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Spy Games — Another Fab New Anthology Edited by Jillian Boyd

It’s totally my pleasure to announce that the wonderful author and editor, Jillian Boyd, has an exciting new anthology Cover2out called Spy Games — a sizzling collection of nine stories, by nine delicious authors, all about spies and detectives. Move over Mr Bond! Make room for something truly sexy!

SPY GAMES Blurb:

From the sunny streets of South Florida, to the bars of Paris, to the backstreets of Rome where a secret club for old spies lies hidden, Spy Games is a collection of nine tantalizing tales in which spies and detectives seduce and deduce in all corners of the world.

Edited by Jillian Boyd and featuring stories from the likes of Zak Jane Keir, Slave Nano, Emily L. Byrne and F. Leonora Solomon, Spy Games is filled with danger, desire and the thrill of sex and spying. Unleash your inner Mata Hari and devour this collection… should you choose to accept this mission, of course.

Spy Games Buy links:

Amazon UK – http://www.amazon.co.uk/Spy-Games-Thrilling-Erotica-ebook/dp/B00V5659WW/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1427644792&sr=8-1&keywords=Spy+Games%3A+Thrilling+Spy+Erotica

Amazon US – http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_2?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=Spy+Games%3A+Thrilling+Spy+Erotica

ARe – https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-spygames-1766800-362.html

 

Spy GamesExcerpt:

from Mid-Life Career Changes by Jessica Taylor

On my last night with Roman, I dropped from a contorted perch in the airshaft of his kitchen. I knew he kept no security in his house overnight, perhaps the only honest mistake I ever saw him make. My bare feet made no sound as I landed like a small grasshopper next to his purring refrigerator in the warm, inky dark. The lights of the city pulsed like stars through the glass walls of his home. I remember almost deviating, almost going to stand next to his round, thick dining table in front of those transparent walls overlooking the up lit trees of the park below. Roman had eaten there last, sipping magenta borscht and reading the paper Nash Gorod – Our City. Then he had gone to his freezer and pulled a translucent bottle of anise liqueur from the drawer. Dressed in silk black pyjama bottoms, his nipples hardened when he slowly kissed the bottle, leaning back peacefully onto the cold metal. His Adam’s apple bobbed finely as he pulled on the cloudy fluid.

I stole across his open home until I came to the ornately carved door of his master suite. In the centre of the room, my man was sleeping soundlessly, innocently tucked into the folds of his red silk bed. Talismans and the charms of the superstitious decorated the high ceiling above the entrance and I knew from months of watching that he crossed himself each night before he finally entered. I had smelled sage and peppercorn as I envisioned him walking down the hall, shirtless and stretching his arms above his head, scratching his shoulder blade lazily.

My hands, I remember, had shaken. It was a miniscule vibration but still it was there. It took moments longer to pick the lock than it normally would have. I suspect I even made noise, as if I was subconsciously warning him. But when I slithered in, he remained asleep and undisturbed. Then my steps were choppy, without confidence or grace, as I moved across the room to my sleeping, waiting man.  He had slept so noiselessly, I thought to myself he would not keep even me, such a light sleeper, awake the way other men had with their lip smacking and snoring. I would have been at peace beside him.

When he opened his eyes, there was no fear or surprise. He looked at me as if he was awaiting me and I had finally emerged from between the trees. His eyes travelled my tightly shrouded body, taking in my small frame, my bare feet. In those days, I carried no weapons. Perhaps when he noticed this, he thought he might have a chance. Or maybe he thought escape from the situation possible when he saw the confusion in my own eyes, the hesitance in my stance. He pushed himself up slowly, as if to not ignite a wild animal, as we continued our mutual gaze. He spoke first, with a voice I knew well; scratchy and deep, caressing my ears like a symphony.

“You don’t look like one of my normal girls,” Roman announced sarcastically but calmly. “Who sent you?” he continued.

I wonder now what my voice sounded like to him the first time he heard me speak. Was it instantly intoxicating, as his was for me? “I don’t actually know,” I responded, honestly but quietly. “It’s not the way that I operate.” I spared him the explanation that I always opted out of knowing who wanted it done or why. I found that such information hindered my efficiency.

He slowly sat up, the red sheets falling into his lap. He drew his hands to his chest in submission as his carved, naked muscles flexed. “How long have you been with me?”

I sighed as I stared longingly between the lines of his muscles, “Six months.” His face had reddened then, thinking perhaps about whom he would personally execute for the oversight of my presence. I let him slide his feet to the floor in the same way I had seen him do so many times before. Perhaps because I am so small, he thought he could out manoeuvre me. He thrust forward like a beast released from a cage, groping towards the spot where I knew he kept a 9mm Glock.

I dropped to my knees, thinking to swipe his ankles. With my legs spread, and my shins pressed to the ground, I looked up into his clear blue eyes. My mouth hung open in awe. I had never seen his eyes this close and they mesmerized me. My sex began to throb and my breasts swelled with heaviness. A dull ache stirred in my clitoris. I was overcome with sensation I thought I could suppress. He hovered over me, looking down at me between his legs. I must have seemed so inane, so slight, perhaps even so lovely straddled there beneath him, looking up at him like a confused but lovesick dog. All I would have had to do was rise onto my knees and I could take him into my empty mouth as I kept staring into those calm eyes.

