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Tag Archives: Excerpt
Deathless Lick
This Lick comes from Deathless, the second of the Tales of the Eight Kingdom to be released! This excerpt is a site exclusive, celebrating Deathless‘ full release this week – check at the bottom for links!
Remember, Licks are NSFW excerpts, so read carefully – and look forward to another erotic excerpt from my next new release!
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Myrddin closed his eyes, let out a breath then lifted his lashes and met Kas’ gaze.
“Are you going to kiss me, Kas? Is this our rite?” His voice was…changed. Warmer. Husky. “Are you going to be my lover?”
Kas stared down at him, suddenly breathing hard for no reason he could explain. The heat within him was divided, and thus multiplied, but he understood what he’d been asked— or thought he did.
“Yes, kiss you.” He lifted Myrddin’s lips against his mouth, parted them with his tongue. “Yes. Our rite.” He kissed him again, softer this time, tender, and Myrddin sighed, a low, moaning breath, when Kas pulled away. “Yes. Love you.”
He had no more words for what he wanted to do, what he needed—but that no longer mattered. Myrddin under him was naked and willing, cock hard for him and wet with desire, seeking friction with the rocking of his hips. There would be no more escaping, no shift of shape, no running away. Kas pulled Myrddin’s legs apart, settled himself between them and entered him with one finger.
Myrddin groaned, spread his legs wider, and Kas tried another and watched Myrddin open for him, stretching—watched him arch his back and grab twin fistfuls of grass, moaning, cock twitching.
He wanted another response like that, so Kas did it again, added a third finger alongside the first two, slow penetration, deep and curling inward. He got what he wanted—the wide eyes startling wider, pale thighs twitching apart, cock harder and his mouth open to beg for more. More. That was the word on Myrddin’s lips, and a broken moan that went on, and on, ooh-oh-oh-mmm-ohh.
And…his name. Again, and again.
My name.
“Kas, Kas don’t tease me. Kas…”
He wanted to laugh, but he bent forward instead and braced himself on one hand, kissed Myrddin quiet. “No words.” He kissed him again, kept his fingers moving—in, out—slow penetration that was nothing but a tease for both of them, satisfying only in its promise. Myrddin wormed one of his hands between them, took Kas’ cock in his fist and stroked just as slowly.
It felt good, the same tingling touch as that blood on his lips. It made Kas wonder what it would feel like when his cock was inside Myrddin instead of his fingers. Without another thought, he leaned back and pulled his hand away, tried to jerk Myrddin’s thighs wider apart. Myrddin stopped him before he could do what he wanted.
“Kas. Wait, wait.”
Purely aggressive, Kas pulled on his leg. “Again? Wait? No.”
“Yes. Please?”
He paused, crawled forward over Myrddin’s body and licked his last word off his lips. “Please… That word. I like it. It is mine.”
Breathless amusement warmed Kas’ lips. “I’ll say it again, just for you. Please?” Myrddin leaned up, his mouth an offering that Kas was more than willing to take. This time Myrddin slipped his lips away, kissed Kas’ cheek, his throat, his collarbone, his shoulder. When he pushed at Kas’ chest, Kas allowed it, until he sat back on his knees, and Myrddin was braced on his thighs, looking up with lust and mischief in his gaze.
His mouth moved down, down, down, traced trembling patterns of heat and tongue over Kas’ chest, his abdomen, lower and lower until Myrddin was lying on the ground. He used one hand to hold himself up and kept the other at the base of Kas’ cock while his tongue played at the tip, made circles, whorls, spirals, until he leaned forward, took the whole head in his mouth and groaned.
Kas’ breath shallowed, sped. He reached down one hand and tangled his fingers in Myrddin’s hair, stared at his wet lips as they moved down, then up again. He pulled back, and there was tongue again, lapping, sucking, wrapped around his cock. All the while those eyes stared up at him, bright with a spark of mischief and more than a hint of Myrddin’s own pleasure.
Kas’ gaze was fixed on the sight, the most gorgeous submission he’d yet gained. He liked it better when he could see what Myrddin was doing to him, hear it—the lash of his tongue, wet sounds…moaning.
He liked the moaning most of all, wanted more of it and knew how best to get it, but it was hard to make himself move, give up the pleasure. He jerked his gaze away from that mouth, down Myrddin’s back, over the curve of his buttocks.
Wait?
No. No more of wait. Kas dragged Myrddin back off his cock, clutched him close and brought him down under him, back against the grass. A startled sound escaped Myrddin’s mouth, but this time when Kas pushed his legs open, held his thighs apart, Myrddin reached for his hips and pulled him against his skin. “Please.” That word…
Kas leaned down, licked it off his lips again, tasted himself on Myrddin’s mouth and pressed his cock against the tight entrance he’d teased. Myrddin’s eyes opened wider, wider. A dark flush spread across his chest, up to his throat, and he held tight to Kas’ shoulders with both hands. “Kas, it’s too much. I—I—can’t—Kas.”
Kas liked the name even better now he’d heard it in that voice, guttural, stripped of everything but feeling. It was the voice of nerves drawn taut and abused. He knew they were a lie—those words. Myrddin squeezed both legs tight around his back, pulled him closer and urged him deeper into heat and tightness.
Want more? Pick up a copy of Deathless here!
Hunter, Prey
Because context is key to the marvel that is #1lineWed, and because I haven’t shared anything in particular from this monstrosity I know you’re all waiting for…a piece of the upcoming book five of the Eight Kingdoms series! (With which I am currently arguing about its title.)
Saoirse watched the Red King stride up the curve of the snow, down over the crest of frosted dunes and into the darkness that reflected off the surface of the water.
Without ripples, without waves, it still lapped at the motionless shore, and gave away thus that it was water and not frozen. The deep was black and still, but as the Red King approached, the surface of the water was broken by a small, black head – and then by more, and more.
Selkies.
She had playmates and companions among their number. She had been warned in the days just past that this time was coming, but she hadn’t believed. Her own trust in Macsen Cadoc was absolute, and that there was enough worry in any being who owed allegiance to him to bring them here, to the edge of everything, to the last of all shores, hoping to escape some unknown catastrophe…
She hadn’t believed.
Quiet, stepless, without a splash, her special friend among the selkies was out of the water and by her side, and Saoirse watched her lean closer without allowing any expression on her face.
“Hello, Líadan.”
“Saoirse, didn’t I say we were going? You shouldn’t have come. Shouldn’t have come!”
“You did intend to leave without goodbye, then? I thought you were my friend!”
The edges of Líadan’s soft, black body went stiff and salty, licked by the waves, but she was still. “Your friend. Yes, I am that. But this is my family, and all of my kin, and I will not be the one who is left behind. There are stories enough of last stands and hopeless cases, and not for you or our friendship will I become one of them.”
