Mid Week Tease: Grading the Curve
Happy Hump Day! Let’s celebrate it with a Mid Week Tease, courtesy of the lovely and talented Sandra Bunino. This week, I’ll be sharing a teaser from my new Romance on the Go story Grading the Curve, featuring virginal college student Ellen who’s about to enjoy the hot professor she’s been lusting after all semester long. What can I say — I think teachers are sexy.
Enjoy, and make sure to hit the list after the teaser to see other great Mid Week Teases!
###
He bent his head, kissing her right nipple. His lips were brands on her skin, heating her through. He opened his mouth, and she felt wetness, warm and slick.
And then he sucked gently, the tip of his tongue teasing the erect flesh. Sparks danced across her skin and shot through her, a direct line to her aching clit.
“Hmm. Gorgeous,” he murmured, the vibration tingling along her nerve endings. His mouth moved to her other nipple, recreating the sensation. Her knees unlocked, and this time she moaned.
His mouth continued to suckle and tease her breasts as his clever fingers unbuttoned her jeans and pushed them down. She kicked off her shoes and wriggled out of the warm denim. Those fingers returned, slipping under the slightly worn waistband elastic of her panties and playing with her pubic hair. “Wonderful. I’m glad you don’t get this taken off,” he said, lips moving along her breastbone. “I like a woman to look like a woman, not a Barbie doll.”
“Can’t afford waxing,” she said, arching her hips into his touch. “I’m a scholarship student, remember?”
“Soon to be a gainfully employed technical writer. Promise me you won’t wax. Trimming is fine, but don’t take it all off. Leave some mystery.”
She’d never seen the appeal of Brazilians herself. “I promise.”
He sank to his knees, pale eyes gleaming up at her as he pulled down her panties. “Sit on the edge of the bed and spread your legs.”
She obeyed, leaning back on her arms and imagining how she must look: wanton, spread and open.
He moved closer, shouldering between her knees and keeping them spread. She could feel puffs of breath along her inner thigh and knew she was soaked, fluid trickling down into the crease of her ass.
He gazed at her in undisguised hunger. “Just as I thought,” he said. “A lovely pink quim, and already so wet for me. I’m going to taste you now, Ellen.”
He leaned forward, laying the gentlest of kisses up her thigh, brushing his lips over the delicate curls. She was ready to explode by the time his mouth finally moved between her legs, tongue coming out to lick her so delicately. Another lick, deeper, and then he opened her slick flesh with his chin, mouth closing around her clit and suckling it.
She keened. Alexander Cord was eating her pussy, and loving it from the soft sounds he made as he lapped.
###
Grading the Curve is available from the following retailers:
Evernight / Amazon / All Romance Ebooks / Bookstrand
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Wicked Wednesday Reads: The Girl on the Bus
It’s time once again to help you over your Hump Day and spice up your week with a tasty Romance on the Go entry from Evernight Publishing. This week, Raven McAllen’s The Girl on the Bus is a tasty tale about lost love and second chances. Check out the excerpt below for a teaser!
Hi there, and thanks so much for letting me pop in and chat. There’s nothing nicer than talking over coffee or wine. And I’ve brought some cookies, and chocolate.
Its been a whirlwind few weeks for me. I celebrated my second anniversary as a published author, and had a book out either side of it.
The thrill of publishing day (and yes the terror that people will hate it), never ever goes away. I’m humbled really, and it’s taken me a long while to realize some people do like what I wrote and do buy it.
It took me a fair while to work out just what my voice was, and how I should use it. Once I did, I found I had the ideas, and the characters shouting at me.
Now I’m so glad I didn’t give up before my voice worked it’s way to the surface and I listened to it. No, it’s not what I thought it would be, but do you know, I’m really glad about that. I love what I write, and if even a few of you do as well, that’s a bonus!
So, The Girl on the Bus…
Julia ran out on Tay five years ago, so she cannot be the face he sees on the bus. However, when she ends up being the one taking notes at his meeting, he knows he will move heaven and earth to make her his once more.
Will she agree, or will she run again?
Story Excerpt
Once inside the room, which as far as Julia could see, was empty except for a bed, Mister T gripped her by the chin. “What is the first thing you thought when you came inside?”
Julia answered him without thinking about it. “Is that all?”
His shout of laughter rumbled through her, and his hand on her hair sent zaps of hot hard arousal to her clit and pussy.
“Well we can’t have that, can we? A disappointed sub. Now I wonder what we should do?”
Going on instinct, Julia knelt awkwardly in front of him—she’d done her research on line—put her hands behind her and bent her head.
“Please, sir.” To her annoyance her voice shook and she cleared her throat. “I want to learn.”
“What, pet? What do you want to learn?”
Julia swallowed. “Whatever you wish to show me, sir.” Then she remembered one of the books she’d read. “Within my safe words.”
He’d laughed. “Clever, pet. What are they and what do they mean?”