I will never know why he stopped going for the gun, why he looked down at me with a new expectation, or why he pulled on the black silk tie of his sleeping pants to give me a chance. They drifted with the speed of a feather to the ground at my knees and all of the fantasies I could not suppress over the past few months filled me like a dam had broken. I saw us walking through the park with the lost, white dog prancing along beside us. I saw us sparring, and then falling to make love on the mat. I saw myself as his warrior, his personal assassin for any man he needed taken down.

After months watching him, he had made me doubt my solitude and even my consuming profession, and I was deeply grateful to be beneath him watching his cock elegantly harden. I suddenly wanted to express my respect and longing for him. I wanted to show him how he had changed me, though I was still unsure in what ways I was different. When he ever so slightly nodded his head to me, my mouth watered, saliva jumping from the buds in my mouth.

I arched my back and leaned my small breasts in to rub at his knees. For a second only I worried for his hands having access to my neck, where we both know places for that smooth snap. But the skin of his cock had turned dark and burgundy against the white of his muscular thighs and I was magnetised. I placed my hand at the base of his shaft, opened my mouth and flattened my tongue over his balls. I dragged my tongue up him, each taste bud softly abrading and then absorbing him as I moved up to the head of his cock. I ascended so slowly, as if every cell of his skin needed to be tasted. I licked it ravenously, the way Eve had when she first beheld and then tasted her own apple.

I hovered there, at the bright head of his dick, and dug my nails into his inner thighs as I tried to hold myself back from swallowing him too deeply. When I finally let myself take him slowly into the back of my throat, he had begun to softly groan “yes” with each exhale. He pulled at my bundled brown hair so it fell down my arched, begging back. When he dug a powerful hand into the roots and shoved my head farther onto his dick, I moaned loudly and my nipples tightened, fiercely longing to be thumbed.

He lifted me without effort just before he could no longer keep himself from erupting hotly onto my face. That would have been enough for me, to swallow him reverently. He sat me on the heavy wooden bed in front of him and peeled off my black pants. He set his teeth against the inside of my ripped thigh and squeezed his teeth on my muscle. I thought briefly of the major arteries available to his mouth, if he was considering using it for a different kind of destruction. As he bit, he pulled back the skin of my hood and rubbed the head of my clit, already engorged and slick just from sucking him. I drew my knees toward me as I balanced back onto my arms and spread with trust for him.

When I lifted my eyes from his dirty blond head, I discovered a mirror behind us and watched his gluteal muscles ripple and twitch as he thrust his tongue into me. Misty grey tattoos covered his back and I could see a scar where one had been dug from his body by the blade of another man’s knife. If I were his, he would be perfectly protected for life. A white, shiny scar had healed there but threads of leftover ink still peppered the new skin. I first came quietly and deeply with his face between my legs, lapping my clitoris while his two fingers calmly caressed me. I stared into the white dwarf star of that scar that swallowed me whole.

As he stood, I returned my hands to his cock and stroked him as he discarded my tight black top and I stared up into his blue eyes, biting my lip and wishing for this moment to continue on and on. He spat on my breasts and then sat his dick between them and slid himself up and down. He stroked my hard, dark nipples, exactly as I’d dreamed before. I grew wetter and wetter, the energy in my pelvis growing as I began to moan softly for him. Just then, he could have done anything to end me. He could have slit my throat or choked my breath from me. I submerged myself in the moments with him, avoiding myself and the decisions I would need to make, lost from my consciousness as he rubbed me and showed me his beautiful cock and let me pet his tattooed chest and abdomen. My cheeks and neck flushed red like they did when I sprinted after him in the park below, like they did when we pounded ourselves into switch kicks and hooks.

I let him turn me and set me on my knees in front of him on the bed. He could have made a horror movie of me, dark and sadistic with my blood smeared on the walls and my insides brutalized entirely differently. I didn’t worry about his hands groping for a gun as he kept on massaging both my nipples while he pumped himself deeply into me from behind. Eventually, he grabbed my ass and split my cheeks as he slowly pulled his length from me, floated at my entrance, and then painfully slowly slid back into me. I dripped sweat when he sped up, fucking me deep, hard, and rhythmically. I was too weak with desire to fear him when he set his hands on top of his head, continuing to bang into me. “Harder,” I begged as I stroked myself and pressed my face into the red sheets.

He could have shot me, stabbed me, broken my neck. Instead, he fucked me until I came twice more. The last time, I was on my back and he had smiled deep into my eyes. This was the smile I had seen when he was deeply happy, deeply at peace. This was his smile for lost dogs in the park, for toasting frozen vodka at midnight, for singing off key in the gym late at night. He withdrew from me as I stared hazily at him and the world exploded around me. He erupted searing cum onto my belly and chest. Then he massaged it into my breasts and nipples as he softly made love to my lips and tongue with his mouth.

After, Roman lay behind me—he spooned me tenderly and I allowed it—as we spoke softly for some time. He asked me what I had seen over the past months, and I told him, which was everything. He sighed deeply as if it mattered what one murderer saw another do, as if he still planned on us both making it out of there.  Telling Roman the complexity of his life, I finally admitted to myself how I had come to fall in love with him. And I failed to recognize that the story could have a different ending.