“I didn’t ask for that, did I? Only for goodbye. Which is nothing but polite, if you cared.” Saoirse squinted and peered through one eye, but her friend didn’t seem bothered in the least about her frustrated tone. “The Red King -”
“Will let us go. He’ll see right through excuses, promises, platitudes…and he’ll talk of fear, and how little it should matter to those such as us. But though we are Hunters, we remember. We were of dark Summer first. Midsummer’s midnight moon is our provenance and our place. Not in this dark, this winter land of blood and violence. Not for a people of mothers, daughters – not though he sheltered us when our place in the world was taken away.”
Saoirse stared back at Líadan, understanding and confused both. She remembered fear from her time in the human world…and from those first hours, alone here, wondering if she would be kept. If she could stay. Not now. The sting of the emotion, the feel of it, was all but lost to her.
“Líadan I don’t understand. You’re Hunters. How could you not belong here? What does anything else matter? How could you have belonged to Summer? This is the Hunter’s kingdom, this is…”
Líadan shook her head, had only black laughter to offer, a sound as dark and deep as the matte shine of her eyes. “You do not understand. But then, you aren’t one thing or another, are you?” Her smile showed pointed teeth. “Not yet.”
“It’s not fair. I learn so many things, but they’re never enough. Not enough to understand even my friends, and the Red King -” She made a despairing sound and shook her head at the selkie’s continued laughter.
“Girl creature. Something will call you, one thing or another, meaning or madness…and you will find your way. I have that faith in you.”
“Hmm… But I’m tired of waiting. Time is different here and still I’m tired of it.”
“The mortal in you is murmuring now. You are so young – so young! I’m still a child in the water, among my people, but I barely remember being young like you. Before I could slip the sea, leave this shape behind… Saoirse, haven’t you felt it? Your soul is slipping away. A little longer, and a little longer…and then the empty space will have to be filled in by something else. What have you chosen?”
Saoirse blinked into Líadan’s eyes, blinked at her own reflection there, and then smiled.
“Blood of course. The Hunt, and its power.”
“Have you.” Líadan blinked, and the smile on her face stretched wide, then wider. Saoirse frowned as her reflection in the black eyes distorted, changing shape, size…something.
“Saoirse, I think you will surprise yourself with how much emptiness will be left behind when you lose your human self for the last time. I think you will surprise yourself with how little blood will fill the space inside you. You are not the Red King. Macsen Cadoc is of his own kind, and it is not yours. You may walk in the shadow, but I do not think it will be this shadow…or his.”
Saoirse crouched, reached forward and pet the flat, smooth space between Líadan’s ears. “What, then? Whose? I’ve been hunting, hunting without knowing – do you know my prey? Tell me!”
The selkie closed her eyes to night-dark slits. “I see a pale shadow behind you. Yes. Not red, but stripped of all color. A pale shadow…in a pale land. White flowers beneath a black moon.”
Saoirse contemplated this, but she had never heard of a place like that. She knew of eight hidden kingdoms outside the mortal world, and none of them sounded like the place Líadan was describing to her.
“When I find it, will I know what I’ve been looking for? What I’ve been missing since – forever?”
Even before I came here. The thought left Saoirse agitated, but without an outlet, just like many other such thoughts. They were becoming more and more frequent as time passed…and didn’t. As it washed over her, and left her unchanged, as the freezing ocean water moved over Líadan’s smooth, seal-black back.
“Saoirse, it is nearly time.”
“Time -”
“For us to go.”
“You…will be safe, won’t you?”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not. These are dangerous times, and there may be no safety for anyone, anywhere. But we will make the attempt. If things change, and what is broken is fixed, perhaps we will even return…and I will find you then, and see what you have become, and be, even as I will be far from you, your friend.”
“As I’ll be yours! I promise, Líadan. Friends, always.”
The wide grin Líadan wore as she slipped into the sea sealed the promise, and Saoirse stepped back from the water. She slipped into a shadow, then over the crackling, frosted dunes, closer to where the Red King was. She could hear his voice, and some other, and she wanted to know if Líadan had been right.
Would he be angry? Or would he let them go? Or both, maybe. She was curious, but not afraid. There was no violence, not even the anticipation of it, in the wind tonight.
Anyway, it was fun. Hunting Macsen, Red King that he was. She would tell Bran about it later, and he would laugh with her. He understood better than the rest, and regardless, she had to stay close to him.
There was an oath that she’d made, and it remained unfulfilled, but she understood oaths better now.
Saoirse took another step, then another, until she could hear clearly. Yes, she would tell Bran…even though Macsen was Bran’s, and therefore not her prey. Again, she faced the frustration of not knowing who, or what, it was that she was meant to be hunting.
Líadan had not answered her, but now, watching, listening, she wondered if the Red King would.
Want more? Book five is coming soon, but you can grab the first four books here!
Shadow Bite
To celebrate today’s early release at Pride Publishing, today I’m sharing an exclusive excerpt from chapter one of The Shadow Road, Eight Kingdoms book four!
Enjoy this crunchy little bite, and of course, if you want more, grab a copy here!
Through the barrow, across the ice, over the bridge and the river’s black water, Macsen ran quickly, following the promise of heat. Summer fire was making its presence known in the middle of Winter, fire and coiling smoke and the scent of golden power.
A smile crawled across his face, eager with anticipation. He knew where Bran was now, and he stalked around the palace, through the green of the orchard. Yes. Yes. He could see through the open spaces of the entryway that Bran was at his forge, muttering to himself, shaping the precious metals Macsen had left for him with practiced movements.
Bits of work were scattered here and there on tables. The beginnings of what might be a silver bridle, golden baubles filled with fire and a dozen gossamer lengths of chain were coiled and piled on each other.
Macsen’s attention was drawn to Bran’s hands, the smoothness of their movements, the easy way his fingers shaped the softness of the gold. There was something sensual in the motions, in his perfect focus, the way his eyes didn’t wander at all and a tiny wrinkle deepened between his brows. The intensity of his attention to his work was such that he still hadn’t noticed Macsen’s presence.
He almost took a step forward, arm outstretched, but caught sight of his own fingers, dark with bloodstains, and grimaced. Quietly, still unnoticed, he slipped away, up to their room and the bath. Macsen stripped out of silk as bloody as his body, and the water went red as he stepped into it. It grew redder still as he bathed, scrubbed gore from his face, his hands, even his hair.
When it flowed clear, he lingered for only a moment before he grabbed a towel and wandered back into the bedroom, considering. Talaith was gone. He would have to do everything himself, or find some other servant, and even the thought made him scowl. When Macsen opened the wardrobe, it was empty, nothing hung. His clothes, where were they? But then she did that too, didn’t she? He’d have to go down into the storage closets and find everything there.
He wrapped his towel around his waist, pushed wet hair back out of his eyes and contemplated a secondary irritation. His comb, where was that? He scowled, then turned to face the door as it opened. It wasn’t Bran, he knew that instantly, and who else would dare? But he saw first not the one who had come, but what they had brought with them—his clothes, and things glinting silver. Momentarily, a familiar face emerged from behind the pile.
“Saoirse! What are you doing?”
