I’ve always been fascinated by dark psychological thrillers that mess with your mind and keep you on the edge of your seat. I toyed with the genre writing my debut novel Wild Hearted, but labeled it a crime drama. Its sequel, Carnivora, evolved over six years to become a full-blown hold-your-breath thriller that deals with grave issues such as kidnapping, child sex trafficking, and self-harm.
Telling five parallel stories with as many voices, it gives you the perspectives of a police informant, a hunted gangster, a mad avenger, an inconsolable girlfriend, and a psychotic kidnapper. I pull no punches weaving these stories, so be prepared for a dark, gritty, and graphic read – a little dirty on the erotic side – that I hope will play with your strings and stick with you for a long time.
Please note that this is part 1 of Carnivora and I am currently working on parts 2 and 3, so if those cliffhangers at the end are killing you, be patient. The continuation is right around the corner!
Fight evil with evil.
Crime lord Tomor is serving a life sentence behind bars. Without warning, he’s abducted by mysterious men. A sick manhunt is on, with people around him dying like flies. He will need all his street flair and gangster skills to prevent his loved ones from ending up on the death list.
Luz grieves the loss of her lover while striving to take care of their baby. The last thing she needs is to fall for the new neighbor.
A year after he betrayed his adoptive father and sent him to jail, David is slowly rebuilding his life. Then everything falls apart again: he learns that Tomor has escaped, and his police connections lead him to a child sex trafficking ring involving cold, powerful men.
The cops are in over their heads with “Project Carnivora” … Perhaps the only one who can help bust the pedophile predators is an equally vicious devil: Tomor, the country’s most hunted criminal.
Books2Read / Amazon.com / Amazon.uk / Barnes & Noble / Kobo / iBooks / Smashwords
Put the book on your to-read shelf on Goodreads
See photos that inspired me to write the book on Pinterest
**Check out her awesome book trailer on YouTube** https://youtu.be/DpCaU_5qheQ
“Time to change your bandage again,” the nurse mutters, voice cool, and pulls my orange-colored sleeve up to the elbow. She unrolls the long strip of bandage from my wrist and tugs at one corner of the gauze plastered on my wound. It sticks as if glued to the freshly grown skin, and instead of removing the gauze carefully, she tears if off hard, discharging pain through my arm, wrist-to-shoulder.
I open my eyes and lift my head off the pillow. “What the fuck are ya doing, trying to reopen the wound or something?”
“Like you care.” She stops pulling and glares, gauze between her fingers. “I can see who you are inside. You’re playing tough, aren’t you, bad guy? But you can’t fool me.”
“Shut up.” I lay down again, huffing, and stare at the white ceiling above me with its rows of long neon lights.
“You’re a good man.”
I glance back. “I said, shut the fuck up.”
Her eyes shine. She rips off the remaining gauze, ignoring my grunt of pain, and throws it in a bin. “Look.”
“Look at it,” she insists, voice low and demanding.
No. I know what I’ve done, and I can imagine what it looks like. A six centimeter-long deep, reddish, scratched-up ridge along my artery. Layers of skin, fat, meat, and whatnot must be visible and sweating a pinkish liquid from the reborn pores. I don’t need to see it.
I guess the girl wants me to be so horrified, I’ll never attempt suicide again. That’s right. She wants to shock me into acceptance.
You gotta be fucking kidding me, little thing.
She shakes her head. “I don’t understand why they gave you the life sentence.”
“You mean they shoulda given me the chair?”
Instead of responding to my sarcasm, she pivots to look up at the clock and widens her eyes as if realizing she forgot an appointment. Face tense, she returns to her work, applies some cool, gel-like liquid on the wound, and bandages it with quick routine moves.
What’s up with her? In my three days in this woman’s company, I’ve noted the things that make her tick. Maybe she’s upset because I’m leaving the infirmary soon. Earlier, she said she didn’t know when I’d be ready to go back to my cell. She probably knows now, but doesn’t want to tell me.
The door opens. She jumps.
A uniformed guard pokes his head in, checks the small room, and exits.
She seems frozen in place, features tense. Staring ahead and taking deep breaths as if trying to regain composure.
I cock my head a little. “What’s going on? They gonna transfer me?”
She visibly swallows and fixes her gaze on some point on the wall.
I snicker. “Are you sad ‘cause I’m leaving?”
Ha, I can be so ugly, when the girl clearly likes me.
As she sits there avoiding me, I take the time to check out her tits, and drink in the amazing sight of their pressing against her green blouse with each breath. She doesn’t have a name tag. Come to think of it, none of the personnel do. Evidently, so the inmates can’t identify their ‘caretakers’, and should they by some miracle leave the premises, track them down.
I nod to her blouse. “What’s your name?”
She twists back to me, brows raised, before shaking her head. “I can’t tell you that.”
“C’mon, I’ll never see you again.” I grin, then add with an ironic snicker, teasing her, “They’ll never let me slash my wrists, or hang myself.”
She looks away and busies herself collecting the medical stuff, throwing a quick, almost invisible glance to the door. What the hell is making her so nervous?
Coldness fills my chest. Something’s up.
“Come on, Babe,” I coax with my most gentle, sensual voice, wanting to buy time. “Tell me your name.”
“Why?” she whispers, fidgeting with the roll of bandage.
“’Cause I want a name to your pretty face when I jack off in my cell.”
Lea Bronsen likes her reads hot, fast, and edgy, and strives to give her own stories the same intensity. After a deep dive on the unforgiving world of gangsters with her debut novel Wild Hearted, she divides her writing time between romantic suspenses, dark erotic romances, and crime thrillers.
Meet Lea Bronsen on
Website / Blog / Facebook / Twitter / Instagram / Goodreads / Amazon / Pinterest
I’ve written the entire Heart of the Mountain series to prove to my partner and roommate that I can write more than super dark m/m fantasies. So, if they’ve had to listen to me complain for six months about shy people in love, it’s their fault. The challenge was to take an Enemies to Lovers and explore it with genuinely sweet people. Watching this witch and wolf learn to love not just each other but themselves has made this one of my favorite stories (and probably my best to date).
Emaula Whispel thought she’d be happy if she could live outside her mother’s magical stone tower, but when Emaula starts working as a chef at her friend's trading post, she becomes smitten with Porter, her co-cook. Now Emuala’s magic is obsessed with possessing this quiet, charming wolf, and the budding witch has to fight to control her powers and her lust, to prevent her new friend from becoming her accidental victim.
