Damn, but I LOVED writing Wren’s and Roman’s story in Sassy Switch, Sassy Ever After World. As my fans know, erotic paranormal-romantic comedy is my fave genre.

AMAZON

Blurb:

Eternity was looking damn grim, until a sexy witch breezed into his life…

Doomed to an endless existence seeking blood, Roman dreads forever-after until he chances upon Wren at a Las Vegas strip club. Gawd, her curves. Damn, her welcoming kiss for a newly turned vampire no less. She offers warmth and comfort regarding his predicament, plus carnal temptation he’s not about to resist.

Color her happy about that. Not only is he a good man, but also drool-worthy. So different from the vile warlock who’s been determined to make her his, even if his dark lust kills her.

It just might. When she refuses to go along with his program, he punishes her and Roman by switching their paranormal states. Now, Roman’s saddled with magic he doesn’t know how to use, while she thirsts for blood that only the warlock can satisfy…to tie her to him forever. Ew, ew, ew.

As all hell breaks loose, Roman and Wren are faced with conjuring they don’t understand, the lust for blood she has to deny, and discovering what two yearning souls truly need to turn their disturbing future into a shared paradise.

If they can do so at all…

Excerpt:

Roman squirmed in his chair and drummed his table.

She raised her face.

He stilled. Everything surrounding him went quiet. Colors dimmed. Only she existed.

Her delicate features seemed too ethereal for a witch, but better suited for a fae. Her plush lips contradicted the notion. They’d been made for pleasure.

Something stirred within him. If he’d still been alive, he would have wagered his heart had quickened.

Her gaze remained lowered.

That wouldn’t do. Look at me. See me.

He shouldn’t be feeling what he did. He’d promised himself not to give in to his basest urges, but her presence, scent, and blood captivated him.

With one sniff, he could tell someone’s blood type. How, he didn’t know. He’d asked Aria, a daywalker from Blue Creek, to settle the mystery. She couldn’t. Her vampire cohorts were different than the one who’d made his life a mess.

The stripper was AB positive, the same as him. The only blood capable of satisfying his oppressive hunger. Not even O, the universal donor, could do the trick. A and B had no effect on him either, similar to booze. They’d be wasted plasma.

“Hey, babe!” A tiger shifter rushed the stage.

The bouncer caught him before he reached it.

He struggled against the burly guy’s hold on his neck. “Let go!” He shouted at her, “You busy later?”

Several patrons laughed. Others hollered to get her attention and ask for a date.

She glanced up.

Roman stared.

Sooty lashes ringed her dark-green eyes. The vibrant color complemented her creamy complexion. A small mole decorated her right cheek.

He liked that.

She scanned the crowd, her gaze nearing him.

He tensed and hoped she wouldn’t merely look past.

She did.

Shit. He drooped.

She paused then glanced back and met his eyes. Hell, she fucking held them.

A current similar to an electric shock tore through him. An exceedingly pleasant feeling that warmed his insides and curled his toes. He wasn’t certain whether she’d done something magic to produce what he experienced or if his feelings resulted from her natural allure. Either way, it didn’t matter. He was ready for more.

A request for a date rose to his lips. But he gritted his teeth to keep quiet. He’d sworn not to seek blood no matter his pain, and, by God, he was going to remain firm. He might be a vampire now, but he was still a man and had to hold on to his integrity.

He’d chew off his balls before he hurt her. Pleasing her was the only thing he wanted.

She stood and left the stage, taking away temptation.

He should have been relieved, but wasn’t, since hooking up with her, ever, for a simple good time was definitely not in the cards. He slouched in his chair.

The DJ’s microphone squealed again. He tapped it. “Next show’s in thirty. Hang tight.”

Time to go. Staying here wasn’t getting Roman anywhere. The vamp he sought wasn’t around and probably wouldn’t be. He should scour the other clubs as he’d done these last weeks. Or haunt the area where she’d turned him. Maybe she frequented the spot to blindside humans, liking the desolate street along with its scant vehicle and foot traffic.

If only he hadn’t fled the casino that night. If only he’d been smarter and faced the proverbial music. He’d be nursing his wounds now or doing prison time rather than slogging through an empty eternity.

The thought drained his strength, not allowing him to stand much less walk.

A pretty mortal server rushed up and spied his empty glass. “Want another?”

“Bring the whole bottle. Wait. Make it two.”

“You got it.” She winked and trotted away.

“Bad night?”

A female had spoken. She was so close she had to be addressing him, her voice smoky yet oddly caring.

Couldn’t be his original server. She’d barely glanced his way when he’d ordered and was still necking with the wolf shifter now.

Something glinted in his peripheral vision…delicate chains barely covering ample breasts and a baby-smooth mound.

Her.

Holy shit. He lifted his face and struggled for words. Gold flecks enhanced the green in her eyes. In the faint light, her lips shone as though she’d licked them because she was as hungry as he was.

Curiosity registered on her lovely features, followed by confusion, and something deeper…possibly lust. “Is it?”

He didn’t understand her question. “Is it what? Sorry, I’m not following.”

The server delivered two Johnnie Walker bottles, one red, the other black. “Enjoy.” She left.

The stripper leaned close. “Is it a bad night for you?”

He chuckled, surprised he could given his circumstances. She did that to him. Made him feel comfortable, maybe even hopeful, rather than pained. “I’ll manage.”

“Uh-huh.” She eased his hair off his forehead.

His scalp tingled and his cock shot to attention, ready to boogie. He made a strangled noise, part groan, part sigh. “Ah…”

“Shhh.” She caressed his cheek. “Relax. When was the last time you slept?”

He couldn’t recall. A full night’s rest seemed to have eluded him for years. “I’m guessing weeks.”

“Is that when you were turned?” She stroked the puncture marks on his neck.

His head fell back. “Yeah.”

“Having a hard time adjusting?”

A lie wouldn’t do. She’d know, would say “uh-huh” to his boast about enduring his new existence, then might touch him somewhere else and he’d shoot his wad in his jeans. He hadn’t been the best human or man, but he’d never suffered from premature ejaculation and wasn’t going to start now. “I’m trying, but it’s shitting hard, you know?” He laughed then tensed at how unglued he sounded. “Sorry. Stupid question. You wouldn’t have a clue.”

“I might. I’m Wren Lark, by the way. What’s your name?”

“Roman Young. Wren…” He smiled. “That’s cute. Lark is too. I like both.”

“Thanks. Let me help.”

She’d lost him again. “With what?”

“The trouble you’re having. Adjusting, as you said.”

He blinked. She couldn’t be offering to use her magic to get his quarry to reverse what she’d done to him. After the shit he’d been through, that would be too easy. Still, he yearned for a good outcome. “How?”

“This.” She snuggled on his lap and lowered her mouth to his.

Every nerve ending he owned fired wildly. His hair stood on end. Her lips were soft and warm, her breath sweet, calling to mind cinnamon and sugar, baked goods on a Sunday morning, spring days, fragrant breezes.

He cupped her head. God, even her hair was silky, like her skin.

She made a pleased sound and eased her tongue into his mouth.

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