“I… Since Talaith… I thought you…” And she stopped dead, but still peered up at him, curious and perhaps confused. “Should I leave? I didn’t mean to be trouble, but I helped Talaith sometimes and I never once saw you come down where everything is, so I thought you would need…” Again she stopped. “Red King?”
He had too many thoughts for words, and only shook his head and turned away. Whatever she thought of that, he didn’t know. Her stillness dissipated and she came into the room, began to lay things out on the bed. Tunics and trousers in red and silver, blue and gold, more choices than he needed and some that weren’t even his clothes.
“Girl—”
“There’s things for Bran, too. He likes new clothes after he’s been working. And I brought combs and brushes, but not jewelry. Bran doesn’t need it, not with your gift, and I haven’t seen you wear anything but your crown. Do you, Red King? If you do I’ll bring it next time but—”
“Next time. Have you appointed yourself my keeper, Saoirse?” But he was already laughing before she could answer, laughing and shaking his head. “Do what you please, I won’t complain. You’ve done well. I don’t know where anything is, not after so long. But how did you know? How did you know I needed you?”
“I told you, I helped Talaith—and I was watching for you. Bran asked me to. He said he gets distracted when he’s working. He said he wouldn’t notice when you’d come back. I don’t know why he wanted to know, it’s not like you wouldn’t go to him first. You always go to him first. But you looked like you wanted to surprise him and you were very bloody, so I haven’t said anything, not anything. I went downstairs instead.” She wrinkled her nose. “Red King, tell him please that I did notice, and it’s only your fault that I didn’t say.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You think he’ll be angry?”
“Not Bran. It’s not easy to make him angry—you know that.”
Macsen studied her more closely when she smiled. Subtle changes that he had missed were making themselves known to him now, and he was…confused. Were her features sharper, her teeth more pointed?
She is not the same as she was.
“Girl, you’re changing.”
“I am. I am!”
“And you like it.”
“Yes.”
“Good.” And as if he had never said anything else, he returned to the previous subject. “Since you’ve done so well, this will be your responsibility. You’ll be our handmaid, mine and Bran’s.” He met her gaze. “You don’t mind? You were a princess once.”
She dimpled, grinning, and he saw that, yes, her teeth were sharper. “This is more fun, Red King.”
Guest Author Raven Dark: Crime and…Punishment
Welcome, glorious beings! I hope the day finds you well, because today…we have a special guest! Say hello to Raven Dark, provider of last week’s Friday Fun post, writer of erotic romance, and especially BDSM erotica!
Who is Raven Dark? As a young girl she dreamed of being abducted by a savage alien warrior, whisked away by a brutal pirate, or rescued by a cape-bearing hero. When none of these men came to claim her, she brought them to life in her stories. Then twelve years ago she met the man of her dreams. He doesn’t wear a cape, fly a spaceship, or wield a sword, but sometimes she swears they’ve mind melded.
Currently, Raven lives with her dream man and their one cat that thinks she’s a dog in the Mundane world’s version of Ontario, Canada. When she isn’t working on her latest erotic romance novels and crafting interesting worlds in which to set them, she’s spending too much time with friends, feeding her Youtube addiction, or curled up on a couch watching favorite shows with her future husband…
But today, she’s here to share a bit about her upcoming full length debut novel, Unlawful Desire, and give us some insight into why she writes!
From The Author’s Pen…
I’m often asked why I write erotic romance and BDSM, but especially BDSM. It’s difficult to define what draws me to this genre because every story I write is different, but I can tell you what drew me to write Unlawful Desire, the book that just went live today.
Over the few years I’ve been writing and reading BDSM, researching into the lifestyle, I’ve noticed an alarming misunderstanding surrounding the genre. Specifically the view a lot of people have, that BDSM’ers enjoy abusing or hurting others, or they like being abused.
This is simply not true. There are practitioners who are into pain or humiliation, but properly done scenes come with informed consent and a safeword, safety protocols that an abusive relationship doesn’t have. Abuse is about power, whereas BDSM, when done correctly, is about fulfilling a fantasy both parties are into. Plus, humiliation, pain, those aspects of BDSM are only a small portion of a much broader world. The misconception is so prevalent it boggles the mind. I’ve lost count of how many times people have asked me why I like writing about “freaks who like abusing others.” Or why a strong, independent woman would want to “let a man abuse her.”
Yes, really.
When Unlawful Desire’s plotline came to me, I saw the perfect opportunity to incorporate the misconceptions that surround the lifestyle through the hero and heroine’s experiences.
As a professional Domme and former sub in the small town of Clayton-Moss, Annabella (or Ella, as everyone but Rock calls her) deals with this exact misconception every day. Having found out about it when Ella suffered an accident from a scene gone bad, her family disapproves of her kinky lifestyle, and they make no bones about it from the very start.
Simply because of his involvement in BDSM, they see Rock, her ex and former Dom, as an abuser, and Ella as being too blind to see what he was doing to her. Because Ella is also the daughter of one of Clayton-Moss’s founding families and the future heir to the town’s major real estate business, she’s a predominant figure. She deals with the same problem a lot of people face, knowledge that most of the people around her won’t understand her lifestyle choice, so it’s vital she keeps it under wraps. Especially with someone trying to blackmail her out of her empire.
On the surface, Unlawful Desire is an erotic romance about a couple getting a second chance at love, while teaming up to overthrow a greedy land developer who’s trying to take over Ella’s father’s empire. But there is a deeper underlying theme which I think makes this story stand out.
A lot of people become scared the first time they fantasize about their partner tying them up, thinking they’re wrong in the head. Even with how much more awareness there is toward kink these days, people fear they’ll be labeled sick or demented.
I’m hoping readers, especially ones who question their kinky side, will take away from the book an understanding of themselves. Individuals who into BDSM are not weird or sick, they don’t need curing, and they aren’t monsters. They’re normal, everyday people who come from all walks of life. A healthy fantasy life is not only beneficial, but chances are, everyone has at least one, even if it’s on the mild end.
This theme is only touched on in the first book, but each novel within the Men of Clayton-Moss series (each of which are stand-alone and deal with a different couple) is intended to delve deeper into the problems that arise from ignorance and stereotyping, as well as what happens when people prey on our fear of the unknown.
Overall, I love writing erotic romances because they tap into something so many women want, and don’t see enough of in real life. Happy endings and falling in that forever kind of love. But when it comes to the BDSM, at least with Unlawful Desire and my Men of Clayton-Moss series, I wanted to offer up something more than the standard fair. I wanted to open people’s eyes and tell those who might need to hear it, they are normal. They are worthy of love, and there is someone out there for them who will understand.
Thank you Belinda for having me, and for giving me this chance to talk about my baby!
From the back cover: Their deepest secret could be their destruction…or their salvation.