Find Jessica Here:

Twitter: https://twitter.com/jessahtaylor

 

About Jillian Boyd:

Jillian Boyd is an erotica author and blogger, who has been putting dirty words on paper and on her blog for the past three years. She likes taking everyday, seemingly mundane situations and making them sexy and sensual – and when she’s not doing that, she lets her imagination fly off into history and distant planets. Where she also tries to find everyday situations and make them sexy and sensual.

She’s been published in several House of Erotica anthologies, contributed to Tiffany Reisz’s office supply erotica charity anthology Felt Tips and has a story in the Golden Crown Literary Award-winning Best Lesbian Romance 2014, published by Cleis Press. She is currently working on her first novella, a sci-fi erotic thriller called In Another Life.

Find Jillian here:

Spy Games Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/spygamesantho

 

Touring Wade’s Dungeon — Going Down!

Interviewing WadeOnce lunch is over, I’m well fortified for the second half of my tour of Wade’s Dungeon. In fact, I’m so stuffed with burritos and nachos that I think Wade is being a proper sadist when he continues my tour of his Dungeon with a peek at his state of the art gym. ‘I hear you like to work out, K D,’ he says, and I can see his quirk of a smile threatening to break out as I scurry over to a space in front of a ceiling to floor mirror to fondle the most complete, most gorgeous set of kettle bells I’ve ever seen. I can tell they’re not just for looks. There are no pretty colors, just good, solid cast iron. ‘Thought you’d like those,’ he says.

I barely get a chance to run an appreciative hand over a proper stair machine, ogle a fantastic free-weights set up, a vicious-looking treadmill and ooh and awe over the Metrix machine before he’s herding me out the door.

From there he takes me into the Suite. I actually had breakfast in the kitchen area the other morning with Carla and Wade, but the Suite has been talked about in hushed tones for a while now. Carla calls it Wade’s fuck pad, but she knows, as do I that Wade keeps it for the rare guests he has. She has been one of the few people to take advantage of it. ‘It’s amazing!’ I say, trying to catch my breath as I stare at a marble bathtub and Jacuzzi the size of a small swimming pool, and an enormous wet room with more water sources that I can count before he’s herding me off again, blushing as we head past a bed big enough for half the employees of Pneuma Inc to have an orgy on. ‘Beverly Neumann did the decorating,’ he says still blushing. ‘She did this on purpose.’ He makes it sound like she put peanut butter in his boxers or something. ‘It’s lovely,’ I manage. ‘I’d say she did good.’

He mumbles something about overkill and herds me out of the room before I take up squatters rights as Interviewing Wade’s author and move in. I notice his pace slows considerably as we head back down the hall past several rooms that look like state of the art laboratories, spotlessly clean, well-equipped and seemingly deserted.

‘Does R&D use these?’ I ask.

He looks at me like I suddenly grew horns. ‘No. Why would they? They have their space.’

‘Then you work in them.’

He pauses mid-step to contemplate that idea. ‘I suppose I could if I wanted to, but they’re not as private as I’d like them to be. It’s too easy to be disturbed on this level. I do most of my work in the sub-basements.’

We move past a strange door that looks like the entrance to a train car.

‘What’s this,’ I ask.

‘Nothing yet,’ he answers. ‘Just an idea I have for a … space.’ He doesn’t clarify, and I’ve been around him enough to realize he won’t unless he wants to. His pace slows still further. At the end of the hall I can see a set of double doors that look like they could well belong in a hospital, but before I can ask, I realize he is standing in front of an open door, blocking my view.

‘You know what this is,’ he says, blushing furiously.

Book stacksI do, and I’m desperate to see it, but I know how sensitive Wade can be. ‘You’re room,’ I replay. ‘I don’t really like people in my bedroom either,’ I add, feeling his discomfort below my breastbone almost as though it is my own.

For a moment he has trouble meeting my gaze, then he looks up at me with dark green eyes. ‘It isn’t so much that it’s my sleeping room as it as that you know … you know what happened in there.’

I nod, not quite knowing how to reply, feeling a blush rise up my own cheeks as I think about what has happened between him and Carla in that space. But as I turn to walk away, he lays a strong hand on my arm to stop me, then steps aside and motions me in.

The room is small, much smaller than even I expected. Unlike the rest of the tiled floors of the Dungeon, Wade’s room is just concrete. The only piece of furniture is a fairly sturdy camp cot with an aging Star Trek duvet made up neatly over it. I notice immediately that the bedside table is really just stacks and stack of books. There’s a gooseneck lamp on top of them. A laptop, several tablets and more books, some open and marked with pens and pencils, some stuffed with paper scribbled full of notes. Next to the books I assume Wade’s reading is an empty Coke can. Around the rest of the room books are stacked three and four deep, in some places as high as my waist. The room smells of old paperbacks and I blush as I realize that the room smells of Wade Crittenden dreaming. He might sense my thought process because he’s blushing again, shuffling from foot to foot.

I quickly change the subject. ‘The books, have you read them all?’

