Seven Minutes ’til Midnight (Rock Gods, #3) by Sunniva Dee

Seven Minutes ‘til Midnight, an all-new Standalone Rock Gods Romance by Sunniva Dee is coming August 15th!!


Title: Seven Minutes ’til Midnight

Series: Rock Gods, #3

Author: Sunniva Dee

Genre: Rockstar Romance

Release Date: August 15, 2013


A legendary drummer. An outrageous music video… and little me blowing his ever-loving mind in it.

Next thing I knew, my anonymity was a thing of the past.

“Clown Irruption’s smash hit goes from hawt to adult!”— Star Report, April Edition.

The uncensored, all-bared footage was leaked.
And here I was, forced to stare down the same paparazzi lenses the band did.

“Meet Aishe Xodyar, the vixen who made Troy Armstrong reach Heaven on tape!”—Fan Chicks, May Edition.

I cowered behind enemy lines.
Aka joined the band on their worldwide arena tour.
It was another one of my unfortunate miscalculations.
See, Troy Armstrong was formidable.
We were polar opposites, but he still sucked me in like a magnet.

A fragile truce set in between us. Then, a mutual crush.
I had an obsessive nature, but my fixation on him was downright wholesome compared to their new merch girl’s.

“Meet Hailey Pawter, secret stalker, fangirl, and dangerously gifted lookalike.”—Tabloid Minute, June Edition.

As Hailey’s web tightened around us, love in the limelight turned from complicated to impossible.

Seven Minutes ’til Midnight is standalone novel #3 in the Rock Gods collection.





Excerpt from Seven Minutes ’til Midnight
(Rock Gods, #3)
by Sunniva Dee © 2018

The music video is loading, and a still picture with the headline, “Deep in You,” is sprawled over Troy’s laptop.

It’s wild, gorgeous, a closeup of Troy’s face thrown backward, eyes half-closed. Through the slits, he looks up at me with reverence, dreadlocks pulling him downward. My hair mixes with his, diagonal stripes of black and red against his mahogany and blond.

Color. Movement. The slow start to a song that will soon become danceable. Biceps explosive with strength, Troy makes his drums snarl, rock-hard torso melting with heat.

Next, he’s lying on a bed. When he sits up on his elbows and sees me, his surprise isn’t an act. It’s real and big as the camera zooms in on his face and Emil, the singer, cries out, “I need to be deep. In. You.”

I ooze revenge and seduction and hate from the doorway. Dressed like my ancestors, I’m every Gypsy woman as I stride to him, toss my hair out of the way, feathers and bangles rocking.

I straddle him, skirt like an oversized, messy flower around me. I push him against the bed, and he lets me.

I thought it was perfect, the way I was taking from him, knowing how he felt about me, knowing how he wanted absolution for what he once did.

I’m moving over him. The way he shuts his eyes, lids trembling with barely retained ecstasy. How his Adam’s apple bobs while I ride him. Our bodies aren’t in focus—just the hint of my shoulder with the neckline sunken too low. Troy’s hand cupping it, thumb stroking, then digging into my flesh with passion.

“Oh,” I say to him, now. “That’s… a lot, isn’t it?”

“Remember this?” Troy stops the video and sends me a playful side-glance. I flush scarlet, although the one who should be embarrassed is him.

“Stop it.” I pull out an earbud and bring my glass to my cheek. Unfortunately, it’s empty and doesn’t offer the cool relief I was hoping for.

“Crazy to see yourself like this, in the exact moment you climax. I’ve never seen that before. Doesn’t look that bad,” he adds, thoughtful.

“Bad” isn’t even close. His expression is beatific. Troy radiates beauty, love, and a pleasure so strong he can’t even keep his eyes open.

“You know what I wish?”

“Do I want to know?” I toss back.

“I wish they’d have shown your face. There’s nothing more stunning in this world than you coming.”





So you know I’m a writer. I write literary romances that are full of substance and romance. I tend to write in my head all the time, like when I sleep, breath, pet cats, am forced to make dinner, and even while doing my job as an adviser for students at an art college in the South—

I mean…I—I—I write at other times too.

I love international flights when they’re delayed and my Mac and I can dive into a bar. There’s nothing better than an hour or two lost (too quickly) in pages I didn’t know were waiting for me.

I hate schedules, real life, cross-country skiing, and moodiness not inside of me. Not that I enjoy it in me. I’m just used to it, and it feeds scenes in my books, see?

I giggle at everything. I don’t judge easily. People say I’m kind/genuine/shy/stubborn/annoying/aloof/boring, but above it all, I am passionate. A Dragon of the Chinese zodiac and an Aquarius with all-the-air and the brightest color palette. Incidentally, that last fact could be why no one wants to buy the house I’ve got for sale.

But mostly, I love to write.


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