Curvy ex-submissive Annabella Clayton has no problem taking charge in the boardroom, or the bedroom. But as the future head of a major real estate empire in the small town of Clayton-Moss, she has to keep her life as a Domme under wraps. When greedy land developer Jake Scalder threatens to ruin her father’s business any way he can, she knows her BDSM lifestyle would cause just the kind of scandal he needs. Her only chance to save all that she and her father have built is to team up with gorgeous, relentless lawyer Rock McCarthy. Trouble is, Rock’s also her former Dom, and the man she let walk out of her life six years ago.
While scrambling to expose Scalder’s corruption, their passions reignite, burning hotter than ever. Rock reawakens the hunger for his dominance Annabella’s buried for so long. But while he drives her deeper into his addictive world of rough fantasy, their enemy draws closer to discovering their forbidden secret. Can they take Scalder down before his plans succeed? Or will he destroy Annabella’s reputation and tear her and Rock apart forever?
Warning! This book contains a BBW heroine who likes filthy talk and being called names in bed, plus a broody lawyer who’s happy to oblige. There are a few mild, brief ravishment scenes that are clearly role-play, but if you have triggers, please do not buy this book!
Excerpt: “Funny, I heard mention of a Mistress E. from one or two of the men at the club, but I never dreamed it would be you. How long have you been switching?”
“I don’t, not really.” She looked away. “I don’t sub anymore.”
“Never?”
“Nope.” A leaden sensation settled in Rock’s stomach as she got up from the couch and walked across the room to the window. She worked her hands over her lower back. From pain, or just a nervous habit?
He stood and followed her. His hands itched to work free the tension in her shoulders “Why did you stop subbing?”
“That’s a long story. I don’t want to talk about it.” She bowed her head and he could hear the pain in her voice.
Who hurt you? Protectiveness for her rode him hard but he forced himself not to press. “All right…” He bit back the urge to call her “girl,” the way he had when she was his. He had no claim to her now. If what she said was true, he never would again.
She turned to him. “I’ve asked you twice, more than I ever ask a man anything Rock. Why are you here?”
A smirk pulled at his mouth, heat spreading through his cock. “Nice dominance, Annabella. Too bad I don’t submit.”
“Ever?”
“Nope.” He wasn’t turned on by having a woman take control of him, but the possibility of fighting her for dominance made him hard as steel.
“Too bad you aren’t mine anymore. If you were, I’d tan your hide exactly like I used to when you stepped out of line.”
Her teeth flashed in a stunning grin. Despite what she’d said about not subbing anymore, he couldn’t mistake the heat in her eyes at his words, or the way she lowered them a fraction from his before her chin jerked back up.
“You still haven’t answered me.”
“And now I’m not going to. This is too much fun, watching you deal with a man you can’t command.”
“Ugh.” She spun to the window and he thought he heard her wince, her back tensing. “You’re as much of a jackass as you were six years ago.”
This time he couldn’t resist setting his hands on her shoulders and massaging them gently. His chest hitched when he felt the thick layers of tension there and the quivering breath she let out.
He put his mouth close to her ear. “You all right?”
“Why did you come back?”
“Disappointed?”
“No, but…”
The tightness in his chest loosened. He turned her around and cupped her face. “I’ve missed you, Annabella.”
Something flickered in her eyes, but he couldn’t define it. She didn’t speak, but lay her hand on his cheek. Did that mean she missed him, too? God, he couldn’t let her leave now, never knowing where things could have gone.
“Have dinner with me tomorrow night.”
She drew a shaky breath. “I can’t.”
“Why the hell not?”
“You know it can’t go anywhere. You are a Dom all the way and I can’t give you what you want. Not anymore.”
Want more? You can grab your copy of Unlawful Desire here, and follow Raven Dark on Amazon, Facebook, Twitter, her newsletter, at her blog, or even join her street team!
Week Twenty One – Raven Dark’s Doing Wright
For this week’s Friday Fun, we have another guest! Say hello to Raven Dark, who’s stopping by with an excerpt from the first part of her completed “Teach Me” series, Doing Wright.
(And of course, remember, this sort of Friday Fun is NSFW!)
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From The Back Cover: 19 year old Jacy is a college girl with a wild and wicked streak. She’s always had a penchant for older men, so it’s no surprise she’d fantasize about being taken by her professor in every possible way. Then again, her imagination’s always gotten her into trouble.
When the sinfully gorgeous Mr. Wright shows up at her door one night, she’s sure she can tempt the brooding alpha male into taking control and claiming what he needs, but at what price?
He’ll give her a night she’ll never forget, but she’s been to this party before with disastrous results. Will their tryst be the best night of her life, or the worst mistake she’s ever made?
Excerpt
Someone pounded on the front door and Jacy jumped. Who would be knocking on her parents’ door this time of night?
Downstairs, she looked through the glass in the door. Her breath caught, heat spreading through her like lava. Professor Wright stood on her front porch, holding up her schoolbag.
Jacy opened the door.
“You left this behind. Again, Miss Davidson.”
She swallowed. He was here. Standing right in front of her in all his glory. His dark blond hair glowed golden in porch light, and he took up the whole doorway. Even with that permanent scowl, like he was always on the verge of slamming a ruler on a desk, he was still delicious. In fact, that cool, hard look only made her wonder how his palm would feel smacking her backside.
Crap. Already, her mind was spinning, trying to come up with a way to get him in her house. Anything to end up alone with him.
Before she could say something catastrophically stupid, Jacy snatched the bag out of his hand. “Th—thank you, Professor.”
For an instant, their fingers brushed and heat raced up her arm. The electricity only underscored how dangerous it was for her to be around him now. She stepped back from the door, ready to shut it in his face.
“You might want to consider another excuse to see me, Miss Davidson. Leaving your bag behind three times? You’re getting obvious.”
Jacy’s jaw dropped. Mortification and indignation tore into her. How dare he! She hadn’t left her bag on purpose just for an excuse to see him. She hadn’t. Had she?
“It was only twice, sir. And don’t flatter yourself. I’m a busy student. I forget things.”
His eyes danced with rare amusement. The curve of a smile on his well-shaped mouth almost looked out of place. It gave him a charming, roguish look, much less imposing. Her bare feet curled on the tile floor.
“Right. See you tomorrow in class. Nice dress, by the way.”
Jacy huffed at his arrogance. The compliment sent an unwelcome shockwave through her. She would have shut the door on him, but her indignation wouldn’t allow him to walk off without cutting him down to size.
“You’re the one who drove an hour out here to drop off a student’s bag. Are you sure you didn’t just want to see me, sir?”
Holy shit. Had she actually said that? Ground, swallow me now.
But Wright turned and that curve on his mouth deepened. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Miss Davidson?”
She stared. It wasn’t a denial. His gaze took in her shape, the way the bodice of her dress cupped her generous breasts, the way it flared at her curvy hips.
She needed to say something, anything to slice that arrogance in half, but nothing came.
“Good night, Miss Davidson.”
Son of a bitch. Her muscles coiled tight with every step he took down the stairs. She pushed out a breath.
“You came here for more than my bag, Professor, and you know it.”
A soft chuckle drifted up from him. Then he turned and stalked back up the steps, stopping so close she could feel the heat of him. He loomed darkly over her.