“Red, stop now. We may discuss why I’m calling red but until we do its non-negotiable. Yellow, I’m not sure about what’s happening, and maybe we need to discuss it further. And green, oh yes, I’m very happy let’s carry on.”
He crouched in front of her and kissed her nose. “That seems to cover it. Well sub, I’m considered to be best at wax play. Are you willing to let me show you the beauty therein?”
Those words spoken in his velvet voice made her ream coat her pussy and thighs and the hairs on her arms stand up.
“Yes, Sir. Please, Sir.” The salutation seemed so easy to say, and so normal to her, that it rolled of her tongue automatically.
What followed became the most special and mind blowing time of her life. It was all well and good saying no sex, but it had been sexual in its own way.
Tay showed her with both diagrams and pictures what would happen. Then asked her to sign yet more disclaimers, before telling her to shower to remove all lotions and perfumes.
When she’d exited the shower, a tall smiling woman waited for her. Julia blushed. She might not be ashamed of her hourglass figure, but she wasn’t used to flaunting it.
“Master T said would you put this on, please? He reckoned you’d not be happy dressed just in a thong as he’d prefer.” She’d passed a bikini to Julia who looked at it doubtfully. It was so tiny, Julia reckoned she’d be lucky to get her nipple covered by the top, it looked to be an AA cup and she was a DD. The bottom wasn’t much better, but at least it covered her bush.
The other woman, “Call me Callie,” giggled as Julia blushed. The way Callie’s face crinkled up, made her look much more approachable and ten years younger. Julia realized she was around the same age as herself.
“Master T?” Julia asked as she struggled to dress in the bikini without dropping the towel. “Does he ever go mask-less?”
Callie shook her head. “Nope, but he’s so good no one worries. Look, honey, it’s obviously you’re like a newborn babe here. Believe me, no one will bother about your body, except to see the marks of your Sir or Master on it. For hygiene’s sake, if you carry on you’ll shave or wax your pussy, it’s preferred, and you’ll get used to being mainly unclothed. It’s no biggie. Right, you’re playing in private, but I’m dungeon master for you. Master T thought you’d be happier with a woman around.”
The following hour had been eye opening, enlightening, and mind blowing.
“I’m tying you down, pet, for your own safety,” Tay told her. “Color?”
“Green, Sir.” Okay she didn’t know how she felt about not having the chance to move, but then she trusted him to know best. Behind him, Callie leaned against the wall ever watchful. So she did have a get out of jail card.
Once the first drop of wax hit her chest, the intense sting was followed by a flush of arousal so strong Julia almost came there and then. At the stern, “do not come until I say so”, she bit her lip, regulating her breathing instead. She flew. Nothing existed except each soft drop of wax, his quiet praise, and the way she was detached and watching herself flush and blossom.
He tapped her mound gently and spoke in his sex on legs voice. “Fly, pet. Come for me now, Silver, show me how you let go.”
Where to Buy
Evernight Publishing
Amazon
Amazon.co.uk
All Romance eBooks
Bookstrand
About Raven McAllen
Raven lives in Scotland, along with her husband and their two cats—their children having flown the nest—surrounded by beautiful scenery, which inspires a lot of the settings in her books.
She is used to sharing her life with the occasional deer, red squirrel, and lost tourist, to say nothing of the scourge of Scotland—the midge.
A lover of reading, she appreciates the history inside a book, and the chance to peek into the lives of those from years ago. Raven admits that she enjoys the research for her books almost as much as the writing; so much so, that sometimes she realizes she’s strayed way past the information she needs to know, and not a paragraph has been added to her WIP.
Her lovely long-suffering husband is learning to love the dust bunnies, work the Aga, and be on stand-by with a glass of wine.
Where to Find Raven McAllen
Website
Blog
Facebook (personal page)
Facebook (author page)
Twitter
The Evernight Birthday Blog Hop contest is over!
I’ve selected my personal winner and contacted her about her prizes — thanks to everyone who participated, and I wish you the best of luck in winning the grand prize!
Fabulous Friday Reads: Blood Hunt
Welcome to the weekend, and let’s kick it off with the sexy new paranormal erotic romance Blood Hunt from Naomi Clark, now available from Evernight Publishing and other purveyors of fine erotic romance.
Ayla Hammond is taking on Paris. Hoping for a romantic getaway in the City of Lights with her girlfriend, Shannon, she finds a city under the dark thrall of Le Monstre. Getting caught up in mystery and murder was the last thing Ayla and Shannon wanted or expected, but as the body count grows and tension rises between Parisian werewolves and humans, they find themselves stalked by an unknown terror.
What is Le Monstre and why does it make Ayla’s wolf want to turn tail and run? Can it be stopped before they become its next victims?
Story Excerpt
We rounded the corner and headed up the hill to our flat. The silence and stillness was unsettling. How often did utter silence fall in a city? No cars revving, no cats fighting, no music blaring from open windows. It was unnatural. My wolf cringed inside me, waiting for the hammer to fall.