‘All of them, yes. Some more than once,’ he replies.

‘Why do you keep them,’ I ask nodding to a pair of eReaders on the make-shift table.Aileanimages

‘Because they’re books. I like the feel of them, the smell – especially once they’ve been read a time or two.’

I run my fingers along a stack threatening to avalanche against my hip and am astonished to find there is no dust. ‘How do you find anything? Do you have a system?’

He looks around and shakes his head. ‘I thought about some kind of system for them, but then it seemed like a waste of my time when I know where they all are.’ He looks up at me and the blush is there again. ‘I don’t sleep much. Some nights not at all. I read a lot.’ He shrugs and this time the smile is one I can tell isn’t meant for me. ‘Well, I don’t have quite so much time to read now with Carla here. But I still don’t sleep much.’ Then he adds. ‘Besides, Carla loves to read too.’

Once again out in the hall, we push our way through the operating room doors and find ourselves standing in front of an elevator that looks like it might very well lead to an operating theater. The elevator opens and I nearly jump out of my skin, coming face to face with a life-size poster of the monster from Aliens. Wade smiles at my response and motions me in. With a series of taps against a blue buttoned console, the elevator begins a rapid descent. My heart is racing in my chest. I realize the sub-basements are off limits to everyone but Dee and Ellis, Carla, and possibly Martin Flannery. I know that the lowest level, level four is basically a no-go zone, with good reason, and my pulse goes into overdrive at the thought of going down there.

‘I do most of my work in the sub-basements,’ Wade speaks above the hushed whisper of the elevator. ‘I can work there undisturbed.’ We pass sub-level one and then two, and I wipe sweaty hands against my jeans. ‘I have a dozen or so projects going on at any given time, and I never know which one I’ll be inspired to work on,’ Wade says, ‘Best to have a space for each one and some extras too. I never know when the idea for something new will come. The lift stops on sub-level three and I find that I’ve been holding my breath as he motions me out.

This laboratory is nothing like the ones on the upper floors. It isn’t at all what I would expect a laboratory to be like. This one looks like a nerd’s dream basement. There’s a battered brown leather sofa against the wall. On the end table next to it is a lava lamp bubbling up hypnotic red blobs. There’s a kitchen unit that looks like it came out of the 1960s to one side. In the middle of the room on battered desks and metal tables there’s a hodgepodge of monitors and keyboards and on a free-standing metal framework above a section of work table is what looks like a very sophisticated robotic arm that could have come straight from a Terminator film. ‘You know about this,’ he says, nodding to it. He reaches out to touch it. ‘It’s not ready yet. The interface is still not sensitive enough.’ He smiles to himself, running a hand over lava lampthe slightly curved, nearly human looking fingers. ‘Shocked the hell out of myself the other day. Still can’t manage the electrical impulses so that they guide the operator but don’t knock him on his ass.’ He shrugs. I’ll figure it out.’

As we step back into the hall, he nods in both directions. ‘Three more laboratories on this floor,’ he says. ‘The projects in two of them are only in the conceptual stage and the other one is Nano-technology, not something I can easily show you.’ He herds me back into the elevator, and suddenly I’m having trouble breathing again as the door closes behind us and the blue buttons await Wade’s touch.

I can feel him studying me, and try though I might, I can’t meet his gaze. I can’t speak I feel frozen to the spot with the knowledge of what’s in the fourth sub-basement – no laboratories, no nerd’s hang-out. Nothing pretty, nothing sophisticated. I feel a sudden chill as he releases his breath and taps a code into the keypad. The elevator whirs to life and with the tiniest of judder … begins to ascend. I catch my breath in a little sigh.

At last he speaks. ‘I won’t take you down there,’ he says. His face is suddenly like a wall hiding so many things. His jaw is set and his eyes are nearly black in the subdued lighting. ‘You know … what it’s like down there. What I’m like when I go there.’ He swallows hard and closes his eyes, and I feel cold. When he looks back at me, I force myself to meet his gaze. ‘That you know is enough, K D.’ His voice is barely more than just a whisper. ‘Let it be enough.’

We ascend the rest of the way in silence. As we arrive in the main living area of the Dungeon, Carla meets us with two mugs of mocha – extra marshmallow cream. She kisses Wade gently on the mouth and guides him to the table, guidance which, at that moment, I can’t help but feel he needs.

‘All right?’ she speaks softly squeezing his arm after he’s had his first sip.

He nods and forces a smile. Then he reaches out and touches her cheek. ‘Fine. I’m fine.’

For a second I sip in silence, trying to figure out what I should say, under the circumstances. At last I look up at him. ‘Wade, I didn’t mean to –’

He stops me with a shake of his head. ‘If I hadn’t wanted you to see, I wouldn’t have shown you. But what’s on sub-level four, well, even though you know. I don’t like to go there. I … I only ever go there when I have no choice, when I need to. And right now, thankfully,’ he squeezes Carla’s hand, ‘I don’t need to.’