Porter was created to serve witches by opening doors into their dreams, and he is neither surprised by nor afraid of Emaula’s magic. What startles him is that this powerful witch genuinely seems to care for something as lowly as a wolf. Now all Porter has to do is prove his love for her is not an enchantment, before her mother takes away everything Emaula holds dear.
WHERE TO BUY:
Time was strange in the dreams. Minutes could be hours. Hours could pass in seconds.
And somewhere someone was trying to reach him. Someone wanted him and had taken measures to have him. Was is the little girl? The Munawn’s daughter. She’d be all grown-up now and remember him fondly. She must have extraordinary power to reach him.
A light came on under a door, hemming the edges with a low purple light and filling the room with that melancholic tint. The one who had shaved her hair and wore black gemstones that glowed purple. Porter knew her name, but he refused to think it. He wanted nothing to do with them. He had been turned out. He wasn’t allowed to think of them anymore. He didn’t have too.
The door creaked open, and Porter winced. Whether he wanted them or not, one of them was coming through. He didn’t have much choice. Or at least, he wouldn’t when he saw her.
The light poured into the room, flooded it with the scents of spring, vanilla, and lavender and bluebells. Intoxicating, lulling. The smell of a beautiful woman who wanted him. The fragrance of an herb sachet dropped into cold water on a hot day and stirred.
“Oh, Emaula.” Porter hadn’t smelled any magic in the tea he’d sipped as a sign of good faith. Just like him to misread a person and get bespelled. He wished Sock had come down with him. Sock wouldn’t make that mistake.
Porter struggled against the weight of her dream world and lifted himself slowly on one arm. She hadn’t fully opened the door, yet. Was just peering through, shyly.
Emaula was not a woman; she was the moon. The shadows of the world curled around and concealed half her face, leaving only the paleness around her starlight blue eyes and the soft darkness of the purple light.
Now was the time to stop her. To say something mean. To beg her to stop. To remind her of her oath. Or to … to--
Emaula divested the darkness. Unveiled her lovely face. Freed her hair, such a fine pale gold that it shone in this dream world, illuminated her thin pink lips. Porter had forgotten how beautiful the witches could be. How the sight of them stole breath, sanity, free will.
The woman could swear there was no harm in her. How could he be harmed by her? When now all he ever wanted in the world was her.
She met his gaze and smiled timidly. She stepped into the sea of sheets and pillows, delicately moving through the luxurious silks toward his body. The black silk wound around him shimmered under the radiance of her body. His stiff cock suffocated and strained under the sleek material.
The witch would get what she wanted. He had enough experience with witches to know they always did. These women could be cruel. They could be unbelievably kind, as well. And he honestly didn’t know which was worse.
He did know there was no point in defying her. No point in not taking what pleasure he could. No point in being mean to the mistress. Had that been one of The Munawn’s mantras? Or another wolf’s good advice?
Emaula knelt beside him in the bed, her hands modestly on her knees, her eyes big and earnest. “Porter, is this all right?”
He didn’t understand.
Was she asking permission? No witch did that. Had to be a trick.
He wasn’t sure what she was so embarrassed about, but she was damned cute when she was. She twisted her hands through the sheets as if she had to keep herself from touching him. “Is … is this all right?”
Was it all right? What the hell kind of question was that for a witch to ask a wolf? He wasn’t going to upset her by saying no.
The witch stroked his thigh through the sheet. His cock, already damningly stiff, pulsed at the nearness of her hand. That ought to answer her question.
He didn’t even think he wanted to say no, but how could he know the truth here? When she controlled the world? When just watching her come into the room had reduced him to nothing but a hard cock and the inner monologue of a scared puppy?
“Porter. Will you say something, please?”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
L.J. is a queer author, a feminist, and a geek with an MFA in writing Popular Fiction. L.J. has an annoying tendency to ship everyone, disappear if no-one is supervising, and struggles with everything except making up stories.
Find L.J. online:
Love by Accident
Love in Beachpoint, Virginia Book 1
By LM Spangler
She wasn’t looking for love, but sometimes fate has a mind of its own.
Newly divorced Haven DeGrace had no intention of finding a new man, but an accident on a snowy road changed that.
Ford Mahoney had been her saving grace after her accident. After agreeing to meet for drinks upon his return from a west coast book tour, sparks flew. But, she had plans for her life and he wasn’t part of them.
Ford watched the first woman who’d ever gotten under his skin walk out of his life. A chance meeting in the vacation beach town she’d moved to brings them back together. Sparks fly again and love flares to life.
Will they act on their mutual feelings or will they walk out of each other’s lives? Again?
Amazon CA: https://amzn.to/2klQuM5
Amazon AU: https://amzn.to/2m3vhH6
Amazon FR: https://amzn.to/2lFrS16
Amazon DE: https://amzn.to/2k0ZgyE
Amazon JP: https://amzn.to/2lG56pw
Amazon MX: https://amzn.to/2klXqZC
Evernight Publishing: https://www.evernightpublishing.com/love-by-accident-by-lm-spangler/
“What am I doing here?” Haven mumbled to herself as she stirred her cocktail with the tiny little straw.
She had no idea why she’d agreed to meet Ford for dinner. Sure, they’d talked at least every other day for the past three months, but she’d just finalized her divorce. She’d only made it that long before accepting a date outside of her parents’ house. What kind of floozy did that? Her heart raced despite taking discreet deep breaths, trying to calm herself. The last thing she wanted to do was hyperventilate in the swanky French, five-star restaurant they’d chosen to meet.
She had come to enjoy their conversations while he was gone. For the first time, she realized she liked a man for his personality and the way he treated her. Not based on just looks. Asshole was one hell of a handsome man, but that’s where it stopped. Ford, on the other hand, had a beautiful heart and she appreciated that a lot more than Asshole’s good looks.
A small gasp passed her lips when a single red rose suddenly appeared in front of her. “The rose pales in comparison to you.”
She spun to face Ford, seeing him for the first time. Her eyes swept up and down his tall frame. The man was the hottest thing she’d ever seen on two legs. Sure, when she could see again, she’d looked him up after she found out who he was. But the pictures did not do the man justice. His dark hair was swept back off his face, accentuating strong cheekbones and his angular jaw. His dark eyes glittered in the dim light of the bar.
Haven rose, praying she wouldn’t tangle her feet. The five-inch heels she’d chosen to accompany her silver-sequined tank dress were treacherous to say the least. She hadn’t worn heels since her wedding. Mark had called them “come fuck me” shoes so they were strictly prohibited by asshole husband law.
His eyes did their own quick assessment. When they met hers again, his pupils dilated and his nostrils flared. Approval? God, she hoped so. Heat rushed her core—a reaction she hadn’t had in longer than she could remember. And it felt amazing.