“Get inside, young lady.”
When she lifted her chin, he leaned in, so close his breath fanned her face. It smelled faintly of the peppermint gum he always had on his desk.
“It’s not safe for a girl like you to be out here at night. The big, bad wolf might eat you.”
Want more? Pick up Doing Wright here!
Week Twenty – The Shadow Road
Friday Fun is back! For this week’s, we’re off to the Eight Kingdoms for a taste of sexy goodness. Book four, The Shadow Road, is currently available for preorder…and full of temptations!
(And of course, remember, this sort of Friday Fun is NSFW!)
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From The Back Cover: In the wake of Dealla’s latest atrocity, Macsen has learned a lesson he will never forget. To love is to fear, and he intends to make sure that his fear never comes to pass. Bran is less than pleased with being left behind while Macsen hunts Dealla, but he has trouble of his own to distract him. An unknown ability is growing in him—magic that has nothing of Summer in it. Disturbed, Bran convinces Macsen to come with him to question his mother. Only she knows who Bran’s father is, and the secret half of his bloodline is the most likely source of his new power.
Elenn agrees to Bran’s request, but for her own reasons. Faelan, one of the gancanagh, is to be Bran’s guide to his father, and she has ordered him to seduce the Red King and prove his love false. Faelan has no desire to follow through, but also no choice. His queen has commanded, and he must obey.
Macsen and Bran aren’t the only lovers whose feelings are being put to the test. After five thousand years of separation, Myrddin has no choice but to accept Kas’ help in restoring the spring and its rite to the mortal world. The difficulty is that he wants Kas to desire him for himself, not out of necessity, and the whole of reality is standing in his way.
Where is the line that divides determination from desire? Love is power—but is it enough?
Excerpt
Macsen ran his fingers through the wild mess of Bran’s hair, bent to his mouth and pressed Bran back against the table behind him, back and back until he was sprawled half across it. “Did you miss me? You taste like you missed me.”
Bran arched up into his arms, hooked a leg around Macsen’s legs and held him close for a deeper kiss.
“Does that mean yes? Bran… I missed you, Bran.” His hands were cold, cold like they hadn’t been since the beginning. His mouth, too, was cold—cold against Bran’s mouth, his throat, his collarbone, his shoulder. He could tell just by how hot Bran felt against him. “Missed you… Missed you.”
He wrapped his arms around Bran’s body, curled himself over him and kissed the curve of his ear. “Tell me you’re well, Anwylyd.” And again, against the line of his throat, “I missed you.”
“I’m fine. Fine. Better now that you’re home.” He turned a little in the circle of Macsen’s arms. “I missed you too.” He lifted his mouth expectantly, and Macsen pressed closer, kissed him again more deeply. “Hmm…” Bran pulled back. “You’re so cold.”
“Yes. And you are hot.” Macsen drew Bran up, kicked the bench out of the way and pushed him back onto the table. Bits of gold scattered, glinting in the firelight and ringing as they rolled and fell.
“Not here. You’re going to make a mess, Macsen.”
“Yes, let’s make a mess.” Macsen ran his tongue over the line of Bran’s throat as he tilted his head back, down along his collarbone to his shoulder. “A beautiful mess.” Faintly, the pattern of his own teeth was marked there, the scar of the bite he had left to heal on its own at Bran’s request, when they’d begun their courtship, when he’d had to leave…
As it had every time since the first time he’d noticed the scar, the sight filled him with desire, woke all his possessive instincts. Maybe no one else could see it, but it didn’t matter. Indelible, it beckoned him, called to him. This time when he gave in to his own desire and bit deep, seeking Bran’s blood, it was just in that place, aligning the new bite with the marks of the old.
Bran shuddered in his arms, groaned and twitched his hips up against Macsen’s body. “The floor—everything is going to—Macsen, you…ohhh…” But Bran couldn’t make the words into a sentence, and his body betrayed the truth of his desire. He didn’t relax his embrace, and one moaning exhalation after another came hot against Macsen’s skin. His fingers crawled up Macsen’s back and held tight.
“I’ll help you pick everything up. Later. Now, make more sounds for me.”
Macsen’s voice was rough with blood, with the feral rush that was the result of such a feast as he had made for himself in the mortal world. Winter’s strength was restless in him, his own power was building on the heels of it, and beside all those things the wanton willingness of his lover—beloved, beautiful, groaning under him, muttering his name again and again… It flushed him with lust.
“Is there anything you wouldn’t give me, Bran?” He murmured the words against the soft heat of Bran’s throat. “Anything I could ask to which you might say no?”
There was no answer but moaning, the soft exhalation of hot breath as Macsen slipped his hands under Bran’s tunic. Bran moved in his arms, wrapped his legs around Macsen’s back, reached up into his hair with both hands.
Macsen knew what he wanted, all of what he wanted, and laughed all but silently against the curve of his shoulder. “A mess, you said. I will make a mess of you, and everything, everything. I’m going to take you right here.” He pushed Bran back onto the table. There was a clatter and chiming as more metal fell to the ground and Bran lay back across the empty space, his fingers grasping at Macsen’s arms.
For an instant he looked back over his shoulder, trying to see what had fallen, but Macsen took hold of his trousers in both hands and tore them from him—ripped the laces and the soft sidhe silk right down the seams. Then he bent and bit at the curve of Bran’s hip, kissed a line along the shallow curve of his pelvis, nipped the soft skin of his thigh and set the blood flowing. It made a red stream that he followed greedily with his tongue.
Moans, and “More,” and “More,” came from Bran, and Macsen wet his fingers with oil and pressed two of them deep. There was a dark flush on Bran’s cheeks, his throat, his chest, and Macsen knew there would be fire soon, the beckoning heat Bran could never restrain. He slipped his other hand from Bran’s thigh to his cock, rubbed his thumb over the head.
Fire reached out and wrapped around his arms, his waist, slipped into his clothes and under them, tugging at his skin. He resisted the urge to give in at the first touch, resisted while filaments of heat licked at his cock, brushed over his nipples, slipped past his lips on his every breath. He could feel Bran’s want of him in every touch, and there was pleasure in each one of those demanding caresses.
Macsen bent and took the head of Bran’s cock into his mouth, just for the taste of him, and his hands darted down to cup the back of Macsen’s head. He licked his lips and stood straight again, pulled Bran the tiniest bit closer, right to the edge of the table, and replaced his fingers with his cock. He didn’t say a word, gave no warning, and Bran gasped under him, clawed at his shoulders, pulled himself tight against Macsen’s body and let out one long cry. It was just what Macsen wanted, his name drawn out into an unrecognizable sound.
“Open up for me just like that. So good, Bran.”
Bran shook, shuddered, and trembled finally as he relaxed. Everything was heat, and the fire clutched at Macsen’s skin, but Bran was so tight around his cock he couldn’t move. The pleasure was a torment. It was so hot—so hot—there was just one distraction, and he held Bran against his body and bit deep into his throat, sucked up the red, dark blood.