In the evening, Stacie Emerson and Carla’s father, Martin Flannery, take over the kitchen in the Suite. After toasts to the launch of Interviewing Wade, with Prosecco Stacie and Harris have brought back from a recent trip to Italy, there’s homemade spaghetti carbonara with the best tiramisu I’ve ever eaten for dessert. We end the tour and the day’s celebration in the Dungeon’s home cinema stuffing ourselves with buttered popcorn while we watch X-Men First Class.

It’s late when I get ready to leave. Carla and Wade give each other the eye and nod. Then Wade turns his attention to me. ‘It’s late, and you’ve had a busy few days, K D. Why don’t you stay in the Suite tonight.’

Carla nods her agreement, when she sees my uncertainty. ‘I’ve grown rather fond of Wade’s cot,’ she says with a wink. ‘Besides, we don’t need very much space, the two of us.’ As we say our good-nights at the door of the Suite, I watch them head down the hall arm and arm, and I figure Carla is probably right. They don’t need much space at all.

 

The Interviewing Wade Blog Tour and Giveaway continues throughout this week and the next. I’m over at the fabulous Lynelle Clark’s Do join us there!

 Wade_teaser2

For the next two weeks find Carla, Wade and me on these fabulous blogs!

 Mar 23   L. C. Wilkinson  http://lcwilkinson.com/

Mar 24   Jan Graham http://jangraham.blogspot.com/

Mar 25   Lynelle Clark http://lynelleclarkaspiredwriter.blogspot.com/

Mar 26   Nice Ladies, Naughty Books http://niceladiesnaughtybooks.com/

Mar 27   Love Bites & Silk Ties http://www.lovebitessilkties.co.uk/

Mar 30   Books and Banter   http://locglin.blogspot.com/

Mar 31   Case Sharidan   http://casesheridan.wordpress.com/

Apr 1   Lisabet Sarai http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com

Ap 2   Gale Stanley http://galestanley.blogspot.com/

Ap 3   Illustrious Illusions http://www.illustriousillusions.com/

 

INTERVIEWING WADE Is An Executive Decision novel (Click Here for Book One | Book Two | Book Three)

Blurb:

The Executive Decisions Trilogy may be over, but the story continues. Intrepid reporter, Carla Flannery, wants to interview Wade Crittenden, the secretive creative genius behind Pneuma Inc. But when, against all odds, Wade actually agrees to the interview, Carla suspects ulterior motives.

Carla has made a lot of enemies in her work and when Wade discovers she’s being stalked, he agrees to the interview to keep her close and safe. As the situation turns deadly, lives and hearts are on the line, and the interview reveals far more about both than either ever expected.

 

Interviewing Wad is available from:

Amazon UK

Amazon US

Amazon AU

Amazon CA

 

I Survived a Tour of Wade’s Dungeon!

Interviewing WadeWith all the excitement of launch weekend and with the Interviewing Wade Blog Tour & Giveaway beginning today, I threw caution to the wind and asked Wade for a tour of the Dungeon, and I was totally surprised when he agreed. And it didn’t take me long to realize that this tour might not be for the faint of heart.

For those of you who don’t know, the Dungeon is the name Wade’s colleagues gave the basement and sub-basements of the Pneuma building, which became Wade’s domain. Though Pneuma Inc has a state of the art R&D wing, and employ some of the best minds in the world there, the real cutting edge stuff, the stuff that comes straight from Wade’s incredible mind, happens in the Dungeon. Over the years, what originally started out simply as a private place for Wade to work and do research evolved into so much more.

Wade meets me by the elevator in the Executive Suites of the Pneuma building where I’ve been chatting with Ellis Thorne and Dee Henning. He’s dressed in his usual hoodie and jeans and his hair is mussed. I smile to myself imagining how it got that way. He nods a greeting to Dee and Ellis then motions me to the elevator. ‘Come on,’ he says. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

I know that Wade is uncomfortable about having people in the Dungeon and, until Carla came along, only Dee and Ellis had ever been into some of the more restricted areas, but the little smile that Ellis offers him and the slight nod that passes between them tells me that I’ve not violated Wade’s privacy too badly, and I know that, for Wade, saying ‘no’ is not a problem.

It seems like the elevator descends forever. The last two days I’ve entered the Dungeon through the sub-basement parking garage. ‘There’s a code,’ Wade says, as though he’s read my mind, ‘When it’s entered, the elevator goes directly between the Executive Offices and the Dungeon, no stops in between. I hate a crowded elevator, and I hate extra stops.’ Before the elevator reaches its destination, my ears have popped twice. ‘We’re quite a ways down,’ he says. ‘And the four levels of sub basements quite a ways farther.’

My pulse jumps at the mention of the sub-levels. ‘Will I see them?’

‘Not all of them,’ he answers, his jaw suddenly tight and his lips pressed in a thin line. Then he adds, ‘Even if I wanted to show it all to you, which I don’t, there isn’t enough time.’ He shrugs. ‘You’d have to overnight in the Suite, and even then … Well, some places are just off limits.’

Though I relish the idea of a night in the Suite, I have to admit, there are parts of Wade’s Dungeon that I’m not all that sure I really want to see.