He offered his hand and she slid hers into it. A flash of electricity sizzled between them, felt only by them. A small grin spread across his face and he nodded as if acknowledging that something was happening, something primal.
Haven’s stomach took flight on the wings of a thousand butterflies and she thought, This is what attraction feels like, what pure, unadulterated, animalistic lust feels like.
The connection was immediate. Undeniable.
About the Author:
I live close to the Maryland border in South Central Pennsylvania. My husband is wonderfully supportive of me in all aspects of my life. I have a son who is currently serving our country in the U.S. Navy. My daughter is still in school. I’m blessed to have the three of them in my life.
From a young age, I remember burying my nose in a book. A love that my mother and father passed onto my brother and myself. From my passion for reading sprang my love of writing. My mind is so often full of story ideas from the wildly paranormal to contemporary. I have notebooks lying about with story outlines and character descriptions. A song or TV show can spark an idea which circles my mind until I put the idea on paper.
When I’m not writing, I enjoy spending time with my family, burying my nose in a book, and watching a vast variety of television shows from crime dramas to 1970’s game shows. I even dabble in crafting. My favorite craft would be jewelry making. Nothing like creating wearable art.
Bind Me, Sir
Bonds of Worship 1
By Lynn Burke
Release Date: September 3, 2019
Keywords: BDSM, Erotic Romance, Billionaire, Bondage, Spanking, Series, HEA
***Bind Me, Sir, Bonds of Worship 1 by @AuthorLynnBurke is now available!***
As part of the British peerage, Jordan Graystone knows what it’s like to live in the public eye. Which is why he holds hard limits when it comes to scening with submissives—no kissing, no penetration. Both lead to unwanted emotions and women attempting to take more than he’s willing to give.
Entrusted with the care of raising her younger sister is a responsibility Natalie Perez doesn’t take lightly. She focuses solely on her troubled ward, putting aside her own desires even when confronted with the temptation Jordan promises—fulfilling her fantasies to be bound and worshiped upon an old church’s altar.
Secretly snapping a photo ends in a confrontation that arouses Natalie to the point of turmoil—and Jordan past the point of caring about limits. He’s determined to give Natalie the release she needs, but her obligation threatens to rip apart his plans for more than their agreed upon one night.
Will Natalie’s selfless dedication to her sister be the key to bind her and Jordan together or the fault that tears them apart?
Amazon Universal: http://mybook.to/BINDMESIR
A flick of the lights flooded the room in brightness, and I blinked until he dimmed them enough I could glance around the church’s interior. It appeared the same as the first time I’d trespassed—dark and seductive, the excitement of the unknown heightening my pulse and breath.
Jordan released my hand, and I clutched my arms around my middle as he flipped the switch on a lone electric candle in the front window.
“To let others know the church is occupied,” he explained once he turned to find my brow furrowed in question. He took his time lighting candles around the room, and eventually flicked off the dimmed overhead lights and stood before me.
A shudder rippled over me at the look in his eyes, a darker blue, like the sky at twilight, full of unknown, lurking shadows. He stared at my lips and tugged me close. I dropped my arms to my sides, unsure of what to do but trusting him to tell me.
“We need to talk about a few things first, okay, love?”
The pet name, the accent in his low tone, nearly buckled my knees. I managed a nod, swallowing against the dryness in my throat as I stared at his lips.
“Do you have any experience in this lifestyle?”
I shook my head.
“Are you a virgin?”
Heat flooded my cheeks, and even though I’d only experienced sex a handful of times, I’d never enjoyed it as the women in the eBooks Lily insisted I read. I shook my head once more, too embarrassed to admit the truth of my lackluster sex life.
“Do you know what a safeword is?” he continued with the questioning, and my face heated even more at memories of the last book I’d devoured the evening before.
“Like traffic lights?” I whispered.
A twinkle lit in his eyes. “Yes. Tell me what each color means.”
“Green means go.” I swallowed. “Yellow is slow down, I need to think. Red means stop.”
He nodded. “You’re in control, Natalie. I will learn your body, your tells, but you decide what will or won’t happen tonight, okay, love?”
He would learn my body…
“Tell me—” Jordan turned me to face the room, his hands on my waist as he pressed against my back, his chin on my shoulder “—what part of this room excites you the most?”
Gulping, I glanced at the altar. “Everything,” I whispered rather than admit to the truth.
“Instruments of pain?”
The rack of items including a crop and flogger snagged my attention, but I wasn’t sure about pain other than the idea of his hand prints on my backside.
I eyed the St. Andrew’s cross, flinching at the memory of a woman I’d read about being strapped to such a contraption, angry red marks across her thighs and lower back.
Rings on the sturdy posts drew my focus, and I licked my lower lip.
My breath caught, nipples aching as I studied the table meant for worshiping God and the ungodly images flashing in my head of being tied down—open and unable to move. Bound for a dominant’s pleasure—Jordan’s pleasure.
“Mmm.” His hot breath caressed my ear. “You do want to be strapped down to the altar, don’t you?”
I jerked my head in agreement, a million butterflies fluttering my stomach.
Jordan steered me closer with his hands on my hips, stopping me right in front of the padded altar. Coils of rope sat atop it, and I gulped at the thought of abrasions on my wrists and ankles—not that I had any intention of fighting whatever he wished to do to me.
“Tell me what you want, Natalie,” he said, his breath once again hot against my ear.
Dare I? I hesitated, embarrassed to admit what I’d fantasized about. My gaze flitted to the bed once more and the lengths of black silk draped over the bed’s foot.
I jerked my focus back on the altar and flicked my tongue out to moisten my lips. “Bind me, Sir.”
© Lynn Burke 2018
ABOUT LYNN BURKE:
Lynn Burke is a full time mother, voracious gardener, and scribbler of spicy romance stories. A country bumpkin turned Bay Stater, she enjoys her chowdah and Dunkin Donuts when not trying to escape the reality of city life.
Brewer's Mark (Devil's Outlaws MC 4) by LYNN BURK
Devil’s Outlaws 4
By Lynn Burke
Publisher: Changeling Press
World-Wide Release Date: August 16, 2019
She might be his mark, but one look into her eyes slays him.
Reagan “Brewer” de Jager might look soft as a teddy bear, but his stint as a sniper in the SEALs hardened him into a lethal killer. The fact his wife cheated on him while he’d been deployed makes him unable to trust. Cold hearted and empty, he sets his sights on his next mark—and one look into her eyes slays him.