It didn’t happen. No shock attack came, just a slow, creeping sense of wrong as we made our way up the hill. And a slow, creeping realization that yes, I could smell it. That the air was gradually filling with that cloying scent that made my wolf quake and my stomach turn. It was here. Le Monstre was stalking us.
I swallowed. My throat felt tight. “Shannon….”
“Hmm?” She didn’t smell that evil scent, I realized. Didn’t notice that anything was wrong.
“Nothing.” I decided I didn’t want to scare her. I glanced around, tried to pick out some hint of where it might be, how close, how dangerous. The streets were dark, the lamps out as if by design. There was no moonlight to chase back the shadows. Le Monstre could be anywhere. Ahead. Behind. Shit, it could be anywhere. The smell made it hard to think straight, to stay calm. I couldn’t concentrate.
I picked up our pace, desperate to get to the flat. To get inside where I knew we’d be safe. We were minutes away. Maybe Le Monstre was stalking other prey. The wind could be carrying the scent from blocks away. I could be imagining it was close, still jacked up from the fight and the fire at Loup Garou. I just didn’t know. I didn’t trust my instincts. I couldn’t when my wolf was so edgy and scared, like a cub on her first hunt. I looked this way and that, peering into every shadow, expecting some horror film monstrosity to lurch shrieking from the darkness any second.
“What’s wrong?” Shannon asked me, her heels clopping on the cobbles as she trotted to keep up with me. “Ayla?”
“Nothing, it’s nothing,” I said through gritted teeth. We were nearly home, nearly safe. We’d get inside and I’d switch on all the lights and laugh at myself for being such a coward.
“Well slow down then,” Shannon said. “Take pity on the poor human in her high heels, okay?”
I inhaled, sucking up that rotting-fruit smell. It was stronger, I was sure of it. I listened, wishing I was wolf-shaped so I could flick my ears around and gather up every whisper of sound. But there was nothing to hear, except our own feet slapping on the pavement and Shannon’s puffing breath as she tried to keep up with me.
Why couldn’t I hear it? It was nearby, it had to be for the smell to be so strong, but I couldn’t hear a damn thing. Nothing moved in absolute silence, nothing in our dark little corner of the world.
It frightened me. There was nothing that made no sound at all. Even the stealthiest of wolves rustled the grasses in the park, or tapped their claws against the pavement.
I was imagining it. The wind was carrying the scent. I was tired, hurt and strung-out. I chanted it to myself over and over as that sickly-sweet smell clogged up my nose and sent raw fear ripping through me. I quickened my pace again, sweat beading on my brow. I wanted to be inside, I wanted light. I wanted locked doors.
“Ayla, Slow down, for God’s sake!” Shannon pulled free of me so sharply I stumbled on the cobbles and slipped. I landed on my rear with a thud and a yelp. Shannon cried out. “Oh shit, I’m sorry.” She leaned down to help me up.
A rush of air and sweet rot hit me. I gagged, rolling onto my side to vomit. Eyes down, dizzy, I didn’t hear it strike. All I heard was Shannon scream.
Where to Buy
Evrnight Publishing
Amazon
All Romance eBooks
Bookstrand
About Naomi Clark
Naomi Clark lives in Cambridge and is a mild-mannered office worker by day, but a slightly crazed writer by night. She has a perfectly healthy obsession with giant sea creatures and a preference for vodka-based cocktails. When she’s not writing, Naomi is probably either reading or watching 80s cartoon shows, and sometimes she manages to do all three at once.
Where to Find Naomi Clark
Mid Week Tease: Behind the Iron Cross
Happy Hump Day! Let’s celebrate it with a Mid Week Tease, courtesy of the lovely and talented Sandra Bunino. This week, I’ll be sharing a teaser from one of my current WIPs, Behind the Iron Cross. In the aftermath of World War I, Berlin has become a hotspot of decadent pleasures, and American millionairess Kat Tracy is determined to enjoy each and every one of them with Sam Hellman, her late brother’s lover and her convenient “fiancé.” But when the two of them meet Friedrich von Bader, a former German Army officer turned reluctant prostitute, their wicked games take on a new meaning.
Enjoy, and make sure to hit the list after the teaser to see other great Mid Week Teases!
###
Berlin, 1923
Colonel Friedrich von Bader paused at the door to the nightclub, taking a deep breath of the night air to steady his nerves. He immediately realized his mistake as the scent of alcohol and cigarette smoke hit him, teasing a hunger for both. It had been so damned long since he’d been able to indulge in luxuries like a glass of schnapps, or a cigarette not fished from the gutter. Those days when he’d been a respectable and respected officer of the Deutsches Heer, the Imperial German Army.
