Hi guys, we have J.A. Rock popping in with her new release Pain Slut, we have a great excerpt, a fantastic giveaway and Aerin’s review so enjoy the post and leave a comment to enter the giveaway! <3 ~Pixie~

Pain Slut

J.A. Rock

Honestly, I’m ready to take a step back from the Subs Club. Making the kink world a safer place for subs is the sort of bandwagon I’d have boarded as an idealist in my early twenties, but now I’m a pragmatist in my late twenties. I prefer to focus on adopting and raising a child.

But unexpected factors inevitably derail my plans. Like Drix Seger—attractive and the first genuine sadist I’ve encountered. If I were not in the process of renouncing my masochistic ways and becoming the normal, responsible potential father the adoption agency wants to see, Drix and I might do well together. But he has a foolish name and belongs to a cult of vampyres, and I am quitting kink. So why does Drix’s infatuation with blood and biting make me so hot I can’t think straight? And why, when he looks at me, does he seem to see something beyond a basket case with a stick up my ass?

Can I start a new phase in my life without leaving part of myself behind? Please send help.

—Miles

J.A. Rock

Hi! I’m J.A. Rock, and right now I’m touring the internet talking about my latest release Pain Slut—Book 2 in The Subs Club series. Thanks so much to the blogs that are hosting me on this tour, and be sure to leave comments on the tour posts for a chance to win your choice of two backlist ebooks and a $10 Amazon gift card!

About the Subs Club series

After the death of their friend Hal at the hands of an irresponsible dom, submissive friends Dave, Kamen, Miles, and Gould band together to form the Subs Club—an organization seeking to expose dangerous local doms. The club slowly evolves as romances blossom, loyalties are tested, and tensions mount in a community already struggling for unity in the wake of Hal’s death.

From domestic discipline to knife play to fashion paraphilia, and from family drama to new jobs to first loves, the members of the Subs Club explore life’s kinks inside and outside of the bedroom as they attempt to let go of the past and move forward.

Excerpt

I parked in A2A’s side lot, facing away from the street. Slid carefully from behind the wheel, attempting to subtly support my balls with my hand. I’d borrowed XL sweatpants from Bowser because my own had been too tight, as well as his baggiest T-shirt and a hoodie that matched the pants, but there was no way the clothes were going to fully hide my condition. Whatever this T-shirt crisis was, I should have told Jason he had to solve it himself.

Except I was A2A’s owner, and I was a control freak, and I needed to know what was going on. I shuffled toward the door.

As soon as Jason saw me, he started flapping his arms. “Miles—”

“Jason? Take a breath.”

He paused momentarily in his fluttering as I approached. “Why are you wearing a sweat suit?”

“Long story. What’s the problem?”

Jason looked horrified. Jason always looked vaguely horrified.

“Jason, don’t look so horrified.”

“I can’t help it. They’re going to freak.”

“Who?”

“It’s the Team Funeral shirts.”

Oh God.

Team Funeral. The Segers, who had placed a rush order by phone last week for twelve matching T-shirts to be worn at a relative’s funeral. Why a family would wear matching T-shirts to a funeral was beyond me, but they had added a generous tip on top of the rush price, and I’d promised we would have the shirts done in time for the service.

I ignored the discomfort as my swollen, welted balls rubbed against the front of my pants. “What happened to the shirts?”

Jason pulled a seafoam T-shirt out of the box. Shook it out. I read the purple airbrushed letters: UNCLE MATT, REST NOW WITH THE ANGLES.

“Oh dear.”

Jason’s head popped out from behind the shirt. “I looked for the original order to see if it was their mistake or ours. And it was theirs; they definitely spelled it ‘angles’ on their form. But—”

“But we should have caught it,” I finished. We prided ourselves in checking submissions carefully. We’d been able to stop an “Andesron” soccer jersey from happening, as well as a Will Work for Foot hoodie and an order of five hundred My Other Cat Is the Millennium Falcon bumper stickers.

“And their funeral is tomorrow!” Jason sounded dangerously close to hyperventilating. My friends all thought I was wound too tight. I really, really wanted to introduce them to Jason. Except that anytime one of them stopped by the store, Jason was always charming and serene as a Constable painting. “I mean, not their funeral, but . . .”

I nodded. “And perhaps our funeral too. I’ll give them a call.”

I got on the computer and pulled up the Segers’ order. Gave the number a call.