Nova Smego wasn’t nicknamed Black Widow by her CIA superiors without reason. Underestimated for her petite form, she’s quick with her fists and lethal with a blade or a bullet. Tossed out of the CIA with a scarred reputation, she joins a hitmen-for-hire team in the hopes of exacting revenge on the one who ruined her career.
When the Outlaws eliminate her team in order to rescue one of their own, Nova is kept alive—tied to her captor. A winter storm kills the electricity, but not the heat building between her and Brewer. There was a reason he couldn't end her, and while she plans her escape, she fears losing her heart to the chemistry sizzling between them.
But when Nova's desire for vengeance shakes the tentative bond between them, the Outlaws issue Brewer an ultimatum. Pull the trigger, or find common ground to trust one another and avoid the Outlaws’ demand for her life.
Brewer stood in the doorway, his gaze flitting over my face as he stepped inside my prison.
My heart spasmed -- and that damn tingle between my thighs roared to life. I scowled.
Chin tilted up, I held his blue eyed stare, trying to focus on what he’d done, the family he’d taken from me, rather than the arousal he’d woken inside my core.
A twinkle lit his eye and twitched his lips peeking from his full beard -- a beard that appeared silky, bringing to mind an image of his dark head between my thighs. Would his facial hair tickle? Scrape and mark my skin?
I swallowed and jerked my focus back up to his eyes, determined to keep silent no matter what he said -- or did.
He caved from the silence between us first, expelling a heavy exhale, his shoulders relaxing the slightest bit.
“What’s your name?”
His lips quirked as though to smirk, but flat lined. “Bet you got your ass bullied for that name while growing up.”
“I’d rather fuck you.”
My breath caught -- and Brewer blinked as though his words had escaped unintended. He stood a few feet in front of me, doing nothing to hide the cock swelling inside his leathers. Long and hard…
The tingle of arousal morphed into pure wetness, dampening my panties in the span of a single breath as we stared at one another, our fogging breaths loud in the stillness.
“Goddamnit.” Brewer scrubbed a hand down over his face and beard while I attempted to swallow the dryness from my throat. He spun and left without another word, leaving my upper body unwrapped.
My arousal kept me warm for all of two minutes before my teeth began to chatter.
Fucking asshole couldn’t handle the sexual tension, the complication of what that brought to our situation. He fled like a pansy-ass.
Better that than rape me…
“Fuck,” I muttered, eyes clenching shut against the thought of him thrusting into my body. My pussy spasmed, deepening my frown. I hadn’t let a man’s dick near me in over three years -- and I wasn’t about to let some Stockholm syndrome make me lenient. No matter how fucking hot said man might be.
He’d killed my team, so given the chance, I would kill him.
© Lynn Burke 2018
Changeling Press - 15% sale: https://www.changelingpress.com/brewer-s-mark-devil-s-outlaws-mc-4-b-2912
Amazon Universal: http://mybook.to/BREWERSMARK
Books2Read Universal: https://books2read.com/brewersmarkdo4
OTHER BOOKS IN THE DEVIL’S OUTLAWS SERIES:
Bowie’s Angel, Devil’s Outlaws MC 1: http://mybook.to/BowiesAngel
Gunner’s Flame, Devil’s Outlaws MC 2: http://mybook.to/GUNNERSFLAME
Austin’s Ward, Devil’s Outlaws MC 3: http://mybook.to/AUSTINSWARD
ABOUT LYNN BURKE:
Lynn Burke is a full time mother, voracious gardener, and scribbler of spicy romance stories. A country bumpkin turned Bay Stater, she enjoys her chowdah and Dunkin Donuts when not trying to escape the reality of city life.
Nothing forbidden…nothing held back.
Lissa prefers reading to cutting loose, but is willing to do whatever it takes to get the juiciest assignments for her job at a major travel magazine. Her chance finally arrives. She’s set to experience a posh Caribbean resort, a dream article and review except for one huge problem. It’s the anything goes theme week where nudity is expected and lusty hook-ups make threesomes look downright tame. Holy Hell. What has she gotten herself into?
Precisely what resort owner Jon Thorne thinks. Tall, dark, and luscious, he fears the randy male guests will eat her alive, resulting in a lousy review. His only option is to serve as her guide for every decadent delight from nude body painting to Dom’s Den where submission and punishment rule. Unless she wants to call the whole thing off…
And lose her chance with him, plus give up this gig? Dream on. Tempted beyond anything she’s known, she matches his passion and then some, surprising him during a sexy adventure like no other.
They placed a sugared grape in her navel, two thin mango slices beneath her breasts, laid a pineapple slice over each nipple, settled a chocolate-coated strawberry in the hollow of her throat and on each palm, then glided beef au jus on her inner thighs.
She fought for breath, their touch further igniting the fire within her.
Using the spoon, Jon spread passion fruit over her bush.
The guys held her tighter.
Jon gobbled the strawberry on her throat and suckled her neck, creating indecent pleasure.
The two holding her wrists wolfed down the chocolate strawberries on her palms, sucked her fingers, and planted wet kisses on her arms. The ones grasping her ankles, lapped au jus from her inner thighs.
Jon held her down and licked the pineapple slices surrounding her nipples, touching her areolas and tips more than he did the fruit.
Heated waves washed over her, turning her limbs to jelly, making them so deliciously weak she never wanted to leave this spot.
As the others feasted on her arms and inner thighs, he finished the pineapple and mangos, then focused on the grape, chasing it around her stomach like a ball, his licks arousing her past the point of no return.
Fighting for control, she tensed.
The grape rolled off her, settling next to her hip.
He grasped her upper thigh, bent down, and ate the piece, his fingers near her pussy.
She sucked in air. Didn’t help. The hut kept swimming, the candlelight blurred.
“Hmm.” He licked his lips and pressed his forehead to hers.
Gasping, she gathered enough strength to capture his mouth. He tasted like chocolate, sugar, pineapple, and a surprisingly tart flavor. This was eating at its finest.
He pulled his mouth from hers and heaved air, wonder in his eyes.
His reaction was the best present he could have given her. This wasn’t a surprise. It was a freaking miracle.
Settled between her legs, he lowered his mouth to her bush, but bypassed it and the passion fruit to tongue her cleft.
She arched her back, her legs wobbling, skin tingling from too much stimulation.
Her jailors clamped down.
She fought them to get to him. Even if she hadn’t liked him as much as she did, she wouldn’t have stopped what he’d planned for her. He was a damn artist in the sack, gliding his tongue down her slit then back up to lick her nub.
She pulled air in too fast and coughed.