The doors open with a whisper and we walk through a deserted reception area that I know is just for looks. Wade has no receptionist and no PA. Pretty much it’s invitation only to the Dungeon. As we pass through the reception area, he punches in a door code and I find myself in what I know is the main living area, and the only real public area. And yes, Wade really does live here. Still, writing about it, and actually seeing it up close and personal are two different things. The best way I can describe it is a cross between my grandmother’s kitchen, a 1950s diner, and romp through a flea market.

Carla is ensconced at an ancient Formica table with her laptop open. She greets me with a smile. ‘Sorry I can’t join you on the tour. I’m on a tight deadline for a story about sustainability, but Wade’s a great tour guide.’

He growls at her, and she blows him a kiss, then goes back to work. Teen Angel is playing on a jukebox that adds to the hamburger joint feel with its pastel lighting and its glass bubble top that shows off the 45s. A quick peek, and I see that there are selections all the way back to the 40s along with lots of classic rock and a few pop pieces as well. Next to it is a red Naugahyde stool with a heavy-bodied black phone from the 1950s that reminds me a bit of a kettle bell. ‘The land line,’ Wade says. ‘Doesn’t get used much, but Ellis insists I have one.’

On the wall above the stool is a black and white plastic cat clock, with numbers and hands on the exposed white belly. As the seconds tick, the tail swishes and the eyes roll from side to side. ‘You a cat person?’ I ask.

He shrugs. ‘I just liked the clock.’

The ratty Naugahyde and chrome sofa along the back wall must have been the colour of gray marble at one time, but it’s surface is rubbed clean from lots of butts sitting on it. In front of it is a battered oak coffee table that must weigh as much as a small car, and I can’t keep from thinking of Wade feeding Carla Chinese food on that couch. Best not think of that! ‘Garage sale?’ I nod to the couch.

‘From Ellis’ parent’s basement, believe it or not,’ he says. ‘Though some of this stuff is from garage sales and flea markets.’

‘I never would have expected you to frequent such places,’ I say.

‘Who knows what you’ll find there. And next to bowling with Clyde, I find a good flea market the next best thing for thinking and inspiration.’ He grabs a plastic glass from a small Formica counter and I watch as he fills it with ice from the kind of ice machine one would find in a hotel lobby. Then from a refrigerator that looks like it came straight from grandma’s kitchen, he pulls out a pitcher of iced tea fills the glass, slaps a plastic lid on it and stuff in a straw. ‘Your drink of choice, just like Dee’s if I’m not mistaken.’ He hands it to me, and I’m moved that he knew.

Carla watches as I drink deeply and moan my approval. ‘You’ll need fortification for this tour,’ she says. ‘We’re ordering Mexican for lunch after. You up for it?’

How can I refuse such an offer! Wade bends and kisses Carla on the cheek, then leads me into a long hallway. And I become very aware of the quirk of a man who could buy half of Portland without even batting an eye, but chooses to furnish his most personal spaces with flea-market hodge-podge and yet I can just see inside the first room we pass, a home cinema that would put any mall cinema I’ve ever been to to shame.

‘We’re watching X-Men First Class tonight if you want to join us,’ Wade says, taking in my view. ‘Stacie and Harris Walker will be here. You know them.’

‘Why Wade, you’re practically turning into a social butterfly,’ I tease.

He growls and leads me down to the Incident Room, and I’m suddenly speechless as he brings everything on line with several clicks on a random keyboard. The room is wall-to-wall flat-screen monitors the size of … well the size of walls. There are keyboards and electronics and a device that looks like a cross between a gas pump and an iron maiden. In spite of all the amazing tech around me, though, my eyes stray to the metal support beam in the middle of the room, with its hook at arm’s reach.

Before I can look away, he follows my gaze, and this time he growls louder. ‘We’re not going there, so don’t ask.’ His face is suddenly bright red and I’m sure mine is too. I can’t keep the picture of him and Carla out of my head, her there bound with her hands up over her hand and him … I catch my breath. ‘I wasn’t pleased about you writing that,’ he says to me. ‘I wasn’t at my best just then.’

I thought he was pretty damned amazing, but I don’t say that. ‘I didn’t mean to intrude on a private moment,’ I manage, wondering if I made a mistake in asking him to take me on this tour. What happened in the Incident Room is only one of the events that make this tour way more personal and invasive for me than it would be for anyone else.

‘Yes you did,’ he says. ‘You meant to do exactly that, and you did it over and over again.’

‘And you let me.’

For a moment we stand there in silence, with only the soft whisper of the air conditioning in the background, surrounded by technology that I know he has used to help the police and secret service agencies all over the world solve crimes. His genius is so much more than technical, though, and yet I am most moved by the sight of that metal support post and what happened there.

At last, his shoulders relax and the sigh that passes his lips seems loud in the quiet. ‘I did. You’re right.’ He runs a hand through his already mussed hair and looks around the room. ‘I’m sorry. I’m just not used to … to people knowing … stuff about me.’

‘Hey guys, Mexican just arrived.’ We both jump and turn to find Carla standing barefoot at the door. ‘I’m starving. Either come join me or delay at your own risk.’

Wade, still holding my gaze, takes a deep breath and offers a genuine smile. ‘I think we could both use a break.’ He motions me out into the hall. ‘Sustenance first, and then we finish the tour,’ his voice turns dangerous, ‘if you think you’re up for it.’