“Hello?” The voice that answered was soft and calm.

“Hi, Mr. Seger? This is Miles Loucks from A2A Wear. Your—”

“Hi, Miles.”

I paused at the interruption. “Yes, hi. Your order’s ready for pickup, but we’ve just noticed a problem.”

“Oh?” He didn’t sound ready to kill, so that was something.

I explained the situation to him. There was silence when I finished.

Then he said, without the slightest change in tone, “I’m in the neighborhood. I’ll stop by and see how bad it is.”

“It’s pretty bad,” I admitted. “I mean, the shirts all say that your uncle is resting with the angles.”

He laughed. “It’s all right, Miles.” The way he said my name was quite beautiful. And God, what was with that voice? It had an otherworldly quality, like he was narrating the prologue to some epic fantasy movie. “I’ll be over in a few minutes.”

No. No. Terrible. I did not want to meet the man whose order I had failed to proofread while I was wearing a sweat suit three sizes too large and my testicles were the size of regulation softballs. “Listen . . .”

But he’d already hung up.

“You’ll have to deal with him,” I told Jason. “I need to get out of sight.”

“What? No! You’re the one who knows how to talk to people.”

“Jason, I’m wearing a sweat suit. I can’t possibly interact with him.”

“What do I say?”

“Apologize. Offer him a refund—fifty percent, since technically it was their mistake. Offer to reprint the shirts, even though the new ones won’t be ready in time for the funeral. I’m going to the back to take inventory.”

I left Jason standing there stammering and took refuge in the back room. There I didn’t have to worry about keeping my crotch sheltered. The air was warm and held the vinegary smell of new shirts. I took out my tablet and pulled up the inventory list.

I’d opened A2A three years ago. My friends had thought a T-shirt design company was a bit of an odd choice for me, since I struck them as neither particularly creative nor fashion-conscious. My cardigan-heavy wardrobe contained, as Dave was fond of saying, Mr. Rogers’s rejects, and I tended to judge harshly anyone over sixteen who wore graphic tees. But the demand was high, and I had a good head for business and a great creative team. Even Jason, who practically burst into tears if the cash register drawer was slow to open, had surprisingly viable ideas.

My friends had all been very supportive. Kamen had been adamant that I name the shop No Shirt, Sherlock, but had eventually come around to the idea of Arm 2 Arm Wear—A2A for short. Dave and Gould had helped me decorate. Our tech-support friend, Ricky, had done the website. A2A currently had a four point six on Yelp, and the store was probably the accomplishment I was most proud of.

Which made “resting with the angles” all the harder to deal with.

After a few minutes, I realized I needed a couple of boxes that were under the register counter. I hobbled cautiously into the front. No sign of Mr. Seger. Jason was out on the floor, organizing the clearance racks.

I went around the counter and soon discovered that crouching was not an option. Keeping my legs stiff, I bent at the waist and lifted one of the boxes out. Set it on the counter. As I lifted the second box, someone slapped a sheet of paper on the counter and left his hand on it. White dude. No wedding ring. Overgrown cuticles. Nice nails. Faint knuckle hair.

I looked up. And up. Until I got to his face, which was closer to the ceiling than I was accustomed to faces being.

La beauté.

I would estimate that eighty percent of the people I encountered were acceptable looking. Twelve percent were captivatingly ugly. Five percent were celebrities and had help. And three percent were outlandishly beautiful.

Mr. Seger was probably close to six foot seven. Lean, and long-limbed. He wore an odd overcoat—knee-length, black, with a belt and a Sherlockian turned-up collar. Long, dark-gold hair gathered into a ponytail, and his eyes—were they purple?

“Miles?” That same low, gentle voice from the phone.

I straightened partway, but kept my knees bent enough that my crotch was hidden behind the counter. “Yes?”

When I met his gaze, he smiled.

“I’m Mr. Seger.”

I caught Jason’s frozen expression from over by the racks. Looked back at Mr. Seger, who appeared too young to be a “mister.” “Hello, Mr. Seger. I’m Miles Loucks. I’m the owner. And I can’t tell you how sorry I am about—”

“May I see the shirts?”

He didn’t sound demanding in the least. Just cheerful and amused.

I had to reach sideways for the box to avoid leaving the shelter of the counter. I removed one shirt and shook it out, as Jason had done. Mr. Seger took it from me, and our fingers brushed. I might as well have been in high school again, jolting when Tyson Ellis handed me his Jell-O at lunch. My face heated, and I waited for the implosion.

