Wednesday, 7 October 2026

Boomerang Street by Garrick Jones

RECENT RELEASE BOOK BLAST

Book Title: Boomerang Street

Author and Cover Artist: Garrick Jones

Publisher: GRJ Press

Release Date: September 15, 2026

Genre: LGBT Historical/Crime Thriller

Themes: Political Thriller; Action Thriller; Rags to Riches

Heat Rating: 5 flames  

Length: 135 000 words/389 pages (paperback version)

It is a standalone book and does not end on a cliffhanger.

Goodreads

Buy links

Amazon  US  |  Amazon UK  |  Amazon AU  |  Bookshop Org  |  Kobo

Blurb 

“ … it started off by finding a few floaters in the harbour, but that caused a huge amount of attention in the press. It’s only a theory that they’re linked, but we’ve found six men, almost skeletons, in the past seven months dumped in all sorts of places, all with the same ligature marks and signs of abuse on their backs.”

1932, Sydney, Australia, in the height of the Great Depression, Joe Ing, one man among the two-thirds of Australian men out of work, will do anything to put food on the table for his family.

A casual job as a waiter at a private party leads to more opportunities, some of which push his limits and lead him into dangerous waters. The disappearance of his best friend, selling his body in the darkened streets of the city, precipitates a train of events that cause a change in his circumstance; both for better and for worse.

In Depression-era Sydney, jobless Joe Ing will do anything to feed his family. A waiter’s shift at a private party opens doors to risky work, dangerous secrets and a city’s underworld. Then, when his best friend vanishes, Joe is pulled into events that may save him—or destroy him.

Excerpt 

“Over here,” the man said, moving to the end cubicle and standing inside it, holding the door open.

“Bit risky,” Joe said, even though he’d already walked across the tiled floor. His penis led him, not his head.

The man chuckled, then moved to one side to allow Joe to go into the cubicle with him. He closed the door.

“Stand on the seat if anyone comes in,” Joe whispered.

“I know what to do,” came the reply, accompanied by a look of amusement and a very cheeky smile. “What do you like?”

Joe shrugged noncommittally, smiling back.

He enjoyed it far more than usual, the man’s head resting on Joe’s shoulder and breathing into the crook of his neck while they worked each other’s cocks. It felt good to have an arm around his back, the smell of the man’s brilliantine in his nose … besides, he was one good-looking coot and he certainly knew what to do, squatting down at the last minute to encourage Joe to spurt into his opened mouth. Joe couldn’t help himself: he arched his back as he was about to spoof and ran his hand behind the man’s neck, giving him the go-ahead to swallow his spunk. He throbbed out four spurts into the man’s mouth, the man looking up into his eyes as he did so.

“Fuck, that was lovely,” the man whispered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Not half,” Joe said with a grin. “Your turn now?”

Joe pulled him to his feet and undid his top trouser button. The man’s strides fell down to his shoes. It wasn’t something Joe did often, but he liked this bloke for some unknown reason and wanted to see whether he had golden hair on his legs; he was a sucker for red-blonds. Joe pulled the man’s underwear down, crouching down as he did so, the man’s cock inches from Joe’s face. It was truly impressive, standing out stiffly from his body, the foreskin stretched back along the shaft, his penis long and sleek and fat. The pale thicket of blond pubic hair was a surprise—Joe had imagined something darker or redder, but he was very aroused by what he saw, even though he’d just let go into the man’s mouth. He felt the familiar temptation, that as-yet unfulfilled desire to run his lips over the head of the man’s cock and then take it in his mouth, wondering yet again for the umpteenth time what it might feel and taste like.

As he squatted, his cock was still hard, throbbing, bouncing on the top of the waistband of his underpants. He spat in his hand, then started off slow, twisting his hand around the man’s shaft, gradually increasing speed. It wasn’t long before Joe noticed the grip and release in the man’s thighs; things were getting close.

Before he could get to his feet, the man groaned softly and spurted onto the wall over Joe’s shoulder, grasping the back of Joe’s neck, then panting softly until his orgasm subsided.

“Thank you,” he whispered, a moment or two later, looking down at Joe.

“No—thank you.”

Joe played with the man’s cock until it softened, something he rarely did, but he really liked the shape, size and feel of this bloke’s penis: it was a knockout. It felt so good in his hand that he was reluctant to let go of it. Even flaccid it was semi-turgid, full of blood and heavy in his hand. It was the manifested form of the fantasy cock that he thought about when he squirted onto his belly in bed at night. Damn, he thought: given half the chance, he could play with it for hours.

When he eventually stood, encouraged by the man’s hand on his shoulder, it was impossible to ignore the fact that he was still hard and he was oozing a bit.

“Want more?” the man asked, smiling and then running his hand around Joe’s erection.

Joe nodded, shrugged again nervously, then watched as the red-blond settled on the toilet seat and then sucked a second load out of him.

Back at the bar, Joe scored the encounter as up there with the best he could remember, and for a moment was tempted to change his mind and accept the offer the man had made to meet up again. He’d vacillated, but hadn’t acted on his second thoughts; it would have been a first had he done so. Instead, as they’d left the gents’, he’d just patted the man on the back and shaken his hand, leaving him to return to the bar with a traditional “Catchyalaydah,” a farewell that in Aussie slang meant something like “See you again perhaps, but don’t hold your breath”.

Maybe he’d regret it, but it was too late to do anything about it now. Joe’s attitude to the blokes he liked and what he did with them was odd. He didn’t understand it himself.

About the Author 

From the outback to the opera.