Gripping her thighs, he lapped her cleft as he might an ice cream cone, sometimes touching her clit, sometimes not, his actions becoming a hit or miss proposition as far as making her blast off. Deliberately, he kept her from climaxing, drawing out the pleasure, her excitement growing only to wane before she reached her peak.
Perspiration glazed her throat and neck. Frustrated at him denying her, she lifted her butt and pushed her pussy closer to him.
Hand on her stomach, he guided her back down and kept her there, as the others did her legs and arms.
Her heart quivered at their alpha ways. She stayed where she was, until she ached to get closer to Jon and finally fought him and them.
On a huff, he broke the others’ hold on her legs, propped her calves on his shoulders and resumed his torment.
She clawed her captors’ shorts.
They didn’t let go.
She scratched their balls.
They pulled her hands away.
Jon indulged, slipping two fingers in her opening while suckling her nub.
Something inside her coiled and nagged. An itch she couldn’t scratch, her pussy constricting around his fingers.
He spread them, making this more intimate, downright base.
Powerless against his strength, she dug her nails into her palms, using pain as a distraction to keep from nearing climax too fast and having him delay it as before.
He worked his fingers deeper into her pussy then pulled them back, repeating the process to mimic a fuck, his pace on her clit increasing, his suckling pushing her to the limit.
Delight pressed close then scampered away only to return a second later. Pulling in any air became impossible. Her world centered on her nub, the wondrous pressure that kept building and torturing, refusing to stop.
She stiffened and gasped, everything within her exploding. Dazzling pleasure swept over her, heating her clear to the back of her mouth, making sounds sharper, touch more acute.
Her pussy went wild, a strong pulse beating rhythmically deep inside.
FB Fanpage: https://www.facebook.com/DonahueTina1/
Amazon author page: http://amzn.to/1ChWFkO
My page at TRR: http://bit.ly/1vb7eEc
Kensington Author Page: http://www.kensingtonbooks.com/author.aspx/24772
Sweet ‘n Sexy Divas: http://bit.ly/1ChWN3K
Romance Books 4 US: http://bit.ly/1JPtfeS
Tina is an Amazon and international bestselling novelist who writes romance for every taste – ‘heat with heart’ – for traditional publishers and indie. Booklist, Publisher’s Weekly, Romantic Times and numerous online sites have praised her work. Three of her erotic novels were Readers' Choice Award winners. Another three were named finalists in the EPIC competition. One of her erotic contemporary romances was chosen Book of the Year at the French review site Blue Moon reviews. The Golden Nib Award at Miz Love Loves Books was created specifically for one of her erotic romances. Two of her titles received an Award of Merit in the RWA Holt Medallion competition. Another two won second place in the NEC RWA contest (different years). Tina is featured in the Novel & Short Story Writer’s Market. Before penning romances, she worked at a major Hollywood production company in Story Direction.
Intrigue Me (Tangled Pleasures)
An Erotic Romance Novel by Lacee Hightower
Publisher: Evernight Publishing
Heat Level: 4
Keywords: MF, BDSM, Contemporary, Romance, HEA
Warning: This title contains explicit sex scenes, BDSM, and anal sex
This book was definitely a challenge. Yet, nothing is worth having or doing if there's not effort, pain, and difficulty along the way. Intrigue Me not only deals with the complexity of power exchange in a complicated, but loving relationship, but also another tough subject - Down syndrome. I struggled with bringing that into the story, but decided I wanted something different and also wanted to show that these children are not only beautiful happy beings, but can also grow up to be very intelligent. The hero and heroine are both strong, independent people, but also have flaws like we all do. I personally love this story, and hope you do, as well.
His fingers probed and pushed as my muscles tightened around him. I hadn’t been touched this way in years … maybe forever, and I was so insanely turned on by his dark sexual words and harsh behavior that I couldn’t even comprehend how to answer him. Everything clenched as my body reacted with both fear and lust so strong that it made my head spin and my body reel with longing. My hands flew up into my lap, my fists balling as he caressed that one spot with a wonderfully gentle, spot-on precision. That’s when the first blistering sting of his hand on my sex sent an excruciating pain through me, worse than anything I’d ever experienced.
“My God! Jesus freaking Christ!” My whole body lifted, the breath lodging in my throat like the air had left the room. Had I died and gone to hell? Had I been doused in liquid hot fire? The agony in the sensitive flesh between my legs certainly felt that way.
Holy freaking shitballs! Am I bleeding?
“I asked you to be still, but just as I suspected, my little doll isn’t going to cooperate, is she?” He slapped the inside of my thigh, and I yelped, staggering, struggling to move. Aching to rub my legs together to ease the blazing pain. Feeling somewhere between fiery hot and chillingly cold, I wasn’t sure if I was appalled, or elated. But one thing was certain … I was turned on. Achingly so. Embarrassingly. My body was so aroused, my sex trembling with need, as a steady, hot drizzle of arousal gathered in my core. I audaciously opened my legs to him, clearly asking for more.
He leaned over and kissed me so hard that my lips felt as bruised as the rest of my body. “Do you really think a pretty fragile flower is what I’m after? Someone to make gentle love to? Whisper sensual words while eating popcorn under the stars? Tell me, Ava, does your pussy sting? Your thighs? Are you having fun yet? Do you feel intrigued?”
He seized my legs apart farther, restraining them, and adjusting them into an awkward, tight, uncomfortable position. Shit, it hurt. I couldn’t move. Then, he did the same with my arms. Ouch. Oh, shit.
“Please, Tage. That doesn’t feel good.”
“Neither does a plug up the ass. Sit still.” His hand speared through my hair again as his lips fell against my ear. “You remember your safeword?”
“Hummingbird,” I breathed, my breath lodged in my throat. My mouth was dry. My lower body ached. Everything just … hurt. My ass … my thighs … my pussy. How badly would he hurt me? Would I need medical attention afterward? Bandages? Ice packs? Heating pads? Thoughts of something, or anything up my ass, was borderline terrifying, not to say damned embarrassing. All of a sudden, this entire concept frightened the life out of me, striking me with a panic that I had only witnessed in movies, read in books. Yet, it was also pain, marks, bruises. Provocative. Electrifying. Intriguing.
“Perfect.” He released the ungodly grip on my hair and gently brushed his fingertips over the stinging sides of my scalp. “Feel better?”
“Yes,” I answered, struggling to keep from clenching my fists.
“Just yes? Seems a bit inconsiderate, kitten.” He began forcing a wad of something inside my mouth. God, no. Was he really going to gag me? Would I be able to breathe? Would I choke? Die a horrible painful death, naked, exposed, open and vulnerable? Tears bit at my eyes as I whimpered, forcing myself to breathe through my nose.