He sighed. His glorious past, one that would never return. He had to accept the present and what was now expected of him. And right now, he was expected to step inside the nightclub and start his new profession, if he could call it that. God knew he was dressed for it, he thought bitterly. His uniform was inspection-ready, from his Iron Cross on display at the rounded collar to his mirror-polished boots. Underneath the uniform, he was scrubbed from head to toe, hair neatly combed. His sister-in-law Lilli had even managed to scrounge up a bit of lemon rind for him to use for scent.
He grimaced when he remembered her hopeful face. She thought he was going out to have dinner with a potential employer, had accepted the transparent lie wholeheartedly. He wouldn’t — couldn’t — tell her the truth, that there was only one way for someone like him to earn money without turning to the Ringvereine, the criminal gangs that practically ran the city.
And so tonight he would let strangers approach him, talk to him, and make an offer for his services. His very private, very personal services.
Tonight, he would become a whore.
He swallowed hard, fighting the revulsion that threatened to bring up the meager meal in his stomach. He would have to get used to such things, if he wanted Lilli and her son Rudi to survive. He would accept the best offer that came to him, and follow his customer to one of the rooms over the club, take off his clothes, climb onto a bed, and do whatever was requested of him. Touch himself, intimately. Open his mouth, his thighs, his body to a stranger.
In return for providing these services to a rich foreigner who wanted to explore sexual desires that were forbidden back home, he would be paid one American dollar. It seemed like so little, but compared to the millions of German marks it took simply to buy a few slices of bread, an American dollar was a small windfall. It would feed his family for a week, perhaps even two if they were careful.
His family. He was torn between gratitude and guilt that it was so small, compared to others. His parents, his brother, his wife were all dead now, killed in combat or by illness. His sister-in-law and her toddler son were the only loved ones he had left. The only ones he had to protect.
Lilli will never know. After what had happened to her — no. His pride was nothing. He would provide for her, one way or the other.
Taking a deep breath, he straightened, putting on his best aristocratic look. If the rich foreigners inside the club wanted their whores clean and smelling nice, then he would fit the bill. Now he just had to find a customer.
#
“I’m bored,” Katherine Tracy said, taking a long drag off her cigarette. “I thought you said we’d find something entertaining here.”
Sam Hellman chuckled, glancing around the room with an appreciative eye. “We’ve only been here for ten minutes, sweetheart,” he said, taking a sip of his champagne. “Give the talent a chance to circulate.”
She raised a dismissive eyebrow at that. The Cupid Club was dark and smoky, the dim light hiding the tackiness of the cherub-heavy decor and allowing the customers to focus on the stage, where a redheaded singer in diamonds and a long silver gown was crooning “Just a Girl That Men Forget” into the microphone. The fact that the singer was a baritone and her adam’s apple could be seen under the diamant choker she wore was neither here nor there. That was part of the club’s charm, after all, just like the rest of Berlin.
Berlin was the cuckoo’s egg in the nest of the German Reich. The aftermath of the Great War had wreaked havoc on Europe in a number of ways, and a conquered Germany was one of the hardest hit. With the abdication of Kaiser Wilhelm II and an economy in ruins due to catastrophic war reparations, the country had struggled to put together its first democratically elected government, the Weimar Republic, under the leadership of Friedrich Ebert.
By 1922, the new parliament had their hands full trying to rein in a galloping hyperinflation, all while dealing with political and military uprisings throughout the country. Staid Prussian social mores quickly fell by the wayside, and the urban centers of the country developed a more freewheeling mindset. The city of Berlin in particular had given up any attempts at censorship under the Republic, and musicians, artists, and writers soon flocked to the city, eager to enjoy this new freedom. They weren’t alone; philosophers and scientists also rushed to study the fascinating aspects of this brave new world.
That was the bright aspect of the city. On its darker side, Berlin was also a hunting ground for those with money and a taste for more sordid pleasures. The city had quickly become the leading fleshpot in Europe, where hectic partiers could listen to the hottest jazz, indulge in the drug of choice, and have any kind of sex they craved.
As Kat finished off her champagne, a beautiful young waiter dressed in a filmy drape of fabric appeared at her side with a fresh glass. She accepted it, watching with amusement as her fiancé admired the expanse of lean muscled flesh on display. The waiter also noticed, and made sure to brush against Sam’s arm as he sashayed away from the table.
“He’s certainly pretty,” she said.
“And probably carrying every social disease known to mankind,” Sam said dismissively. “Besides, he’d run screaming the moment you pulled out the rope.”
“Not if I gagged him first.”
That earned her a wicked grin. “I love you for offering, sweetheart, but let’s find someone more like that redhead from last night, hmm?”
She took another puff on her cigarette, remembering the previous night’s pet, an impoverished aristocrat with curling auburn hair and the most charming sprinkle of freckles across his shoulder blades. After she’d trussed him up and played with him mercilessly for two hours, Sam had taken over and fucked him into ecstasy. Afterwards, the man had dropped bonelessly to his knees, a dazed look on his face, ready to worship them as his new gods.
