Friday, August 28, 2015


 Clean Sweep Book #1 of the Venom series by V.L. Locey
 M/F Erotic Hockey Romance

Fiery, flame-haired Jane Bratkowski is catapulted from a small college town to Philadelphia to become head coach of a new women’s hockey team, The Venom. It’s a life-changing opportunity, a dream come true until – in a cruel twist of fate that could turn into a nightmare – she comes face to face with her ex-husband Tore Ahlberg, the Wildcats' head of European Scouting.

Suddenly, Jane’s faced with more challenges than she bargained for: Will she let him distract her -- and derail her big chance to coach pro hockey? Can she build a team of relatively inexperienced, irrepressible young women into champions? Can she and Tore triumph over the gut-wrenching tragedy that ripped them apart -- or will the shocking truth of their passionate past threaten to destroy them once again?

Excerpt R

             A draft crept over my bare toes as they peeked out from under my nightgown. Yeah. I know. Jane Bratkowski was wearing a nightgown. The inner dimensions of hell were about to freeze over.
            It wasn`t just an old flannel thing with worn elbows and spaghetti sauce stains, it was a nice one. Dark blue with no sleeves, an obscene amount of silky material that billowed out widely when I spun around, not that I make a habit of spinning, and a lacy top that allowed the dark pink of my nipples to show plainly. I was fucking freezing. I was also wondering just what sort of drunken asshole had I been to pack something like this. I looked over at the foot of that big soft bed. The matching robe, also silken and seductive, lay in wait. I blew a wild strand of red from my face. My hand shook. Truthfully, my whole body was shaking. It about killed me to admit that I was scared but I was. I was quaking like a politician strapped to a lie detector. What would he do if I proceeded as I was planning to? Tore and I had always been open about our desires. If either of us wanted the other, all it would take was either a glance or a touch, along with a softly worded entreaty. Wham-Bam! We'd be in bed in short order. That had been then. Now? Maybe he would laugh at me trying to come onto him. Shit, maybe he would tell me to go jump in the lake. Maybe I would end up crying myself to sleep as I had for so many months after he had left me. Correction. After I had pushed him away. Let`s call it like it was, Ginger Snap.
            "For the love of fuck, Jane." With that I stalked over to the bed, grabbed the slippery soft robe, stuck my freckled arms into it, then stomped down the corridor to Tore`s room. Chin high, Bratkowski look of supreme confidence plastered on, I knocked three times then entered. Tore was reading in bed, his back resting on the headboard, his glasses on the end of his nose, his lean body covered in sexy black pajamas. His feet were bare. I smiled at the sight of his long toes then my sight moved back over him. Slowly my gaze roamed, enjoying the sight of him in bed holding what I assumed would be a book about the rise and fall of some foreign land. The glasses added to his appeal.
            "I thought those three knocks were supposed to be on the ceiling," he said, his open book resting on his thighs.
            "I couldn`t reach the ceiling," I replied, my hand on the knob. Tore laid his book on the bed. I swallowed loudly. He pushed his glasses up his nose. My heartbeat seemed loud in my ears.
            "Jane, I`m proud of you opening my door."
            He always had a knack for knowing just what to say. I stepped inside then flung the door shut behind me, my gaze never leaving his face.
            "I thought about making a comment about Swedish sausage," I said as my robe slithered off my arms then fluttered to the floor behind me. "But I`d hate for you to think I was crass."
            Tore didn`t move a muscle as I closed the distance from door to bed. The room was similar to mine. It had walls and a floor. A ceiling as well. Windows too probably. Details about decor weren`t important. All that was important was getting my freckled backside into bed with the pale blonde man trying his best not to smile like a monkey in a banana factory.
            "I already know that you're crass, Jane." He dropped his glasses to the bed stand a mere second before I hiked up all that silky blue material to mid-thigh level. His sight dropped from my face to my naked legs. The amused look he had worn disappeared. By the time I was seated on his thighs there was not a smidgeon of amusement left on his face. My knees rested on either side of his hips, yards of blue silk flowed over his legs.
            "Do you know what else I am, Tore?" I asked while I worked on unbuttoning his pajama top. Some sort of heated sound of pleasure burbled from deep within his chest when my palms moved over his bared pectorals.
            "Brazen. Opinionated. Forward. Outspoken. Sensual. Fiery. Very fiery." He shucked his arms out of his top then cupped my breasts. His long strong fingers wrapped around the two fleshy mounds. He squeezed roughly. I shuddered and moaned. "So fiery."
            "Needy too," I whispered as he fondled my breasts. I slid forward over his erection. We both inhaled sharply at the explosion of sensation. He dipped his head. I arched my back to give him all the tit he could take. He suckled my right breast strongly, the lace covering growing wet, just as I was. I began rocking back and forth. Tore moaned around his mouthful as my hips found a nice rhythm. I loved the feel of my hair tickling my shoulder blades when my head rolled in slow, pleasurable circles. He tugged on my stiff nipple with his teeth, his hands sliding under the voluminous nightgown. There was a small interruption of dry humping when he freed his cock from his pajamas. Using his shoulders for advantage, I then impaled myself on him. He slid into me with ease.

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Author Bio:

V.L. Locey loves worn jeans, yoga, belly laughs, reading and writing lusty tales, Greek mythology, the New York Rangers, comic books, and coffee. (Not necessarily in that order.) She shares her life with her husband, her daughter, two dogs, two cats, a flock of assorted domestic fowl, and three Jersey steers.

When not writing spicy romances, she enjoys spending her day with her menagerie in the rolling hills of Pennsylvania with a cup of fresh java in hand. She can also be found online on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, and GoodReads. 

Tuesday, August 25, 2015