“How does it feel to be gagged with your panties, Ava?”
My panties? He was using my panties to gag me? Tears rose again as he reached behind me, lifting my hair so tightly that my stomach clenched.
“Nod your head once if you’re okay. Twice if you aren’t.”
I whimpered, nodding only the one time.
“Beautiful,” he murmured. “Now sit still.”
After what seemed like an eternity, his hand began caressing my neck and down over the swelling of my tender breasts, gently teasing my nipples, as he mumbled off Swedish words that I didn’t understand. Right as I began to relax, my back bowed, my left nipple no longer being stroked, but instead being viciously rolled and taunted between the thick pads of his fingertips. I flinched, whimpering, and he released me. I blew a relieved breath through my nose and swallowed hard. That was when the most piercing, insufferable agony I’d ever felt raked the fleshy tip of my right breast. I screamed through the gag, thrashing, as the delicate skin felt like it was being burned by the red-hot tip of a hundred flames.
Fucking hell. He’s killing me. Ruining my nipples. Motherfuck, it hurt. I swallowed hard, gagging as I did, trying to back away, but my breath catching as he beset my second nipple with the same excruciating torture device as the first. Both nipples howled in misery, the pain a paralyzing ache. Now I was sobbing, choking on my own damn panties while everything between my legs felt hot enough to catch fire. He tugged further. Grasped harder. Pushing me to the point I’d requested. To give in. Cede and surrender.
“Du har mycket vackra brost.”
A jolting breath lifted up my throat, my toes curling, the tortuous hell in my breasts beginning to slide all the way down into my clit. He leaned over, kissing my hair and gently stroking between my thighs, making my core ache harder. “It means your breasts are very beautiful. And they belong to me, Ava. Stop pulling away.”
I writhed as he tugged at the nipple clamps, the smell of my lust embarrassingly undeniable. “This is what you asked for,” he whispered against my ear.
Tears trickled down my face, while soft, muffled whimpers fell from my lips. Tage began rambling off another long line of Swedish words, then leaned over, trailing soft kisses against my neck. “Don’t fear your desires, kitten. Indulge in them. Embrace them. Surrender to them. Because they make you so perfectly you.”
My breasts felt like they were falling off, and my ankles and wrists ached with the tight restraints. But my core was wet, throbbing, and clenching. What he was doing to me was harsh and unrelenting, but there was something genuine and deep—this pain, this fulfillment happening to my body—was like an unhealed lesion that was beginning to heal.
Was this who I was? Who I’d always been? Someone seeking pain? A masochist?
He traced a long finger down my torso. “Are you ready for my cock in your ass? Are you enjoying everything? Are you enjoying the intrigue?”
Yes. I’m enjoying it. It’s the most fulfilling sexual experience of my life. But why? Am I out of my ever-loving mind?
“You’re stunning when you’re writhing under my control,” he uttered. “You’ve never looked more beautiful. Nod once if you want my cock.”
My sex throbbed like hot white fire as he slapped the sensitive area of my pubis again. My hips arched. Every single inch of my body felt pained. Holy crap, I had never felt a sensation like this. I was borderline senseless with the instant need to orgasm. I had smacked my mound before, something I’d learned from an erotic hypnosis tape, but not with this kind of intensity. It hurt. Shit, it ached all the way through my bones. Even my toes hurt. How could anyone in their sane mind like this? Why would they? Still, in some dark, taboo kind of way, I more than liked it. I craved it. I longed for it. I needed it.
Gag me. Hurt me. Love me.
“Yes! My God! I’m r—ready.” My response was jumbled beneath the gag, and I highly doubted he could understand a word of what I was saying. After what sounded like a tsk, then a soft laugh, he removed the clamps without offering a word of caution, leaving me gasping and whimpering as the sharp, godawful return of pain shot through my breasts like a million searing irons were melting the skin right off. Then, he began walking. Where to, I didn’t know. I hoped it was for a warm cloth, a heating pad, or a case of bandages for what was left of my battered nipples.
“And I think I want something to drink,” he responded, closing the door behind him and leaving me alone.
I worshiped at the altar of pain, surviving on avoidance, physical to avoid the mental, anything to forget what I’d lost. When Remi walked through the door, I felt like I’d paid my price for the passage through hell and been granted a taste of Eden. Remi was my oasis and I was going to drown myself in him.
But life takes with no remorse and everything was a mirage. The past won’t stay dead and a cruel phantom comes to destroy our happiness. The more we need each other the further apart our lives drive us. I’m torn between my perfect past and the hope of an oasis, and either choice demands I cut out part of my soul.
My lips pulled back as fire raced through my veins. I had no outlet for the rage that filled me. Rain started to fall, soaking us through instantly.
“I don’t know if I want any of that anymore,” I said.
“What? It’s who you are.”
I grabbed his shirt, shoving him into the car. “You are who I am.”
I forced his lips open with mine, kissing him. He didn’t fight me. He still belonged to me. I knew he felt it as much as I did.
I tugged at the fabric and he raised his arms so I could strip off his hastily put on shirt. I shoved his jeans down, without shame, wrapping my fingers around his cock.
He dug his nails into my arm. “Dante.”
“Shut up.” I stroked up his length, and his fingers tightened, drawing blood. It mixed with the rain and ran down my arms.
I bit and sucked at his lips and tongue. His other hand found my hip and dug in. I pulled back enough to meet his eyes. He was savage with his nails.
“Do your worst,” I said.
“You don’t want my worst.”
I grabbed his balls with my free hand and twisted, smiling down at him. He returned the gesture by grabbing my cock through my pants.
“We aren’t in the playroom. I will return all of it.”
I licked over my lips squeezing more and raising a brow. It seemed like challenge.
“Hurt me. I need it.”
Both his brows rose, and he nodded. “Are we doing this out here or are we taking it inside?” Remi unzipped my pants and dugs his nails into my cock as he freed it.
About the Author :
Gray is a cynical Chicago native, who drinks coffee all day, barely sleeps, and is a little too fashion obsessed. He writes realistic and damaged characters because everyone deserves a happily ever after.
Connect with J.R. Gray: Website | Instagram | Twitter - Personal | Twitter - Books | Facebook | Facebook Group | Tumblr | Mailing List | Amazon Author Page | Book Bub | Patreon
Check out CLOUDED HELL (Inferno Book 1)! Only $.99
A Western Romance...
When Kathleen and Carter meet, it’s intrigue at first sight, and they awaken from emotional exile. A turn of events finds her spontaneously joining him on his working ranch. Despite being really hard work, she’s blissfully happy—and the fringe benefits aren’t too shabby either.