After a thirty-year career as a professional opera singer, performing as a soloist in opera houses and in concert halls all over the world, I took up a position as lecturer in music in Australia in 1999, at the Central Queensland Conservatorium of Music, which is now part of CQ University.

Brought up in Australia, between the bush and the beaches of the Eastern suburbs, I retired in 2015 and now live in the tropics, writing, gardening, and finally finding time to enjoy life and to re-establish a connection with who I am after a very busy career on the stage and as an academic.

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Monday, 5 October 2026

Dragon’s Ending (Wings Over Albion 4) by Joy Lynn Fielding

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: Dragon’s Ending (Wings Over Albion 4)

Author and Publisher: Joy Lynn Fielding

Cover Artist: Miblart

Release Date: September 24, 2026

Tense/POV: Alternating first person pov/past tense

Genres: Paranormal MM Romance

Tropes: Slow burn, Dragon-shifters, Flirtatious x serious MCs, Academic MC

Themes: Family expectations, Legacy and inheritance, Trust

Heat Rating: 4 flames

Length: 92 000 words

It can be read as a standalone story. It contains spoilers for earlier books in the series. 

It does not end on a cliffhanger.

Goodreads

Buy Links - Available in Kindle Unlimited  

Amazon US   |   Amazon UK

Dragon history was easy. This particular dragon? Anything but.

Blurb

I was sent to Dragon's Ending to uncover lost dragon history. What I found was Dominic Bedwyr.

The heir to one of Britain's oldest dragon-shifter families, Dominic has a reputation for turning heads and causing trouble in equal measure. He flirts. He provokes. He has an infuriating habit of appearing when least expected and interrupting my research.

And each time I think I've worked Dominic out, he proves me wrong. Because behind the studied indifference, I catch glimpses of someone else entirely. He’s a man born to inherit everything, yet trusted with nothing.

Before long, I catch myself listening for his footsteps. Waiting for him to appear by my side, pretending not to help and somehow making me laugh anyway.

But dragon families are complicated. Dominic’s, most of all.

It's one thing to fall in love with Dominic. It's another to fall in love with the Bedwyr heir.

Excerpt

Dominic tilted his head and met my gaze, amusement in those dark brown eyes, which deepened as I moved my chair away from him slightly. 

“Find what you’re looking for yet?” he asked.

I couldn’t be sure, but I felt that was double-edged. I chose to answer the question and ignore any other meaning. Perhaps he was used to guys simply keeling over into his arms whenever he wanted, but I had no interest in being one of them.

“I’m not looking for anything specific,” I told him.

“You’re sure about that?” he asked, and that lazily amused smile was still in his eyes. Which I was going to stop looking into right now.

Unfortunately, I tore my glance away just in time to notice the way he hitched his hip onto the table. Right next to me, making it impossible not to notice his thighs or think about the fluid ease with which he moved. It was as calculated as everything else about him.

“You know,” he said, “I’m sure I could help you out.” 

I wasn’t always the quickest to pick up when someone was flirting with me, but there was no mistaking the intent in his voice. It had lost its usual drawl, turning low and smooth.

“Can you read medieval Latin?” I asked him. “Because that would be helpful.”

He just looked at me, his lips tugging slightly at the corners. “Does Welsh work?”

“Oh, God, yes.” Because I’d already discovered the limits of my Welsh. Before I could stop myself, I was reaching for the document I’d had to put to one side earlier. “There’s this whole section here—”

 “So what made you decide to start halfway through the records rather than at the beginning?”

My irritation at his interruption evaporated as I realised what he’d said. Surely he couldn’t mean there were even more?

“I haven’t found anything further back than these yet,” I told him.

He shrugged and moved away. To my relief.

“And you’re just hoping something turns up.” He leaned against the shelves like he had every right to be there. Like they’d been put up for that purpose alone.

“That’s the general idea.”

“So what happens when the thing you need to see is actually somewhere else?”

That made me pause. “If you have something to say—”

“I do,” he said, pushing off from the shelves.

Too close again. Deliberately so. My dragon stirred, low and uneasy as he reached out to the ledger in front of me and moved it slightly, just enough to be out of square. It took every bit of willpower not to correct it immediately.

Dominic glanced down at the papers, then back at me, as if weighing whether I was worth the effort.

“Come on,” he said.

I frowned. “Where?”

“You want older than this,” he said.

My attention sharpened despite myself. “What does that mean?”

He watched me for an instant, and I saw that flicker of satisfaction again. He’d got me hooked, and he knew it.

“The castle.”

Phoebe had told me about it over supper. Only she’d said there was hardly anything left. “The ruins?” I checked.

“Unless you’ve found another one.”

“Your father—” I started.

“My father,” Dominic said, very mildly, “isn’t here.”

I hesitated. Rhodri didn’t like information shared without his consent.

“Come if you want,” he added, already turning towards the door. “Or don’t.”

Which was deeply irritating, because he knew I couldn’t resist. I closed my laptop with more force than necessary.

“If this turns out to be a waste of time—”

“You can come back and alphabetise something,” he said over his shoulder.

I stood up, because it was either that or hurl my laptop at his head.

About the Author 

Joy Lynn Fielding lives in a small English market town, where she nurtures enthusiasms for vintage aircraft, horses and gardening. An avid researcher for her books, she delights in uncovering unusual facts and sharing them with anyone within earshot. She insists this has never led to anyone hiding behind the furniture.

Joy writes at the pace her health allows, powered by enthusiasm, optimism and, above all, coffee. She hopes her books offer good company to anyone navigating their own winding paths.

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Boomerang Street by Garrick Jones