The first mouthful was enough to take Bran shuddering over the edge, all but untouched, heart speeding under Macsen’s tongue, all of him shaking and his cock throbbing its white essence in pulses between them. His body gripped Macsen’s cock almost painfully, then relaxed while he tightened his fingers in Macsen’s hair again and again.
He stayed still and let Bran ride out his climax, took slow mouthfuls from the brilliant spill at his throat. Brighter. Brighter than it had been since they had left Summer. Was it the power Bran used for his work?
So much sun.
Slowly, Macsen pulled back, then thrust deeper, again and again. He felt desire as it sneaked back into Bran’s body, up his calves and his trembling thighs, into the tautness of his buttocks and the sudden tenseness of his hips. The shadow of fire trembled across his skin as he arched back, flickered over his abdomen, his chest. There was fire in his blood, too, as it streamed over Macsen’s tongue and down his throat.
Summer, it was Summer green and gold, rich juices and wine. He knew he should pull back but Bran’s fingers were tight against his scalp, his skin. The heat of his cock was rigid and twitching against Macsen’s belly, and his hips rocked back against every thrust, begging for more. His whole body was begging for more, his eyes closed and his mouth open for wordless groans.
Faster. Deeper. Harder, until he had to hold Bran still with both hands, grip his hip and shoulder to keep him still against his mouth. The tightness and the fire, the almost-pain where Bran pulled his hair, dug his fingers into Macsen’s back… So good. Pleasure overwhelmed him, one sharp pulse after another spilling out of him and into Bran. Bran cried out a little, shivered, then begged.
“Please, I’m so close, please.” He tugged harder at Macsen’s hair, and Macsen slipped his hand between them, stroked Bran’s cock—but he still pulled, gasped, demanded, and the heaving curve of his throat was too much vulnerability, too much temptation for Macsen to resist. He bit deeper, took more, and Bran locked his legs behind Macsen’s hips and groaned out his release.
Want more? Preorder your copy of The Shadow Road!
Last Laugh
It’s #1lineWed again! Today’s “Context is Key” entry in the Secret Files comes from Holy – the theme was humor, after all!
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Artemio felt Matti shifting on his chest as Marina shouted down Luca’s protests. He was so relaxed, his lips occasionally pressing against his throat, his fingers warm against the back of Artemio’s hand, that this time he didn’t worry. He grinned as Luca reached out and clapped a hand over Marina’s mouth to shut her up, at least long enough that he could get a word in.
“You’re drunk. Seriously, do you hear yourself? The second one is the shitty one, Jason vs. Necromancer Moon Unicorn three is Stabbin’ Fever.”
Marina pulled Luca’s hand off her mouth, took another drink and shook her head emphatically. “No it’s two, three’s from 2029 and it has the Cyberwar crap in it -”
“Uh…huh.”
Luca looked contemplative, but Artemio nudged the back of his head with a knee. “Nobody cares, because we’re not watchin’ anything with Necromancer Moon Unicorns.”
“But boss man -”
“Not. Happening.”
“I’m with Art on this one. Gotta add it to the list – no driving for Yuyi, nobody go to Luca’s house, and no picking movies for Marina when she’s drunk.”
“Fuck you – and you – and…and Taj again.”
“No, you just keep fuckin’ Taj, I got enough on my plate.”
“Hey!”
“The hell now? That’s like the third time tonight, who said I was screwing Marina?”
“I -”
“I mean not like I’d say no, but -”
“I -”
“Seriously, what gives?”
“I would like to say something if you’d both SHUT UP.”
Two pairs of eyes turned in Marina’s direction.
“….”
“…What?”
“Artemio’s a prick and I will never fuck Taj.” Without further ado, Marina slugged the rest of the bottle, then rolled it away across the floor and threw her head back. “Next!”
Artemio nudged Taj with an elbow, looked back at him over his shoulder. “Artemio, she says. Look at that, you got her to use my actual name.”
“I got her to? I think this one’s all you, Art.”
“Uh-huh, whatever. But anybody gives her another bottle I’m settin’ Yuyi on ‘em.”
“Oh? Oh? Oh? Yes? Yes…”
Artemio glanced down at her, suddenly alert, her head lifted, her eyes bright. “Don’t be too eager or nothin’…”
Luca reached up a hand, waved it around.“I want a bottle. Or a glass, even. Since, y’know. Marina drank the whole rest of the first one.” Luca scowled around, irritated, but nobody made to get up, and he scowled harder. “Seriously, I gotta get it myself?”
Artemio shrugged. “I’m not getting up. And that means Matti’s not getting up, or Taj, either.” Luca glared at him, then shrugged.
“And Marina can’t stand.” He tossed a hopeful glance in Svava’s direction, and she lifted an eyebrow.
“You are a lazy man.”
“I’m an old man.”
“You are only forty seven. I came into being more than two thousand years ago, but I am not whining about old age.”
“You don’t get achy.”
“I will be kind and bring you a glass, and the bottle, as I wish for a drink myself. But it does not change that you are a lazy man. And you, Taj?”
“No, thanks. I gotta drive, and dealing with Marina’s gonna be hell as it is.”
“Hmmm…this, I think you are right about. Artemio, is your glass full? Should I make offering to your lover?”
Artemio jerked his gaze up to her face. “To my – Matti? Fuck no, he’s had enough twice over.” There was giggling against his chest, then laughter, and Artemio only sighed. “See? Look at this. As I was gonna say before, I didn’t mean to even get him drunk, but I fucked up pourin’ outta the bottle and onto the altar. Which I’ve never done before. Also I got no idea how much it takes to set him off, I mean he’s got this wine, and he never got like this off that.”
“Yes, Artemio. But you?”
“Eh…yeah, I could use a splash.” He sipped at his glass, stretched his leg until he felt Luca’s shoulder against his knee, cold through his sweatpants. Svava came back with the bottle and a pair of glasses, topped off Artemio’s drink then stepped around the couch to give Luca his.
“Thanks, Svava. Life-saver, really.”
“I am not getting up again to give you the bottle -”
“Eh, you can throw at it me. Or I’ll just make Marina get it, that’ll be fun. So anyone gonna pick a movie or not?”
Artemio leaned his head back against Taj and closed his eyes. “I never finished watchin’ Terminal Glory but I think the noise might scare Matti into another incarnation. Unless he’s passed out alr-” Mouth. Tongue against his lips, so hot, so sudden he almost dropped his glass of whiskey. Matti kissed him hard enough to steal his breath, then pulled back and stared at him with eyes that were burning with brightness.
“Not passed out, not sleeping, not anything, only waiting, wanting – waiting.” Another kiss, somehow sharper and softer both, and then Matti slid back down Artemio’s chest and turned to the face the Wall again. Artemio blinked down at the top of his head, licked his lips, then lifted his glass carefully around Matti and transferred it to the hand resting on the back of the couch.