I can’t help but wonder if I am. I can’t help but wonder if either of us is.

 

The Interviewing Wade Blog Tour and Giveaway Begins today and I’m over at the fabulous L.C.
Wilkinson’s blog Do join us there!

 

Wade_teaser

 

For the next two weeks find Carla, Wade and me on these fabulous blogs! 

Mar 23   L. C. Wilkinson   http://lcwilkinson.com/

Mar 24   Jan Graham http://jangraham.blogspot.com/

Mar 25   Lynelle Clark http://lynelleclarkaspiredwriter.blogspot.com/

Mar 26   Nice Ladies, Naughty Books http://niceladiesnaughtybooks.com/

Mar 27   Love Bites & Silk Ties http://www.lovebitessilkties.co.uk/

Mar 30   Books and Banter   http://locglin.blogspot.com

Mar 31   Case Sharidan   http://casesheridan.wordpress.com/

Apr 1   Lisabet Sarai http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com

Ap 2   Gale Stanley http://galestanley.blogspot.com/

Ap 3   Illustrious Illusions http://www.illustriousillusions.com/

 

INTERVIEWING WADE is an Executive Decision novel (Click Here for Book One | Book Two | Book Three)

The Executive Decisions Trilogy may be over, but the story continues. Intrepid reporter, Carla Flannery, wants to interview Wade Crittenden, the secretive creative genius behind Pneuma Inc. But when, against all odds, Wade actually agrees to the interview, Carla suspects ulterior motives.

Carla has made a lot of enemies in her work and when Wade discovers she’s being stalked, he agrees to the interview to keep her close and safe. As the situation turns deadly, lives and hearts are on the line, and the interview reveals far more about both than either ever expected.

 

Interviewing Wad is available from:

Amazon UK

Amazon US

Amazon AU

Amazon CA

 

Interviewing Wade Launch Day Celebratory Breakfast with Wade & Carla

Interviewing WadeIt’s the first day of spring! Flowers are blooming, birds are singing and, at long last, it’s launch day for Wade and Carla! I’ve been waiting for it, readers have been waiting for it and though, at first, Wade wasn’t keen on letting his story be known, thanks to Carla’s cajoling and teasing, he finally agreed. It’s totally true! Still waters do run deep, and the currents you don’t see beneath the surface can be very wild and dangerous indeed.

To celebrate, Wade has invited me to the Dungeon for breakfast. Carla’s cooking. Just so you know; both Wade and Carla are sort of … well … food Philistines. Wade has downloaded all the apps for his favorite take-out and delivery places, and he knows all the really good ones in and around Portland. Carla knows all the local drive-throughs and can eat just about any meal that can be ordered from a ‘to-go’ menu while driving in Portland traffic and doing an interview on her cell phone, but don’t tell her father that. He’s in the security business and wishes his daughter would be a little more safety-conscious. Since both Carla and Wade have the metabolism of mountain goats, I’m not expecting health food.

I find Carla in the kitchen of the Suite, dressed in jeans and a blue Portland State t-shirt, her hair caught up in a sloppy ponytail. She’s manning the toaster. Surrounded by half a dozen open boxes of various flavors of Pop Tarts. She smiled up at me and nearly misses a pair of Pop Tarts as they catapult into the air.

‘Hi K D! Congratulations! Help yourselves to the Pop Tarts.’ She nods to a platter near the microwave. ‘Those are already buttered. There are four different kinds, but I forgot what’s where. It’ll be a surprise.’ Then she adds, ‘I was going to make scrambled eggs and bacon, but I had a phone interview run long with someone on the East Coast for an article I’m doing on illegal cage fighting on the East Coast.

‘Don’t worry about the eggs, Carla’s the Pop Tart Queen,’ Wade says, coming up behind her and kissing her ear just as the coffee maker on the counter stops gurgling. He’s wearing his usual baggy black hoodie and faded jeans. ‘She puts butter on ‘em and melts it in the microwave. Excuse me, K D. I’m making coffee.’ He shoves his way past us to the steaming carafe and pulls out three enormous mugs with the Pheuma Inc logo from the cupboard. I watch in fascination as he rips open three packets of cocoa mix and dumps them into the cups. He notices I’m looking and offers a twitch of a smile. ‘It’s Carla’s recipe. Coffee and Cocoa together.’ As he slops coffee into each of the cups with one hand, he reaches a long arm up to the top shelf and pulls down a huge jar of Marshmallow Cream.

‘The Marshmallow Cream’s Wade’s idea,’ Carla says, watching him stir each cup and plop a mound the size of a snowball on top of the mixture. That done he hands us each one and nods to the table. Carla grabs the big platter of Pop Tarts ala Microwave and follows.

Once I’ve selected a very well buttered blueberry Pop Tart, and I can’t keep from smiling.

‘What?’ Wade says. ‘You were expecting eggs Benedict? You know we’re all busy around here.’

‘No!’ I reply. ‘This is exactly what I was expecting, and I can’t think of anything more appropriate than Pop Tarts and Chocolate Coffee to launch your book, Wade.’