Carter can’t believe his luck. He desperately needed a housekeeper, not that he welcomed this amazing woman into his home for that reason. He can cope with her bond with her daughter, no matter how it forces him to remember his lost young son. And he can’t give her his heart, but what he can give is surely enough.
In love with this amazing man, Kate ignores that Carter withholds, believing he’ll change, and she’s willing to wait. When she inadvertently discovers he was angling for a housekeeper all along, it knocks her blinders off.
She’s done waiting. She deserves more—and so does he.
“I think I’m good. I should probably get to bed,” she said. “What time do you get up?”
“Early. And I head out straight away. You stay in bed until you’re ready to face the day. I’ll leave you my cell number, and you text me. I’ll head back.”
“I’m an early riser too.”
“Five o’clock for me tomorrow, Kathleen.”
“Oh, maybe not. I’ll text you.”
He pulled out his cell. “What’s your number?”
With the exchange complete, he lurked in the doorway. “The bathroom is across the hall. Towels in the cabinet.”
“Great, thanks. I’ve got everything I need.”
Did she? So near and yet so far, she hovered there like a wood sprite. When she stooped to slip the strap off her shoe, then the other and stepped out of the heels, he found he’d closed the gap.
She looked up, having lost a slight difference in height, and her eyes flared green, the pupils dilating. A good night kiss, then. A peck. He reached out and with only tacit permission lowered his mouth over hers.
On a startled gasp, her lips parted, and he took advantage, yet maintained control, alert to any distress. It separated him into distinct parts that soon melded when she pressed into him, her arms wreathing around his neck.
He learned her, her taste and texture, reveling in her response, swallowing her tiny moans. When he pulled away to breathe, resting his forehead against hers, she sagged in his arms and he kept her steady.
His heart pounded in tandem with hers, and he was so hard he hurt. She shivered, and he said, “Do I need to apologize? Because it’ll be difficult.”
In a whisper, she said, “No need. I’m just sorry I’m so out of practice.”
“If you’re out of practice, I hope to kiss you when you’re at your best.”
Tipping her head back, she met his eyes before glancing away. “I don’t do this on a first date. I don’t date. Lord.”
He eased his body away from hers, regretting that he’d encroached on her personal space. She tugged him back. “But I want to. I want you. If that makes me a—”
He stopped her with a hard kiss. “Don’t. Don’t make this a bad thing.”
Her lips twitched in a tremulous smile. “I don’t want to overthink it.”
“I’ll take care of you,” he promised.
He lost his Stetson and shrugged out of his jacket, bemoaning any inability to keep a hand on her as she tugged a zipper hidden in a side seam of her dress and let it slither down the length of her body to pool at her feet.
His fingers froze on the snaps of his shirt as he took in the sight of her in scraps of pink lace and honest-to-God thigh-high stockings. With a dry mouth, he wrenched the placket apart and threw the shirt to one side, gathering her to him, nuzzling the hollow at the base of her neck and then down to the tops of her breasts.
She arched into him, and he fumbled with the clasp and freed those gorgeous mounds that tumbled into his waiting hands. Soft skin tipped with beaded nipples he desperately wanted to get his mouth on. And her sultry scent…
His belt buckle pressed into her belly, and he made one hand abandon its prize and yank open the offending metal, dealing with the button and zipper while he was at it. His cock breathed a sigh of relief—he swore it—as his mouth found its target.
“God, Carter.” She pushed into him, and he sucked harder, gently using his teeth against the tip.
Her hands found his hips and pushed his jeans down, dragging his boxer briefs with them. The sensation of her fingers on his ass made him groan, his pelvis thrusting, his cock against her center. At this rate, he’d disgrace himself.
When she sought him out, he turned with her, hobbled by his own jeans, the ignominy nearly making him smile as he held her against the wall. “Touch me, darlin’, and I’ll lose it all over your sweet hand.”
“Out of practice, too,” she teased, her hair awry and her mouth swollen. “I’m so ready, Carter.”
He worked his hand beneath her panties, staring into her eyes, soaking in the pleasure sparking there when he found her apex, full and wet. “You are.”
Still, he played at her entrance, then feathered over the knot above, making her rise on her toes and whimper. “Please.”
It took some awkward gymnastics to get a hand into his jeans’ pocket and lift his wallet, all while stroking her, but he managed it. Somehow got the condom out and open and smoothed on.
Pushing aside the fabric guarding her pussy, he bent his knees a fraction and set his cock at her opening. With a single thrust, he filled her, freezing in place as they both adjusted. She was wet but so fucking tight. She’d said she didn’t do this, didn’t date. Christ. How long had it been?
“You okay?” he rasped, willing her to open her eyes.
As if on cue, her lashes fluttered open, and he drowned in the depths behind them. Urgent need enticed him, and he responded, easing out and pushing back in. Heated, wet satin sucked at him as he powered toward orgasm, knowing it wouldn’t be long.
But he wasn’t getting there alone. Watching her for any signs, doing his best to ignore the pull at the base of his spine, he found her sweet spot and swiveled his hips to take her there. She responded by working herself against him, her breath increasing in shallow pants as she crested.
With a short cry, she tensed and clamped on him, shuddering, her head grinding against the wall. There was no resisting her, and he followed her over, emptying himself. He set his teeth on the top of her shoulder and muffled his groan, then kissed the spot reverently.
About the Author:
Allyson Young aka Peri Elizabeth Scott lives in cottage country, Manitoba, Canada where she and her husband pretend to work well together in their seasonal business.
She has always enjoyed the written word, and after reading an erotic romance, quite by mistake, decided to try her hand at penning one. That was followed by a mix of spicy (Ally) and sweet (Peribeth) romances in various genres as well as a post-apocalyptic adventure without a lick of romance by Peribeth.
A bestselling Amazon author, a hybrid, and a coauthor, as of November 2018 she has published seven series and several standalones, with others in the works.
,Spider (Hades Abyss MC)
Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
Release Date: June 14, 2019
Keywords: Older Man Younger Woman, New Adult, Interracial Romance, Bikers
Hash Tags: #bikerbooks #MCromance #MayDecember #interraciallove #NewRelease #eroticbooks @HarleyW_Writer @changelingpress
I never once thought a woman nearly forty years younger than me could ever captivate me, but the more I get to know her, the more Luciana holds me spellbound. I didn’t want to fall in love, didn’t want a woman in my life… but sometimes the Fates know better than a mere mortal man, and Luciana is exactly what I need. When her father demands her return, I vow to keep her safe.