But Mr. Seger laughed. And laughed some more.

Rich sound. White teeth. Absurdly sharp canines. My cock, despite being weighed down by a balloon filled with sand, was more than a bit interested in Mr. Seger’s laugh.

He wiped under his eye with one finger. “Oh. Oh, oh. Uncle Matt would have loved this.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said again. I didn’t really feel guilty per se—I have a hard time sympathizing with other people’s grammatical errors, or with the idea of wearing matching shirts to a funeral—but I was sorry about the potential negative Yelp review. “We can offer you a partial refund—”

“No, no. It’s all right.” He folded the shirt and set it back on the box. “I’ve looked at the order form. It was my mistake.”

“We usually proofread carefully, and check with the customer if there’s any confusion about spelling. I can’t believe I didn’t catch this.”

He was looking at me with his head tilted, a half smile still on his face. Those pointed teeth were really throwing me. “Please don’t feel guilty.”

“I understand how much stress you must be dealing with. You didn’t need this on top of it.” I winced as I shifted and my balls rolled along the side of my thigh.

He leaned forward slightly, gazing into my eyes as though—well, as though he were about to kiss me. “I suppose there is one way you could make it up to me.”

I was startled. My apologies were really just a formality, given that I hadn’t been the one to misspell angels. “Yes?”

“Could I take you to dinner?”

What?

I mean truly, what?

At what point had I given him any indication that I . . .

But when I opened my mouth to refuse, politely but with enough of an edge to let him know that his offer was entirely inappropriate, the words “All right” came out.

“Friday night?” Mr. Seger smiled softly at me. The sort of smile you gave someone you’d known far longer than five minutes.

No. No, no. This was not happening. I was not standing here in a sweat suit trying to hide my engorged balls behind a counter while a towering, ponytailed stranger asked me to dinner.

And yet, I said, “Okay.”

He straightened. “I’d like to get my full name out of the way now. Feel free to laugh.”

Who was this joker?

“How bad can it be?”

“Hendrix Seger.”

I hesitated. “Like . . .”

“Like my last name is Seger, as in Bob, and my parents liked Jimi Hendrix.”

A bark of laughter escaped. “I’m so sorry.”

He grinned. “I’m pretty used to it. I go by Drix, which makes me sound like a douche bag action hero. But ‘Hend’ wasn’t really an option.”

I tried a movie preview voice. “Drix Seger stars in . . . Shirtsaster!” What was wrong with me? This was a grieving stranger. And his funeral shirts were ruined. I flushed. “I’m so sorry. Again.”

“I won’t require any more apologies.” He spoke quietly, sounded amused.

I studied him a moment. Decided I liked something about him. His certainty, his oddness, his teeth. His voice.

He took out his phone. “What’s your number?”

I gave it to him.

“I’ll text you closer to Friday.”

And just like that, I had a dinner date.

– Read more at: http://riptidepublishing.com/titles/pain-slut (Just click the excerpt tab)

About J.A.

J.A. Rock is the author of queer romance and suspense novels, including BY HIS RULES, TAKE THE LONG WAY HOME, and, with Lisa Henry, THE GOOD BOY and WHEN ALL THE WORLD SLEEPS. She holds an MFA in creative writing from the University of Alabama and a BA in theater from Case Western Reserve University. J.A. also writes queer fiction and essays under the name Jill Smith. Raised in Ohio and West Virginia, she now lives in Chicago with her dog, Professor Anne Studebaker.

• Website: www.jarockauthor.com
• Blog: http://jarockauthor.blogspot.com
• Twitter: @jarockauthor
• Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ja.rock.39

Giveaway!

Win your choice of two backlist titles from J.A. Rock and a $10 Amazon gift card!

Don’t forget to leave your email or method of contact so Riptide can reach you if you win!

Review

Title: Pain Slut

Series: The Subs Club #2

Author:  J.A. Rock

Genre: BDSM, Contemporary

Length: Novel (320 pages)

ISBN: 9781626493452

Publisher: Riptide Publishing (January 30th 2016)

Heat Level: HOT!!

Heart Rating: ♥♥♥♥♥ 5 Hearts

Reviewer: Aerin

Blurb: Honestly, I’m ready to take a step back from the Subs Club. Making the kink world a safer place for subs is the sort of bandwagon I’d have boarded as an idealist in my early twenties, but now I’m a pragmatist in my late twenties. I prefer to focus on adopting and raising a child.

