Bøker av Jove Chambers

Last night, Essence Quill had the worst, the most awkward sex with her friend and co-worker Decker Naggs, who happens to be a gargoyle. So, naturally, what happens tonight is that they end up handcuffed together with magical handcuffs that won't come off. Naturally, the guy who goes to find a spell to get them off disappears, and they can't find him. Naturally, she and Decker have to talk. Decker wants a do-over. He thinks if they try again, the sex could be better. He thinks they'd make a great couple. Essence is definitely attracted to him, but she can't help but feel like they don't really mesh. And besides, the stakes are too high. If this doesn't work out, their friendship, their workplace environment, their entire lives are ruined. This friends-to-lovers contemporary monster romance is Before Sunrise with gargoyle spice. Conversations about love, life, porn, sports, men and women, and everything in between-interrupted by bouts of monstery steam. Contains: choking, dominance play, marking, and spanking. Plot: sorta, kinda? Define "plot." Spoiler alert: HEA.

A dark tale of imprisonment, force, bonding, escape, and healing... Agnes Babbington, the Duchess of Evonshire, has no idea there's a labyrinth built in the depths of the wood behind her estate until her husband locks her in there. She's not alone. There's a bull-headed man with her. Her husband Cyril has been trying to get an heir on her for over a year with no luck. Cyril says she can't leave until she's with child-the monster's child, which he will claim as his own. And it's worse, because she knows the minotaur. He's her husband's brother Dorian, the man who would have been duke if it hadn't been purported he was dead. She's never liked Dorian, a rich rake of a man who takes delight in ridiculing her. Dorian's not dead, though. Dorian is cursed with a bull's head and bull's hooves, and now she is locked up with him here in this labyrinth with no escape. She won't couple with that thing, of course. And Dorian-for his part-claims he's not interested in forcing her. But then Cyril comes with a revolver and demands their participation. Now, she and Dorian are bound in shared anguish. They will have revenge on Cyril. They will fight their way free. And they will travel together towards whatever happiness is left to broken things like them. This forced-breeding monster romance is a dark journey to a destination of unshakable, everlasting love. It's unflinching and intense, but it's also lava-level hot. Non-consensual activity is depicted. There are also explorations of fantasies of bondage, power plays, and voyeurism. It's ultimately a story about affirming and integrating the darkest aspects of ourselves and about healing the harm others do to us. HEA guaranteed.

A cerberus with three heads also has three tongues. And when they are in wolf form, those three tongues are very flexible, as Eloise discovers one night when she's wandering in the woods in werewolf territory on a full moon. (Don't ask. It's her brother's fault. Chasing her accident-waiting-to-happen brother is responsible for half of the unpleasantness in her life.) One might think three tongues would be enough for a girl to, you know, get there. See the stars burst in her head. Fall apart. Experience the little death. Come. But, well, Eloise doesn't do that, at least not in front of anyone else, at least she never has. No makes Eloise come but her. Not that she's really been giving anyone else the chance to try recently, of course. She and her best friend Astrid had a pact to avoid meaningless sex and to wait for the right guy to come along. The cerberus? Not even close to the right guy. But when the three-headed, muscular, deep-voiced, gorgeous triplets propose a mutually beneficial arrangement-just physical, no feelings-she can't resist those tongues. Or the chance to finally hit the big O with someone other than, you know, her battery-operated-boyfriend. Arrangements like that? They always work out fine, of course. No one ever catches feelings. No one ever gets hurt. No one ever regrets them. The most realistic book you'll ever read about a three-headed werewolf! Sick of stories where men magically know how to get women off when you've met actual men? This story is for you. (Also, contains the following: knotting, mate bites, and shifted-werewolf-on-human action)

Nothing happened. Well, Astrid blacked out and woke up in a strange bed, which is not how she thought her twenty-ninth birthday celebration would go. She does not usually get that drunk. She's in the bed of an orc professor, who says he slept on the couch and that they didn't so much as kiss. She kind of wishes they would have. Look at him. Look at his arms-hulking arms encased in tweed, his powerful body barely contained by his tidy exterior. Add to that the awkwardness of the orc's mother unexpectedly stopping by and making the assumption that Astrid is her son's new girlfriend, and it's like something out of a rom com. Not to mention Astrid is not getting any younger, so... A fake relationship? A mortifying meet-cute? It's a guaranteed happily-ever-after. Right? A filthy-sweet poignant modern monster romance set in a small town and featuring one anxious nymph and one cinnamon-roll, glasses-wearing, bicep-bulging orc professor.