Delicious, yes, but far too easy. Kat was in the mood for a challenge. She returned to her study of the club crowd. The bars and nightclubs they’d sampled so far offered their clientele a dizzying variety of delicacies. At the Cupid Club, for instance, there was nonstop music and dance acts on stage, tall, frosted glasses of blessedly legal alcohol (and discreet silver dishes filled with crystalline white powder that could be purchased for just a bit more), and a variety of prostitutes who worked the main floor.
Kat was particularly intrigued by the boot girls, the specialist dominatrices whose boot and lace color identified which services they offered. You could buy everything from collaring and asphyxiation to cropping and cross-dressing humiliation from a boot girl, if you knew the code. Their first night in Berlin, she’d paid a blue-booted girl named Lena fifty cents to let her watch as Lena took a customer to one of the tiny rooms over the club, strapped on a huge, lovingly carved rubber phallus, and viciously fucked the whimpering man in the ass. It turned out to be a worthwhile investment, as it also gained her the location of a small shop that catered to the boot girl trade. Kat had indulged herself in buying toys and other accouterments that would horrify the country club set back in Bridgeport.
Now, she just had to find a pet for tonight, one who could satisfy both her needs and Sam’s. She glanced at her fiancé, a memory flickering through her mind. Sam laughing, young and carefree. And her brother Bart at his side, equally happy and young—
Her lips thinned, pressing together. For God’s sake, stop. At least this way Sam still has a Tracy, even if it’s not the one he wanted. And it means you don’t have to marry some dolt who wants you to be a brood mare and society hostess. Bart wouldn’t have wanted that for you.
She brushed away the memory of her brother, forcing a bright smile as she glanced around the room. At the bar stood a collection of white-coated waiters, men in tailored suits, and even the occasional woman, drinks in hand as they chatted or traded orders over the bar’s polished surface. One man at the end of the bar caught her eye. Tall and neat, he wore the uniform of a German army officer, an Iron Cross gleaming dully at his throat. He gazed out at the club with barely concealed contempt, and she felt a flush of irritation at his attitude. If he doesn’t want to be here, he should just go home to his undoubtedly doting frau and their houseful of Prussian brats. There’s no reason to spoil the evening for everyone else.
Then she noticed the pink rose he held clutched to his chest, as if he was afraid of dropping it. Her eyes went wide. Sam had explained it to her earlier; at the Cupid Club, you could always tell the prostitutes by the pink buds they carried. If they were holding a rose, they were for sale.
But an army officer? Then she remembered Lena telling her about decommissioned officers with no other skills working the clubs, selling themselves to support their families. Being the good little soldiers that they were, they would do anything they were told to do, no matter how humiliating. Lena had said it was something the American tourists enjoyed, particularly the ones who’d fought in the Great War.
Kat knew it wasn’t just the veterans who wanted to buy a German soldier’s submission. After her brother’s death at Verdun, she’d dreamed of having a tall, arrogant figure kneeling in supplication at her feet, grey uniform shredded around his body as her crop fell on him with a metronome’s precision. And with every stroke he begged her for more, harder, please.
Now there was a genuine Germany army officer at the bar, with a pink rose in his hand. A soldier/whore, just waiting to be bought and enjoyed.
A slow thrum of anticipation shivered through her. “Sam,” she murmured, nodding at the officer.
Her fiancé turned and looked. “Oh, well done, sweetheart,” he said appreciatively. “Want me to go fetch him?”
“Yes, please.”
He nodded and grabbed the bentwood cane hooked on the back of his seat, limping off towards the bar. Kat sat back and sipped her champagne, waiting.
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Folks, I need a favor from you
I just got my 3Q royalties statement from Evernight, and after I stopped flailing like a happy Muppet I sat down to study the numbers. Storm Season, unsurprisingly, has been my best seller to date, and I love each and every one of you who bought a copy.
Thing is, I need to sell a minimum of 25 copies through Evernight’s website in order for it to be considered for a print run, and I’ve only sold 20 copies so far. It’s a stupid egoboo thing, I know, but I would so very much love it if this was available in print. If you haven’t purchased Storm Season yet and want to find out how the whole Olympic Cove saga began, I would ask that you head over to the Evernight website and get it directly from the publisher. Plus, today is the last day of their 40% off everything sale, so if you buy it today you’ll get it on sale as well!
I thank you for your support!
Well, the writing is obviously on the wall
While I’ve been wasting my time writing smouldering man-on-man (-on-man) stories with fantasy or SF twists, I obviously should have been following Andrew Shaffer’s advice to search for something that no one is having relations with (although I object to his inclusion of a centaur in Step One, especially since Chiron will be getting it on in Olympic Cove Book Six — but I digress), then write erotica about it.
