SCOTTY My boyfriend’s been trying to kill me for weeks. Well, I guess he's my boyfriend. I mean, we've never officially been introduced, but he's always standing in the shadows, watching me. That has to be a good sign, right? The first time I saw him, he was hunched down in my bushes, aiming a rifle at my heart. He's turned up with a new weapon every night since. As fun as our silly little game of Murder Daddy may be, I’m getting tired of having to steal my stalker-slash-boyfriend’s affection by disarming him and using his own weapons against him. BRODY I’ve got to get my head in the game. As my agency’s top assassin, I’ve killed my fair share of men. When Senator Levinson placed his son on my hitlist, I figured it would be a one-and-done. Every time our paths cross, he winds up getting the upper hand. The things he makes me do once he’s pried a gun or a knife out of my hand are downright depraved, and for some reason, I can't bring myself to stop it from happening. It makes no sense. My wife tells me I need to just suck it up and get the job done. My wife’s boyfriend says I’m sweet on the guy, which is absolutely ridiculous. Even if I wanted to take advantage of our open marriage, I’m not gay. This man—this Freakshow—is completely unhinged, and the worst part is, I think I might be just as crazy as him. F\\ck, Marry, Kill Me, Daddy is a high-heat, over-the-top, absolutely UNHINGED, dual-POV, dark romcom that is equal parts insta-love and insta-lust.

Tatum Scotty Levinson is a dead man. My (alleged) best friend has stolen my license, assumed my identity, and married my kidnapper on my behalf. That’s not even the worst part. Now, I find out he’s planned a double wedding for us behind my back. He can claim it’s because he’s too scared to walk down the aisle alone until he’s blue in the face, it doesn’t change facts. Abi Kincaid is my kidnapper, not my husband. So, no. I am not returning home for this busted-up, backwoods wedding, I am not introducing my parents to my kidnapper, and I am not walking down any aisles. Contrary to what he might tell you, I am not Abi Kincaid’s property, nor am I his pretty baby, little one, or any other stupid endearment that falls from his unexplainably delicious lips. I’m just a man with a lackluster plan that will allow me to finally break free. Abi Tatum St. James is a mystery. An enigma, wrapped in a hot-pink jockstrap and a skin-tight crop top. For six months, I’ve cared for him. I’ve nursed his broken heart. When he’s lonely, I provide companionship. If he’s drowning in self-doubt, I slip a finger inside to remind him he’s safe. I even indulge his newfound exhibitionist kink, because a body like his deserves to be seen by the masses. He can claim stress-induced memory loss as many times as he wants; six months ago, Tatum St. James begged me to give him a bigger, brighter life, and I always keep my promises. Kiss, Kill, Thrill Me, Daddy is an over-the-top, absolutely unhinged, dark MM rom-com with exhibitionist themes, kidnapping as a love language, and vast amounts of finger warming. While most of the topics are handled lightly, there are dark subjects broached, so please check the content warnings to decide if this is the book for you. While it can be read as a standalone, it’s best experienced after reading book one, F\\k, Marry, Kill Me, Daddy.

Nate The Bens aren’t related, but they might as well be twins. From their matching outfits to shared platonic showers, my son’s ex-boyfriends do almost everything together. The only thing they don’t share is a physical relationship, but from what Benjamin tells me, that’s about to change, and they're going to need me to guide them. As part of a polyamorous pack, they suffered at the hands of their abusive ex-boyfriend, Benito. Now, with the monster out of the picture, I’ll do whatever it takes to make them feel safe. If that means wearing their ejaculate on my hip like lotion or guiding them through their first sexual experiences together, so be it. If I’m going to be the father figure my surrogate sons need, I’ll need to find a way to prove that they’re not unlovable. Maybe in doing so, I might even convince myself that I’m not, either. I kind of feel it already, each time Bennet calls me Daddy or Benjamin calls me Dad. All or nothing. Beginning to end. Forever and ever. That’s us. That’s me and my Bens. Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang Us, Daddy is a high heat, heavy heart, unbearably steamy, character-driven story. Low on plot, it focuses on the budding relationship between three unrelated, broken men. Please review the content warnings before reading as there are heavy topics aplenty. While it is book three of a series, it can be read as a standalone, but it isn't suggested.

Miles Brooks has overcome. That’s what he claims, at least, but if the conversion therapy tactics his father used on him are anything like the ones Miles uses on me, I’m not sure how much validity that claim holds. I’m an open-minded twink, but even I have my limits. He can’t truly believe that one-on-one guided mastur\-you-know-what-tion sessions can be the catalyst to a heterosexual awakening. It's hard to take any of this seriously when the man has literally been inside me, even if he no longer remembers any of it. None of this is my fault, so you can take that judgment out of your tone. I’m not the one who got blackout-passout on sleeping pills, invited his best friend over, and shoved my tongue into his mouth before he even entered the house. I didn’t even know about the damn pills until two months later, nor did I know about the Ambien-like amnesia side effect they produce. Now that I know, I can’t stop our nightly cuddles. Once the pill kicks in, he physically will not allow me to stay away. The worst part is, I don’t want him to. The heart wants what it wants, and mine wants Miles Brooks. My childhood best friend, problematic age gap be damned. My pastor-slash-potential-master. My conversion therapy king.