Release Blitz, Exclusive Excerpt & Giveaway:
F**k, Marry, Kill Me, Daddy by Lance Lansdale
Murder Daddy, Book 1
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, and 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 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. I was wrong. 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. 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. While one character is married, their marriage is open, and there’s no cheating between them.
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.“Daddy?”
“Yeah, creep?”
I dart my eyes to throbbing cock. “Can I touch myself? Please? I’ll be a good boy for you.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “If you were a good boy, you’d let me fucking kill you instead of dragging this out.” He shakes his bulge. “This guy right here? His name is The Wrath. You’re not ready for him. You’ll never be ready for it.” He takes a step forward, his hand falling just a bit lower. Fuck. It looks like a tree stump. There’s an inch or two on display, and there’s nothing I want more than to worship those precious inches with my tongue.
“I can take it,” I say, palming my cock. “How big is it?”
He smirks. “Too big for you.” With one hand hiding his cock away from me, he uses the other to gently stroke my cheek. “I’d split you in half, sweetheart.”
My heart is slamming in my chest, because this moment—this miniscule, insignificant moment—is just like any other . . . only it’s not. It’s so much more. The way he’s letting his endearments fall like campfire embers, flickering onto my skin, providing warmth and the briefest pinch of a burn, feel like a dream come true.
“If you’re gonna kill me, that’s how I want to die. Gonna be your good boy. Gonna die so good for you, Daddy.”
He licks his lips, his eyes locked on my leaking cock. There’s a clock on Brody’s nightstand he points to. “You’ve got one minute to shoot your load. If you can’t, you’re going to bed with blue balls.”
My eyes bulge. “I can’t come that fast. It isn’t possible.”
He points at the clock. “Tick tock. You’re wasting time.”
I wrap my hand around my shaft and stroke rapidly. I don’t know how serious he is about sending me to bed with blue balls, but I’m not taking any chances.
“Talk to me,” I say as I stroke my shaft. “If you want me to shoot in less than a minute, I’m gonna need help.”
He eyes me up and down, shaking his head, his face twisted up in feigned disgust. “Go on then, slut. This is what you wanted. You keep flashing that little cock at me every chance you get. Let’s see how fast it takes you.” Making his way to the bed, he hides his cock from me with the discarded boxer briefs. When he comes to a stop, he reaches down, rubbing his palm against his balls. When he pulls his hand away, he holds it over my mouth and nose. “Smell that?”
Jesus fucking Christ.
“Yeah,” I say, my mouth muffled by his hand.
“That’s what a real man smells like. A real man takes his time when tending to his dick. But you ain’t a real man, are you, Scotty?”
“No,” I say, letting my tongue escape my mouth long enough to lick his sweat. “Not like you, sir.”
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About the Author:
Lance Lansdale is the author of We Burn Beautiful and The Househusband’s Guide to Domestic Bliss. He writes swoony romance with an excessive amount of cuddle scenes.
Connect with Lance:
lancelansdale.com
instagram.com/lancetastik
Facebook: Lance Lansdale