ABOUT THE BOOK:
Luciana -- All I’ve known is pain and suffering at the hands of men -- even from my father, a man who was supposed to love and protect me. I’ve survived, nothing less and nothing more. When I’m dropped off with a club of bikers, I figure it’s more of the same. I’ll do as I’m told, make sure I please them, and hope one day I’ll find a way to escape. There is only one thing that could ever break me, and I’m scared of what will happen when the club learns my secret. Will they return me to my father? Or will I be used to broker yet another deal?
It never occurred to me the President of Hades Abyss would be my salvation, or that I would fall in love with him. I never knew men could be honorable and kind. He’s all gruff and domineering, but under that rough exterior I can see the heart of gold he tries to hide.
Spider -- Assassin Casper VanHorne, Picasso of wet work and pain in my ass, has asked my club to take in two Colombian princesses. Well, he didn’t use the term princesses, but I have no doubt they’ll be spoiled little bitches. The first time I see Luciana and her sister, I think I’ve got them pegged just right -- until I look in Luciana’s eyes and see the fear she’s trying to hide. Something isn’t right. I know it deep in my gut.
I never once thought a woman nearly forty years younger than me could ever captivate me, but the more I get to know her, the more Luciana holds me spellbound. I didn’t want to fall in love, didn’t want a woman in my life… but sometimes the Fates know better than a mere mortal man, and Luciana is exactly what I need. When her father demands her return, I vow to keep her safe. No fucking way I’ll let the sick bastards who hurt her get their hands on her again. Now that she’s mine, I’ll march into hell if need be in order to keep her by my side.
Amazon (universal): http://getbook.at/SpiderHadesAbyssMC
B&N Nook: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/spider-sian-smith/1104577105?ean=2940161326343
Changeling Press (Get it June 7th): https://www.changelingpress.com/spider-hades-abyss-mc-1-b-2881
I made my way inside and went straight to the kitchen. I shook my head as I looked at the damn fancy coffeemaker Laken had insisted on giving me this past Christmas. It had taken me weeks to figure the fucking thing out. If I hadn’t been worried about hurting her feelings, I’d have stashed it and just used my simple one with an on/off switch. Who needed all the bells and whistles on a coffeemaker? Although I had to admit being able to set a timer was nice when I had a set schedule in the morning. I liked walking downstairs to a fresh pot of coffee.
I brewed a pot, then sat at the table to enjoy it. I had a feeling I might need something a lot stronger if I was going to tackle the issue of Luciana and Violeta. Had the third girl arrived at the Dixie Reapers’ compound yet? I wondered what Torch thought of all this. I could call and ask, or I could wait for Luciana and ask her myself what the fuck was going on. As fearful as Violeta seemed, and given her odd comment, it made me think things were about to go sideways with this deal.
I finished my cup and poured another. As I reclaimed my seat, Luciana came downstairs, her tread soft on the staircase. She froze in the kitchen doorway when she saw me. I waited, wondering if she’d run the other way or be brave enough to come closer. I had my answer a moment later when she came farther into the room and looked at the coffeepot with longing.
“You can have a cup. They’re in the cupboard over the coffeemaker. I don’t keep creamer, but there’s regular sugar in the canister on the counter and some milk in the fridge.”
She wordlessly walked to the coffeepot and got down a mug. She filled it, then opened the fridge and pulled out the milk, staring at it a moment. Her questioning gaze met mine. Had the kid never seen milk before? Or maybe it was the fact I had to use the watered-down shit.
“I’m an old man, darlin’. I can’t stomach whole milk anymore. Even the two percent is too rough, so I only stock one percent. If you’ll give me a list of things you need, I’ll have someone pick up a few groceries.”
She added the milk to her coffee and put the carton back in the fridge. After looking around the kitchen with confusion etched on her face, I pointed to the drawer next to the stove. She walked over and slid it open, pulling out a spoon. Luciana sat next to me and stirred her coffee.
“Guess it’s a little stressful and weird to leave your home and go somewhere new,” I said.
She just stared at her cup and didn’t say anything, but I noticed her lower lip trembled a bit.
“Your dad probably has a big mansion in Colombia. I know this place isn’t a palace, but hopefully you’ll be comfortable.”
I honestly hadn’t given a shit. Until now. The more I watched her, the more certain I became things weren’t as they seemed. That fucker! Casper hadn’t made a deal with Gomez for his own merit. He’d been trying to get these girls out of Colombia. I just didn’t know why, but I would. And soon. If shit was heading my way, I wanted to be ready.
Luciana sipped her at her coffee and still didn’t say a word. I noticed her body was tense, and her hand shook a little. The girl was scared. Was it because of being somewhere new? Leaving her only home? Or was it something else, something that would likely piss me the fuck off? I shouldn’t have offered to keep her here. Anyone else would have been a better option. Hell, the girls could have shared a room at Rocket’s place, or Luciana could have stayed with Shooter or Knox. Both were a fucking lot younger than me. Maybe she worried I’d try to take advantage? She’d likely be disgusted if I made a move on her, not that I planned on it.
“Luciana, I don’t know what you think of me, and I honestly don’t give a shit. But I can assure you that I don’t take unwilling women, so if you’re worried I’ll force myself on you while you’re here, you’d be wrong.”
She audibly swallowed, and the coffee sloshed over the rim of the mug and onto the table.
“You won’t have to force me. I know my place and what’s expected of me.”
What. The. Absolute. Fuck.
“Come again?” I asked.
She finally met my gaze and held it for longer than a few seconds. “I’ll do as you ask. Do you want me here?”
She stood and started to unfasten her pants, and it felt like my heart was about to stop. A picture was forming in my mind, and it wasn’t pretty. I reached and placed my hand over hers, halting her movement. Not fast enough that she hadn’t already started to shove her pants down her legs, and not before I saw the marks.
With a growl, I stood fast enough my chair fell over. Fury filled me as I stared at her lower belly, right above the delicate lace trim on her panties. Slowly, I reached for her and lifted the hem of her shirt a little. Enough to see not only more marks, but to notice there was a slight roundness that was too firm to be fat. I worked her jeans down her thighs and took in the roadmap of pain that was etched into her skin.
© Harley Wylde, 2019
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
When Harley is writing, her motto is the hotter the better. Off the charts sex, commanding men, and the women who can’t deny them. If you want men who talk dirty, are sexy as hell, and take what they want, then you’ve come to the right place.
You can follow Harley on Amazon, Twitter, or Facebook. Get New Release notifications (for US readers) by following Harley on BookBub!