The centaur arrives in town and builds a truly ostentatious house, big enough to take up an entire city block, throwing around his money as if it's a calling card into society. Miss Phoebe Llewellyn, daughter of the late Earl of Crisbane, knows high society sits high on a gated hill, and they aren't admitting anyone. She knows, because she has been cast out. She is ruined, her virtue trampled long ago. The centaur may think to rise, but he is little more than an oddity, a tidbit of gossip. Society will never accept him. When she meets the centaur, he robs her of the ability to breathe. It's the way he looks at her, the dark hunger in his eyes, the barely-contained desire there. No one has ever wanted her in that way. Savage, base yearning. Dangerous yearning. Terrifying yearning. When he asks for her hand in marriage, she can't say she's displeased. If she weren't ruined, it would be out of the question. But she knows that she has no other prospects. So, marrying a new-money social climber and being lavished with his coin? She's not dismissing it out of hand. Even if the bottom half of him is a horse. Even if she doesn't see how one can... with that. Even if the way he seems to want her borders on bestial madness. This gaslamp fantasy monster romance is spicy, angsty, and dark. It's got a fixation with horse analogies (mounting, breaking, training, etc.) If a reader will get her bridle in a twist about such things, she should beware.

It starts as a joke. Trading various, er, favors with her boss? Neither of them are serious. It's nothing but verbal sparring, lobbing zingers back and forth across the kitchen, or at the counter when there aren't any customers. He's too old for her, for one thing. And he's a naga, which means he's sort of doubly endowed, and what would she really do with two... two of those? So how she ends up bent over a counter in the kitchen after the place is closed up, skirt lifted, doubly crammed full of his... those...? She doesn't know how that happens. It's definitely not worth the days off she made him give her in return. And it's definitely not the sort of bargain that she would even make. But, well, now it's done. And now nothing will ever be the same. This story features sensitivity-heightening venom, retractable fangs, tail play, and two of those. It's about fear of commitment and about fear of being different. It's about understanding which parts of ourselves we can't change and about finding the courage to face ourselves at our worst. It's not really a love triangle, and it doesn't follow any romance novel rules. It's spicy angst fluff, with a guaranteed gushy ending.

Do not read this. I assure you, I am not the sort of woman that anyone likes, and you will not like me. The fact that he likes me, it should be a sign to you, in fact. He is Mr. Marlow, and there is something wrong with him. I couldn't say what it is exactly. He doesn't outwardly present as deformed, not truly, but he seems that way somehow. The edges of him squirm and expand. He is shadows and barbs and coils and teeth. He is a monster. He likes me. And the man that contains Mr. Marlow, the proper and buttoned up Dr. Fastian? Well, he sees me for what I am-a scarred strumpet who enjoys playing too close to the fire, who doesn't mind getting singed now and again. He doesn't like me, not truly. I am not the sort of woman that anyone likes. Well, not anyone decent, that is. You won't like me either. I am warning you. Do not read this. This Jekyll-and-Hyde inspired monster romance is a gaslamp romp into the dark, seedy back alleys of a Victorian-esque city. Part psychological thriller, part musings on gender roles and social structure, and all detailed monstery spice. If a reader is looking for a simple pleasurable escape, she should look elsewhere. This one will hurt.