But Christie Sims and Alara Branwen have beaten me to the dinosaur erotica, damn their eyes. So after much thought, I have decided to write igneous rock erotica. My first masterpiece is entitled “Basalt Desires,” and I have included the opening lines below for your enjoyment. No, don’t thank me — I live to serve.
Geologist Aurora Bates threw her long brunette hair over her shapely shoulders as she stomped away from the hotel where the American Geological Union’s annual shindig was being thrown. Her ass ached from all the improper pinching she’d received from her male “colleagues,” and the fact that she was marching furiously into twilit rocky desert in naught but a fetching wraparound dress and four inch Louboutins didn’t dawn on her until one slender stiletto heel caught in a rock crack and snapped loudly, pitching her forward.
“Oh, crickets!” she shouted as she fell, fully expecting to go curvacious ass over lush breasts into one of the rock-choked gullies. But suddenly she stopped, as if two arms had suddenly burst from the ground and halted her fall.
She looked down, and flushed. Two arms had suddenly burst from the ground and halted her fall. Hello, carbon based lifeform, a deep, rough voice rumbled in her head. The voice sounded remarkably like a certain actor she had a crush on, and she could feel her womanly cleft grow moist at the sound. We don’t get many of your type out here at night. It’s not really safe for soft things like you.
“Oh, really?” Aurora sniffed, unwilling to be dissed by what appeared to be a pair of disembodied basalt limbs. “Well, I’ll have you know that I’m an independent woman and a geologist, and I can go wherever I like, Mister…”
Call me Ignis. Or Master, if you prefer. The arms suddenly wrapped around her, tugging her down. She tried to scream but choked as the ground crumbled beneath her, tumbling her into a pitch-black hole in the earth…
Marvelous Monday Reads: Under The Alpha’s Protection
Welcome to Marvelous Monday Reads, angels! Let’s warm up the first Monday in October with the smouldering paranormal erotic romance Under The Alpha’s Protection by Doris O’Connor. This is what Doris has to say about her book:
Thanks so much for having me here today!
Let me take you back to your University days. Imagine the most popular guy on campus, the one all the girls lust after, and all the boys emulate to be like. Got that picture in your head? Now look at yourself, or in this case Nikita. Can you see her, geeky, studious, and carrying far too many pounds to attract much male attention?
Then imagine the crowded commons room. It’s fresher’s week and Nikita is feeling rather overwhelmed, and who comes to her rescue? None other than that most popular guy on campus, of course, Raoul. What follows is a five year strong friendship, which sees these two support each other through thick and thin. Raoul never crosses that line of friendship, no matter how much Nikita might secretly wish that he did. Of course he wouldn’t be interested in her in that way. He favours the cheer leader types, that he can boss around, and that will not give him lip back … or so she thinks.
What Nikita doesn’t know is that Raoul is a wolf shifter, and that his beast has chosen her for his mate.
This Alpha will do anything to protect his mate, especially from his baser urges. His little human would never willingly submit to him or any man … or so he thinks.
When a threat to his leadership results in an attack on Nikita, everything changes.
Nikita Ashton and Raoul Saint Germain have been friends for five years, so when Nikita is attacked, there is only one place she can run to—straight into Raoul’s arms.
Raoul is the Alpha of his pack and he is furious that the woman he loves has been harmed on his territory. Were it not for the fact that Nikita does not believe in anything even remotely paranormal, his wolf would have claimed her aeons ago.
Nikita is in need of tender, loving care, not his baser needs that are threatening to overtake him.
However, when Nikita admits that she knows about his being in the lifestyle, the Dom in him cannot resist the challenge to make her his submissive.
Blissfully happy in their new Dom/sub relationship, everything changes when Nikita is kidnapped. Can Raoul get to her in time to save her life?
Story Excerpt
“Drink, squirt.”
Nikita didn’t even think to argue, so enthralling was his deep voice, and she drank the cool liquid eagerly, until he took the water bottle away and his hot, firm lips touched hers. Her barely banked down arousal flared into an inferno again, and she moaned when he broke the kiss and licked along her jaw. His curiously rough tongue reminded her of her cat at home, and created exquisite friction along her sweat slicked skin.
“Get on the bed for me and lie down on your front.” The whispered words into her ear galvanized her into action, and he murmured his approval.
“Good girl. I’m going to restrain you now, my sweet girl. Just your arms to start with, and then I’m going to fuck you.”
She couldn’t stop her moan at those words, and he laughed, the sound so low and sexy, Nikita was sure she could come from listening to his voice alone. He ran a hand down her spine until he reached her butt, and then he scraped his nails along the tender flesh. The burn was pain and bliss all wrapped into one, and she jumped when he parted her ass cheeks.
He dropped a kiss on her anus and slipped a finger into her pussy causing her to pant, and her internal muscles pulled tight, and tried to draw the digit inside. Raoul laughed softly and slipped another finger into her desperately clenching cunt at the same time as his tongue pushed through the tight ring of her muscle that had never been breached before. Warmth spread through her as that tongue probed in tune with his fingers in her pussy. He took her right to the edge and then withdrew.