But unexpected factors inevitably derail my plans. Like Drix Seger—attractive and the first genuine sadist I’ve encountered. If I were not in the process of renouncing my masochistic ways and becoming the normal, responsible potential father the adoption agency wants to see, Drix and I might do well together.

But he has a foolish name and belongs to a cult of vampyres, and I am quitting kink. So why does Drix’s infatuation with blood and biting make me so hot I can’t think straight? And why, when he looks at me, does he seem to see something beyond a basket case with a stick up my ass?

Can I start a new phase in my life without leaving part of myself behind? Please send help.

—Miles

Product Link: http://riptidepublishing.com/titles/pain-slut

Review: If you’ve read Subs Club, then you’re probably familiar with Miles, the resident pain slut. If you have problems with the more extreme forms of BDSM, then you need to stay away from this book, because this isn’t so much about dominance and submission, but mostly about a guy who LOVES pain, and gets off on it. Please don’t read this book if you’re not capable of tolerating and/or are not a fan of blood, torture, and extreme pain, because it’d be a pity to give it a bad rating based on those things. In case you skipped my opening paragraph, I’ll repeat myself…. THIS BOOK HAS EXTREME BDSM ELEMENTS, SUCH AS TORTURE, BLOOD DRAWING, HITTING AND PUNCHING…… IF YOU DON’T THINK YOU CAN TAKE IT, THEN STAY AWAY FROM THIS BOOK!

Now that I got that out of the way, let me say I’ve been dying to read this book ever since I finished The Subs Club. I loved Miles in book one, he was such an intriguing person, and even though I normally don’t read books with masochistic characters, I couldn’t wait to get inside his head and figure out how his mind works. One thing I found shocking was that Miles is black… maybe it was mentioned in the first book, but I honestly can’t remember reading anything about his skin color. I absolutely LOVE that the author managed to write Miles in a way where his skin color wasn’t a big deal at all, it wasn’t mentioned to death, it didn’t draw attention, it wasn’t the focus of who Miles is. I was ways into this second book when I realized Miles’s race, and I was delighted that he was written as a HUMAN BEING, and THAT’S IT! I can’t remember the last time (if ever) I read a book with a black main character where the race of the person wasn’t constantly mentioned one way or another.

So Miles …… such a damaged soul! His desire to become a father, and his NEED to be hurt is causing him a world of pain, and not the kind he craves. He absolutely hates that he needs the pain in his life, and he has a lot of self esteem problems. He’s always tried to make up for his masochistic tendencies by showing people he doesn’t need them, that’s he’s strong and able to take care of himself. But deep down, Miles craves somebody that can hurt him and love him at the same time, someone who can see the real Miles, all his shortcomings, and still stay by his side. His decision to quit kink in order to embrace fatherhood doesn’t work the way he hoped it would. He can’t turn off his body’s cravings of physical pain, but he can’t reconcile being a good father with maintaining his private life either. When Drix becomes a part of his life, everything changes; Drix is everything Miles could ever want in a life partner, because Drix is a natural sadist who loves to inflict pain, but he’s also a softy who loves cuddles and who can see all of Miles, even those parts of him that he’s tried to keep hidden. You know that overwhelming feeling one gets when they find their soulmate, when you know soul-deep someone is made for you? I went crazy for that, because as much as Miles tried to forget about Drix and write their relationship off as temporary, every interaction between then had that special undercurrent; I loved being in Miles’s head because even though some of his personal experiences were horrifying to me, I really got Miles as a person.

This book was extremely intense, but I got a few good laughs along the way. There was lots of humor people, which is a great thing, because it made this book easier to read. Miles is funny, and his first date with Drix had me laughing out loud! Miles’s thoughts when Drix reveled to him about his own lifestyle were hysterical, especially in comparison with his spoken words. Another source of humor are Miles’s friends, especially Dave and Kamen….. I love those guys, and I especially enjoyed catching up with them.

This book was everything I expected and more…. I tried not to think too hard about how I wanted Miles’s story to go, mostly for fear of being disappointed. No disappointment here, people, not even a little trace of it! And that ending was just so beautiful, even though it was more of a HFN than a real HEA; I like to believe I’m right when I picture Drix, Miles, and Zac in the near future. Besides I’m sure we’ll see a lot more of these guys in the next book.

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