A grizzled gladiatorWe both know I'm bad for her. My bite saved her life when she was an infant. It also bonded us together, mated us, created some perverse tie between us, even though I'm far too old her. Now, I'm thirty-five and she's twenty. I've kept myself away from her for a long time. But now I've got to go to her. She's in danger, and she is mine to protect. A human femaleWhen I was a little girl, Sevren was my everything. My playmate, my babysitter, my confidante. Then he abandoned me without saying goodbye. For my own good, he said. Because my body was maturing but I was still too young. Because he couldn't handle what our bond made him want from me. Now someone's trying to kill me to get to him, and he's back. I hate him for breaking my heart. But his presence has kick-started my biology, and now I'm in heat. No matter how complicated our feelings for each other, or how many blaster beams are getting shot at us, the bond wants us to mate. We won't be able to fight that forever. This age-gap, fated-mates scifi romance is for readers who'd like to explore an edgy Jacob-Renesmee dynamic on another planet with buckets of spice-including knotting, heat, teeth, and fur-and lots of blaster fights.

A human prizeI never intended to become trapped on a backwoods planet with a nightmarish, abusive cult, but here I am. I have one chance to escape. I'll volunteer to be a prize for this underground gladiator fight, be the winning gladiator's every fantasy, and let him do anything he wants with me. Then I'll beg him to take me with him when he leaves. I don't count on him being too honorable to take advantage of me. I definitely don't count on him killing the cult leader. A reluctant kingI don't know why I killed for her. It's not the least bit like me. I'm not one for being tied down, not to women, not to responsibilities, not to anything. So, when I find out that I've got to stop gallivanting around the galaxy and actually take over my throne? I'm not pleased. She's... she's a rebellion. She's a last gasp at some kind of freedom. She's an obsession. She's everything. I'd do anything for her. Kill for her. Lie for her. Lay down my kingdom at her feet. And that? That terrifies me. This scifi romance teases its way around the ideas want, need, desire, possession, and obsession. It touches on risk, consequences, commitment, and the longterm remnants of trauma and abuse. HEA guaranteed, though, never fear. And keep your eyes peeled for a cameo from Caspe and Sienne of Tempted by Tentacles.

Buffy meets BridgertonThis dragon doesn't shift. Miss Gissele Chapman's dragon-slaying magic is growing weak. Her life has always been chaotic, what with managing her secret slaying duties with her obligations as the daughter of a wealthy gentleman-hosting teas, attending balls, entertaining callers. But now, on top of everything, her magic is waning, and no one seems to know why. No one, that is, except a frightfully mouthy, abominable dragon. She should simply kill him. After all, that it is what a slayer does with dragons. But this dragon knows things. He describes her weaknesses perfectly, and he claims he's seen it before. He says it's simply what happens to slayers. Eventually, their magic unravels and they descend into madness and eventual death. The dragon is obviously lying. He's her enemy. He's a wretched, red-scaled winged beast who can't say a solitary sentence without insulting her. Of course, there is the fact that he knows about her awful urges, which have risen as her magic has declined. The most obscene and salacious cravings grip her, and she is helpless against them. But when he tells her the only way to save herself is to give in to those cravings and couple with him, well, then she's positive he's lying. He's enormous. A monster with teeth and claws. It wouldn't even work. Would it? This gaslamp fantasy romance features one very proper young lady doing a vast array of shocking things with a dragon, many of which involve the removal of her clothing. Some readers may find objectionable that the matter of consent is made murky by magical means, but they are to be assured that while some dubiousness is present, there is a certitude that these characters will find their way to an HEA as equals who respect each other.

A female rebelI work for the resistance, and I need to get to a wrecked ship on this planet's pole. I must retrieve schematics vital to our struggle against the evil alien overlords who terrorize our galaxy. I'll do anything for the cause. So, when this alien guide tells me that taking me up to that part of the planet will trigger what he calls a rut-a maddened mating instinct that his kind has left in their primitive past-and that he'll lose control and, uh, take me, well... Acceptable risk. An alien guideI should not take her up to the pole. It's too dangerous, and I don't want to risk violating her. I know there's a good chance I'll lose control. The thing is, this human girl, I'm reacting to her in a way I've never reacted to anyone. The way she smells is phenomenal. I know what the right thing to do is. So, why can't I seem to stop myself from doing the wrong thing? This is dub-con confetti, ladies! Just handfuls of raining dubious consent, all over your face. You're welcome.