“Well. Guess that answers that – but I still don’t wanna watch it. Anybody else got a suggestion?” Artemio slung his gaze around the room – Jer only lifted an eyebrow, and Sváva blinked at him dispassionately. Yuyi’s eyes were closed, her breathing steady, and he couldn’t see Marina or Luca at all, turned his head and peered up at Taj out of one eye, met his gaze and the shrug in it.
“Don’t look at me.”
Artemio sighed. “We’re gonna end up watching moon unicorns, aren’t we?”
“Nah.”
And, as always happened eventually, random movie titles began to bounce around the room. “Imperfect Suicide?”
“Seen it. Sucked. Last Call?”
“You think everything sucked. And Last Call is almost four hours long, I don’t wanna listen to the boss snoring for that long. The Omen?”
“Luca, nobody is ever gonna wanna watch The Omen. Why do you always suggest it?”
He shrugged, a movement Artemio felt against his leg. “Better than Robocop?”
“Oh you dinn’t – don’even – Rob’cops th’best. Well, almos’. Alien’s reall’ th’bes’.”
“Christ, Mari. Just…don’t even talk. Though…actually. What about Alien?” Artemio scanned the room, got shrugs and shrugged himself. “Fine, at least it’s somethin’. Wall, find movie, Alien.” It came up almost at once. “Play. Hey, Matti. Matti -”
“Hmmmm? Master. Master? You need -”
“No, just – ‘s gonna get loud. Eventually. If it scares you, you don’t have to -”
“Master. It doesn’t scare me, it’s just…loud.”
Taj was snickering again, and Artemio shoved an elbow back into his ribs – but then the movie credits zoomed in from space to the interior of the ship, and Matti wiggled back against him, and Artemio gave up his scowl for a sip of bourbon and pressed his lips against the back of Matti’s neck.
By the time the movie was a half hour in, the soft whiskey scent had left Matti’s skin, and his mouth only tasted like sweetness when Artemio bent to kiss him, testing. In the light from the Wall, his eyes were clear now, and Artemio leaned back satisfied.
“Master.”
It was the softest whisper, pleased and warm. Matti wiggled back against him again, slipped his hand over Artemio’s hand and pushed it down to his waist, then his hip.
Artemio lifted an eyebrow, hooked his thumb into the waistband of Matti’s borrowed sweatpants and pressed his lips against his throat again, brought his mouth up to Matti’s ear and nipped the curve of it. “You be good.”
But Matti turned against him, pressed back and wiggled, wouldn’t be still until Artemio’s erection settled against the curve of his ass, and then he rocked against it.
“Matti enough!” He hissed it sharply, truly annoyed now. Hadn’t he made it clear enough that he wanted him? Didn’t the fucking hard on that’d been jabbing him in the back for the last hour prove it? “Enough.” Softer, irritated at himself now for being so sharp, he tightened his grip on Matti’s waist.
Matti shivered once and went still against him, eyes on the screen – but Artemio wondered, because there was no worry on his face, and he was still relaxed…even though that hadn’t been the case before, when he’d been sharp with him.
What had changed? Was it that there was someone else here with them now? Instead of paying attention to the movie, which he’d seen before, Artemio sipped at his drink, closed his eyes and contemplated the riddle that was Matti.
Obedience. But even if that was his nature, it obviously wasn’t the whole of him – wasn’t everything – or he wouldn’t resist. Or does he? Or…was he…
By the end of the movie, with Matti still and no longer trying to entice him, Artemio had dozed off. He always did, couldn’t help it – the dark did him in, and the alcohol, and the warmth of familiar presences, the knowledge of their safety which was the whole point of the evening. The difference was that this time, when he cracked his eyes open to the sounds of people moving around, felt Taj’s body moving out from under his head, there was one point of warm contact that didn’t move away.
Matti was still against his chest, his eyes closed, his breathing even and deep. He was glowing that soft glow again, asleep and perfect, and four pairs of eyes were staring at him that weren’t Artemio’s. Jer was already gone, and Yuyi was pacing by the door, waiting for Svava, but the rest –
He shifted his glance from one to the other and grumbled at them. “What’re you lookin’ at? Why are you still all here? Get.” Warmth tickled his chin as Matti turned his head, waking, rubbed his cheek against Artemio’s chest, and looked up at him.
“Master, should I get rid of them for you?” That scattered the rest of team. Artemio grinned, waved them all off and snickered at Taj’s back as he helped Marina stumble swearing out the door. It clicked shut, and Matti kissed Artemio’s throat in the same instant.
“You are awake now, Master? You were sleeping, so I slept with you – I did not like that movie. Everyone kept dying.”
Artemio chuckled, shook his head. “Yeah, I know. And I’m…awake? Mmmm…sorta. Kinda. Maybe.” He yawned, shifted, and Matti sat up, slipped off the side of the couch and knelt beside him. “Why, there somethin’ you wanna do?” He asked the question even though he knew exactly what Matti wanted to do, and the thought brought back the last thing that had been on his mind before he dozed off.
“No. No, not -” But he was biting his lip that way he did so often, leaning forward, and Artemio pushed himself up on one arm and leaned over the edge of the couch. He kissed him deeply, fully, smirked and came far more awake at the sound of Matti’s moan.
“What if there’s something I wanna do?”
“’Temio?”
“Like take you.”
“Oh. Oh -”
“I made you a promise…though I seem to remember somebody gettin’ handsy. In the middle of the movie – in fronta my whole goddamn team.” He lifted an eyebrow, reached out to tug at Matti’s hair the way he knew he liked, watched his lips part, his eyes darken. “Somebody who knows better.”
Matti’s gaze was innocent, but that innocence uncompelling. “Master, you never said not to-”
“Rub all over me? Kiss me like a dyin’ man? Try to make me fuck you right here, in front of my team? Cause you got me this close -” Artemio kissed him roughly, tugged harder at the hair in his grip and then forced himself to let go.
Guest Author Jamie Steele: Provocateur
This week, I’m sharing a bit of steamy Sunday fun from a new guest! Welcome author Jamie Steele, who is sharing a bit from their new release, Provocateur.
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Author Bio: Jamie is an international author of mystery. Originally born in the quiet country of New Zealand Jamie packed their bags and headed towards the bright lights of London.
Published author by night and superhero by day Jamie is always up to no good.
Come read Provocateur and enter the mind and world of London’s underground.
Excerpt
Carter strained beneath him. He was already close to losing control, barely able to think. His cock strained painfully against the confines of his pants, and he wanted nothing more than to be flipped onto his knees and fucked. Hard, fast and brutal. Carter moaned as Brandon’s mouth once again moved over his face and neck. He was moving slowly, too slowly, as if they had all the time in the world, and as if Carter wasn’t about to come, untouched like a sixteen year old during his first time. Brandon’s cock twitching at the sound of his voice, his hips rubbing against Carter’s. “Christ” Carter whispered hoarsely.