“Nooooo.” The high-pitched wail leaving her mouth didn’t sound like her voice at all. Raoul paid no heed to her whimpering. Instead he grasped one of her arms and pulled it upwards, and then there was the sound of Velcro and something soft and thick wrapped around her wrist.
He ran his finger underneath the restraint, and then his face appeared in her blurry vision. Unlike earlier when her mind had played tricks on her, this time round all she saw was Raoul in all his ruggedly handsome glory. Her mouth went dry at the sight of his bare chest. He must have somehow got undressed when she wasn’t paying attention, too caught up in the myriad of sensations he’d already coaxed from her body.
If this was what kinky sex did, then Nikita couldn’t understand why more people didn’t embrace this lifestyle. Never in her life had she been this turned on. Raoul repeated the process to her other arm until she was tied and couldn’t move.
“What’s your safe word, squirt?”
“Red, but I don’t need it. Please don’t stop.”
“Good girl.”
The approval in his voice washed over her senses, and Nikita was close to tears, so overwhelmed was she by the intensity of the moment.
With her breasts squashed into the bed, her nipples chafed against the cover, and she bucked when he slid his hands under her and pinched each nipple in turn. With his naked chest pressed against her back, exerting pressure on the left-over soreness there, Nikita felt owned, and used, and she reveled in that feeling, as he rolled each hard nub between his fingertips and pulled. Darts of arousal shot through her body to her clit, and she couldn’t help her breathless moan.
“Oh, that feels so good.”
He kissed her shoulder and withdrew again. Tiny stings to her back made her gasp. Each sting was soothed by soft lips.
“Turn your head and look at us in the mirror. I want you to see me fuck you. I want you to see my cock plundering your sweet cunt, so that you’ll know who owns you.”
Instead of appalling her, those words excited her further, and she dutifully turned to look. Even though her vision was hazy she could see him towering over her, his body so big and dark compared to her, and every fiber of her being tensed when she caught the first glimpse of his cock. Thick and long, it rose from its thatch of dark hair, his heavy balls swinging underneath as he moved. Raoul took himself in hand and stroked his dick from head to root with slow measured moves that had her mewling anew.
“Beg me for my cock, girl. Tell me you want it. Tell me you’re mine.”
“Yes, anything, please. I need you …. I need your cock … Sir.”
The tagged on address made him growl, and Nikita closed her eyes when he placed several cushions under her hips until her ass was elevated.
“So wet, so beautiful. Who owns this pussy, squirt?”
“You do, Sir.”
“Damn fucking right, I do.”
He slid the thick head of his erection through her pussy lips, and Nikita held her breath as his heat branded her. He repeated that process over and over until Nikita wanted to scream and her nerve endings were strung so tight, she could barely breathe. She yanked on her restraints, but it was useless. When he finally breached her hole it was with agonizing slowness that awakened every one of her vaginal nerves, and she grit her teeth at the sensation of being filled and stretched to capacity.
Where to Buy
Evernight
Amazon
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BookStrand
About Doris O’Connor
Glutton for punishment would be a good description for Doris… at least that’s what she hears on an almost daily basis when people find out that she has a brood of nine children, ranging from adult to toddler and lives happily in a far too small house, cluttered with children, pets, dust bunnies, and one very understanding and supportive husband. Domestic goddess she is not.
There is always something better to do after all, like working on the latest manuscript and trying not to scare the locals even more than usual by talking out loud to the voices in her head. Her characters tend to be pretty insistent to get their stories told, and you will find Doris burning the midnight oil on a regular basis. Only time to get any peace and quiet and besides, sleep is for wimps.
She likes to spin sensual, sassy, and sexy tales involving alpha heroes to die for, and heroines who give as good as they get. From contemporary to paranormal, BDSM to F/F, and Ménage, haunting love stories are guaranteed.
Where to find Doris O’Connor
Website
Blog
Twitter
Facebook
Pinterest
Evernight Publishing
Amazon
All Romance E-books
Bookstrand
Okay, I need some honest feedback here
As you know (Bob), my newest ROTG release Grading the Curve was published on September 12. While I may not have promoted it quite as actively as I have my other works due to Jordan’s illness, I did do all of the usual promotion I did for all my other stories — created a book trailer, bought ads at The Romance Studio and The Romance Reviews, submitted it to Manic Readers for reviews, got lots of lovely people to host me on the blogs, tweeted and FBed about it.
Unfortunately, the sales have been more than a bit meh. They’re finally starting to pick up a little on Bookstrand and ARe, but my Amazon numbers are, quite frankly, horrible, and absolutely nobody seems to have noticed it at Goodreads. I don’t know what to do, or if I did something wrong, or if I missed a promotion trick or what. I don’t think it’s a bad story — Evernight bought it, after all, and I had various people beta read for me and they said it was a good, solid piece.
