lips tuck upward, and he nods his head toward the back of the room.
“I promised my cousin I’d help her. Lena says it’ll take an hour.”
Lena. Pretty face, rocking body, bedroom hair, tats. Amazing silver
jewelry and unique leather goods. “I like her.” Actually, I envy her. I have
gifts, but Lena has the skills to make her visions a reality. It’s what sets
her stuff apart.
“She’s got to get home. Sick kid,” he explains. “Daddy’s challenged
enough when Ariana’s a healthy two-year-old. I’ll be free once Lena’s on the
road. Will you be around? I can meet you somewhere. We could grab a bite to
eat. Talk. If not tonight, then later.”
Déjà vu. Six months ago, I’d said nearly the same things to Nico.
I suggest O’Toole’s, two blocks east. “Do you know it?”
He nods grudgingly, clearly not a fan of the Irish pub. Sensitive to
his inner turmoil, I offer an alternative. “Or Jerry’s?” It’s a local bar and
grill, edgier than sports and just shy of biker bar.
God, his smile. I feel like I’ve died and gone to heaven.
“Jerry’s,” he says. “In an hour or so.”
I’m still processing when Nico comes to check on me. He’s moved our
vending van and already has his stuff loaded, and I’ve done almost squat.
“Hey.” He touches me, sliding his darker fingers up my ivory arms until
they reach my elbows. When his thumbs start rubbing circles in the bend of each
arm, my root chakra kicks into overdrive, and my fucking knees grow weak.
“He’s here,” I whisper, damn close to trembling. “He’s meeting us at
Jerry’s after six. Help me pack so we can go get a table.”
That time of night, on a Saturday, there’s usually a line out the door
one or two blocks long. I know I have spiritual helping hands at work when we
get there and are seated at a booth in the quieter back with only a fifteen
minute wait.
I’ve said nothing more to Nico about Lena’s cousin. It occurs to me
that I never asked and he never offered his name. We’ll all know each other
soon enough, and way beyond a first-name basis.
Just thinking about what’s coming makes my panties wet enough to stick
my dress to the worn wooden bench beneath me.
Our waitress, Cherry, slides coasters on the table and sets down our
drinks, a bottle of pseudo beer for Nico and a glass of orange juice for me. I
don’t want anything, either brewed from nature or crafted in a chemistry lab,
to dull my senses tonight. No alcohol. No soda. Juice and water it is.
A menu sits to my right, waiting for him to show. Across from me, Nico
scans both sides of the laminated page and sets it down, his decision already
made. I take longer, wrestling with my baser meat-loving self when I know I
should shun it, but really, where’s the fun in that? I turned vegan once in
high school. It lasted all of two weeks, but I stayed quasi-vegetarian for
three years. Dairy, eggs, and seafood gave me the protein I craved, but it took
cutting out the warm blooded meat to raise my vibration and get it to where I
needed it to be. Because that’s when the dreams started. Visions of the past
lives we’ve shared. Memories of the three of us.
Poised on the brink of our next go-round, I have to wonder why we keep
coming back like this, like frigging musketeers. Is it because we’re stronger
together, or dysfunctional apart? Jesus, I’d like to think I don’t need them,
but I know how much more, how much stronger I am since meeting Nico. My body
thrums to think of what it will be like to have both of them with me.
In me.
Fuck.
AUTHOR
BIO:
Nia Farrell has been writing for
pleasure since junior high. Now that she
writes about pleasure, she can share
the fantasy worlds she visits and introduce readers to characters who remain
with her long after their tales are told.
When crafting a story, Nia draws upon a
rich diversity of life experiences, which include singer/songwriter, prize
winning needle artist, private pilot, Reiki Master/Teacher, crystal healer,
psychic fair reader, jewelry maker, physician’s assistant, factory worker,
waitress, genealogist, period reenactor, and children’s author. If this life isn’t enough, there are plenty
of others to choose from. Otherwise, she
devotes hours of research to subjects outside her realm, determined that her
stories ring true.
Nia lives on a farm in Southern Illinois
(far, far from Chicago, in the heart of “Little Egypt”). A seventh generation Illinoisan, she is descended
from Mayflower Pilgrims, American soldiers from the Revolutionary War to World
War II, and Scottish nobility. She
enjoys playing in the past and visits Ren fairs and historical reenactments in
period attire, sharing her love of history and her passion for music. While her husband and two grown daughters may
only read her nonfiction work, she appreciates their support in pursuing her
dreams, one of which is being published in erotic romance.
Author page on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Author-Nia-Farrell/1678898589004941?fref=ts
Author
page at Amazon US: http://www.amazon.com/Nia-Farrell/e/B014HAAWLK/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_2?qid=1440769158&sr=8-2
Author
page at Amazon UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Nia-Farrell/e/B014HAAWLK/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1440767213&sr=1-1
Author
page at Dark Hollows Press: http://www.darkhollowspress.com/#!nia-farrell/c1mop
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