“You like that?” Brandon chuckled. His hands moved down to the trailing ends of Carter’s shirt, undoing each of the tiny grey buttons. Ever so gently, Brandon untied his hands before swiftly removing his shirt, and retying him once again to the headboard. Brandon’s mouth and tongue explored the crevices of Carter’s muscles, slowly, lightly, tormenting him with each touch. Carter’s body stood tense and ready, electrified by the loss of sight and touch, trying to guess where Brandon’s lips would caress him next.
Instinctively, Carter’s hips widened, as he pressed himself higher, pushing his crotch closer to Brandon’s and allowing the other man to sink into the space, as his hands once again crept further down his body. He felt Brandon’s soft hands work at the button of his jeans, a fingertip, a knuckle, grazing against his smooth belly. Too slow, Carter thought as he pressed against his touch again, more desperate this time, Brandon’s thumbs tracking the deep V above his hips.
With deft movement, Brandon lifted Carter’s ass, and slid down his jeans. His mouth pressing lightly against the large bulge in Carter’s boxer briefs, teasing him through the fabric. “Please” he heard Carter moan underneath him. Agonisingly slowly, he freed Carter, sliding his underwear down his legs and off before running his hand gently down his silky cock, hard beneath his hand. “Impressive” he whispered against the the skin of Carter’s belly. Swirling his tongue over the tip, he felt Carter raise his hips to meet his mouth. With a burst of speed, Brandon moved faster, taking more of Carter into his mouth. His tongue swirling patterns against him, sucking gently. With one hand focused on the task at hand, Brandon fumbled with his own belt, unable to take the constrains of his own clothing against him.
Carter was on fire, with the loss of his sight, every sense was intensified a hundred times. When he felt his cock enter the warm, wet heat of Brandon’s mouth, his control slipped. His hips bucked to meet him, Brandon’s tongue gliding over him with expertise. He was desperate to touch him, to feel the heat of his skin on his hands. To feel the softness of Brandon’s skin against his, to stroke what he was sure was a fantastic cock. To taste him again. He could hear the distant rustle as Brandon freed himself from his own clothing.
Want more? Try this teaser of next week’s Friday Fun, from my own new erotic short, Otavia In October!
Otavia licked her lips, breathless. He wanted her. Wanted to share her with his pack. A sudden image assaulted her, of herself on her knees with Luka behind her, Ares in her mouth and more men around her. She rubbed her thighs together and shivered. That was—god. But she couldn’t say yes, how could she say yes?
“I can’t, I can’t.”
“What if I gave you an excuse, Otavia? What if I said it was the price for your freedom?”
“Ohh.” It was almost a moan, and it escaped her before she could help herself. He chuckled, and before she could even think of moving Luka had her pinned between himself and Ares.
Find Provocateur here!
Omega Run
It’s #1lineWed again – amazing how that happens every week! Today’s “Context is Key” entry in the Secret Files comes from my sexy, sneaky side-project, The Other Omega, which is currently in final edits for its Friday release!
The Other Omega is sequel to First Nights and The Other Alpha, which is the first of these books (and also free here ’til the end of the week!)
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The morning after the full moon’s last night, Niketas saw Luka turn on the phone his brother had given him and was almost overcome by the sudden, restless twist of heat that pooled in his gut. It wasn’t Wednesday, so the only reason for his Alpha to be messing with his phone was if he thought Stelios was going to call for some other reason. For him. It had to be for him…
Didn’t it?
Had Stelios said so when he’d talked to Luka, something Niketas hadn’t been privy to? Had Stelios told Luka that he wanted Niketas to come back? He thought back to the weeks he’d spent with Stelios and bit back a moan. So good. Everything he did, every place he touched, everything he wanted.
It had been – god. He hadn’t even wanted to leave, but Luka had come for him and he hadn’t been able to say anything. Not a protest…not even goodbye, not in front of Luka. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to call Stelios by name, but neither could he call him Sir in front of his brother.
There was a wolf whine waiting in the base of his throat, now as then, but he denied it. There was no point in getting all worked up. If Stelios was going to call, he’d call. No point, no point –
But he stared fixedly at the damn phone, and ignored Leon’s taunts and his questions. He was aching a little still, from how rough Leon had been, making him ready to take that woman. Not in the good way, either, like with Stelios.
That was the only thing that had made him capable, kept him hard enough to fuck Luka’s girl. Stelios. Pretending Leon was him, ignoring the woman under him, her softness, the heat of her, and focusing on the memory. Stelios stretching him open, so much thicker, so much bigger than Leon, and –
“Fuck.” His cock was straining at his jeans, and he reached down, rubbed his palm over it, then jumped as the phone rang. The sound was incongruous with the furs and spartan bareness of their den, but Luka walked over and grabbed it up off the shelf as if he’d been expecting the call.
“Uh-huh. And so what, if I had forgotten you could have just…yeah. I was expecting you to. Oh, come on, he might be wondering because he doesn’t know you but I know that look, you – yeah. Alright. Today? Yeah, but you know he’s still going to – alright, alright. Yeah, Wednesday. The usual thing.”
Luka hung up and turned to face him, but Niketas was already on his feet, going for his jacket. He heard Leon laughing at him again, and even Luka was smirking, but he didn’t care. He was grinning like an idiot and he didn’t care about that, either.
“Eager, aren’t you?”
“That was your brother.”
“Of course it was.”
“And he-”
“Wants you? Yeah. Go on. You remember the way?”
“You’re…not coming this time?”
Luka scowled at him and shrugged off the suggestion. “Why? Into the city? Fuck no, not unless I have to, and I don’t. Go around back like I brought you last time, and hit the buzzer for the penthouse.”
“Got it. Did he say…do you…how long am I staying?”
He was very still while Luka looked him up and down, then shrugged. “As long as you want. Doesn’t matter to me, if you’re having a good time…but I’ll come get you for next month’s full moon if you haven’t come back yet.”
Niketas flushed as he tossed a few shirts and pairs of jeans in a bag. “Really? Another woman? Luka, I really don’t – I can’t -”
“You think I didn’t notice?” His smirk widened a little. “Seemed to do alright once Leon got you going, though.” Niketas was less than amused, and avoided Luka’s gaze with a shrug as he zipped up his jacket and tossed his bag on the back of his motorcycle.
“I guess I’ll see you then, if I’m not back before.” He grinned faintly, then rolled out his bike, swung into the seat and revved the engine.
“Niketas…”
“Yeah?” Something in Luka’s stance as he stood at the entrance to the den, hands shoved in his pockets and his shoulders hunched forward, made him sit up and take notice. “What else, Luka?”
“Be careful. Don’t get yourself hurt, yeah?”
“…I…” Then Niketas shook his head and grinned. “It’s just sex, Luka, c’mon.”
Luka scowled. “Just sex -”
“I’ll be fine. See ya.”
Niketas raced himself down the mountainside, away from the den and into the city. He could see the way as if it was printed for him with giant arrows on the pavement – and more than that, the closer he got the more the thin thread of Stelios’ scent became a rope dragging him onward.
Impatience crawled up Niketas’ back like some kind of animal, digging in its claws.
Belinda Burke, Author 