I’m wondering if maybe this is a perception issue. Up until now I’ve primarily written M/M romance, and this is my first M/F story. I didn’t want to come up with another pen name (and yet another website and social media presence to maintain) for M/F romance, but maybe I need to do that? Thing is, if it’s not going to sell I don’t know if I can spend time doing more M/F romance, as much as I would like to.
So I need your help. If you’ve read Grading the Curve, could you tell me what you thought of it? You can either email me at nicolacameronwrites@gmail.com, or leave a comment in the Comments section. And yes, I want honest opinions. I’m the one who opened this up, so if you think it’s meh, that’s a valid opinion and I need to know that so I can better budget my writing time.
Mid Week Tease: Breaker Zone
Happy Hump Day! Let’s celebrate it with a Mid Week Tease, courtesy of the lovely and talented Sandra Bunino. This week, I’ll be sharing a teaser from my current WIP Breaker Zone, the second book in the Olympic Cove series. When Ian’s friend Nick Gardiner shows up bloodied and traumatized after a BDSM scene gone horribly wrong, Ian takes him in, no questions asked. But it turns out that Nick has a fate of his own to fulfill in Olympic Cove, as well as two gorgeous mermen who are intent on claiming him as their own.
Enjoy, and make sure to hit the list after the teaser to see other great Mid Week Teases!
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Chiron glanced back at him, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. For a moment Nick was terrified that he could read minds, and tried to generate mental static.
“He should heal cleanly. Decent enough work,” the centaur admitted, straightening up and yanking the blanket back over Aidan. “Now, what the hell are you keeping in your closet?”
“What?”
“Never mind. Move.” Chiron easily brushed him to the side, pulling open the closet door and staring at the clothes Nick had hung up earlier. “Gaia’s tits. Where do you shop, Goodwill?”
“I had to pack fast, all right? They—“
A hand came up, silencing him as Chiron leaned closer. Blue eyes went wide. “Oh. Oh, shit.”
“What?” Nick got on tiptoe to peer around the centaur’s huge shoulder. The closet looked exactly like it had earlier — shirts and jeans hung up on hangers, his bag shoved into the bottom, flip-flops next to it, snake-wrapped staff propped against one wall. “What’s wrong?”
Chiron straightened up, pointing at the stick. “Where did you get that?”
Nick blinked, both at the bizarre non sequitur and the odd tone in the centaur’s voice. “An antique shop. It’s over in Olympic Beach, Ian knows the owner. Why is everyone getting on my case about it? It’s just a walking stick that looks like–“
“–the rod of Asclepius,” Chiron finished.
“Yeah. I mean, it’s a pretty good copy of the rod, but I still don’t understand–“
Chiron turned, glaring at him. “It’s not a copy of the rod of Asclepius, you moron,” he growled. “It is the rod of Asclepius. I’d know that damned thing anywhere. How the hell did you wind up with it?”
That was the last straw. “Okay, back off, Mister Ed,” Nick shot back. “I’ve have a really tough couple of days, I have one hell of a situation waiting for me back home, and then I get down here and find out that not only do mermaids,” he looked over his shoulder at Aidan, “and mermen exist, but so do the Greek gods.” He waved a hand at Chiron’s misty midsection. “And whatever you are.”
The blue gaze turned chilly. “I’m a centaur. The centaur, if you like. The first one.”
“Fine, you’re the centaur, sorry. I’m willing to accept that all of this is real, okay? But you can’t expect me to believe that I found the actual, genuine rod of Asclepius in a junk shop in a Florida beach town.”
Chiron folded his arms across his chest. “Why not?”
“Because real life doesn’t work like that!” Nick barely stopped himself from screaming the words. “This shit doesn’t even happen in movies, because nobody would believe it!”
The centaur actually tsked at him. “You’re disturbing your patient, doctor.”
Flushing, Nick glanced at the bed. Aidan had rolled onto his back, giving him a wary look. “Fuck. I’m sorry, Aidan. Try to go back to sleep. You,” he turned back to Chiron. “Follow me. We’re gonna finish this in the living room.”
“By all means.” Chiron nodded at the walking stick. “Just bring that with.”
“Why?”
“Humor me.”
Cursing under his breath, Nick grabbed the staff and started to slam the closet door closed, catching himself at the last moment. “Outside. Now.”
Holding the staff in a death grip, he stomped into the living room, a smirking centaur on his heels. Ian, Bythos and Aphros were on the couch, arms around each other and heads close together. “Guys, could we have some privacy?”
Ian straightened up, pushing his boyfriends’ hands off his thighs. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, except that Mr. ‘I’m the first centaur’ here thinks that this,” Nick brandished the staff, “is the rod of Asclepius. The real one.”
He almost dropped it when the snake’s head rose and turned to him. I don’t understand why that surprises you so much, physician. And don’t drop me — you do and I swear to Gaia I will give you such a bite.
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