Pop Tarts 2‘I can,’ Carla says. She disappears into the kitchen and returns with a huge bakery box. ‘Dee’s secretary, Sandra, brought these down for us, in honor of the occasion.’ She opens box to display some of the most succulent pastries I’ve ever seen, and some of the biggest, fattest chocolate éclairs on the planet. I can’t help it. I moan, and Wade and Carla both nod knowingly. ‘The éclairs, they’re perfect with the coffee,’ Wade says.

‘What could be better with chocolate and coffee than more chocolate and some whipped cream,’ Carla says. She takes a huge bite of her éclair, managing the suggestive spurt of whipped cream with a quick flick of her tongue.

I’m halfway through my éclair before I get up the courage to ask. ‘So, have you read the book yet?’

‘I have,’ Carla says. ‘She gives Wade a chocolatey kiss on the cheek. ‘Wade never reads anything that’s been written about him, but you know that.’

Before I can respond, he adds. ‘Carla’s reading it to me, though. It’s amazing I ever get anything done around her,’ he grumps. ‘She’s always hounding me to read the next chapter.’

Carla elbows him in the ribs, but I see the twitch of a smile at the corner of his lips, and I can’t keep from smiling back. ‘Thank you, Wade, for letting me write it.’

He’s trying hard not to smile now. ‘I figured I’d better let you have your fun, or you’d never leave me alone and let me get back to work. I’d like to finish the photovoltaic cell prototype before Christmas, you know.’ He shoves half a Pop Tart in his mouth.

I turn my attention to Carla, who is grazing her way through a luscious looking pastry filled with lemon cream. ‘And thank you. I know your part in the story was no easier than Wade’s, and I don’t mind telling you, you scared the hell out of me a few times.’

‘She’s good at that,’ Wade interjects, sliding a proprietary arm around her shoulders.

The blush is so visible up over her porcelain Celtic cheeks and in between the smattering of freckles. ‘I’m used to hard stories,’ she says. ‘I’m a journalist, remember?’ Then she changes the topic. ‘I want some chocolate milk. Anyone else want some chocolate milk?’

eclairI decline, but Wade is happy to take her up on her offer, pulling her down on his lap when she returns from the refrigerator and hands him a carton. I can’t keep from thinking how nice it is to see him so relaxed. She musses his dark hair, which just touches the collar of his hoodie, and he gives her a squeeze, then they both turn to me. ‘Good luck with the book, KD,’ she says. He nods.

Wade glances down at his watch. ‘I’ve asked Clyde open the bowling alley this morning. Thought maybe you’d like to celebrate with us over a couple of frames. You do bowl, don’t you?’

‘Not well,’ I reply, ‘but I’d love to join you anyway.’

‘Good,’ he says. ‘Finish your breakfast and I’ll tell Clyde to expect us.’

  *****

The Interviewing Wade Blog Tour and Giveaway Begins Monday, the 23rd on these fabulous blogs

 Mar 23   L. C. Wilkinson   http://lcwilkinson.com/

Mar 24   Jan Graham http://jangraham.blogspot.com/

Mar 25   Lynelle Clark http://lynelleclarkaspiredwriter.blogspot.com/

Mar 26   Nice Ladies, Naughty Books http://niceladiesnaughtybooks.com/

Mar 27   Love Bites & Silk Ties http://www.lovebitessilkties.co.uk/

Mar 30   Books and Banter   http://locglin.blogspot.com/

Mar 31   Case Sharidan   http://casesheridan.wordpress.com/

Apr 1   Lisabet Sarai http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com

Ap 2   Gale Stanley http://galestanley.blogspot.com/

Ap 3   Illustrious Illusions http://www.illustriousillusions.com/

*****

INTERVIEWING WADE: An Executive Decision novel

(Click Here for Book One | Book Two | Book Three)

The Executive Decisions Trilogy may be over, but the story continues. Intrepid reporter, Carla Flannery, wants to interview Wade Crittenden, the secretive creative genius behind Pneuma Inc. But when, against all odds, Wade actually agrees to the interview, Carla suspects ulterior motives.

Carla has made a lot of enemies in her work and when Wade discovers she’s being stalked, he agrees to the interview to keep her close and safe. As the situation turns deadly, lives and hearts are on the line, and the interview reveals far more about both than either ever expected.

Excerpt:

Carla popped the last of her bacon into her mouth and spoke around it. ‘So tell me, is Fort Flannery as unassailable as my father assured me, or are we in need of an upgrade?’

He drained his glass of orange juice and pushed back from the table. ‘Your father did a good job. I didn’t have to do hardly anything.’

‘He’ll be glad to hear that,’ she said. ‘Sorry you had to waste your valuable time in the wee hours. I know how busy you are.’

‘Yes, well, it was on my mind. If you’ll let me see your Android, I’ll give it a little upgrade too.’

‘Will I be able to watch Russian porn on it?’ she asked.

‘Japanese and Chinese porn as well, if you like.’ There was that quirk of a smile that she really would love to eat right off his face.

‘And I’ll assume you’ve given it a test-drive.’

To her delight, the smile didn’t disappear, even though the blush was hot on those chiseled cheeks. ‘I’m my own best guinea pig.’

‘Wade Crittenden, that borders on too much information, but in the interest of consumer protection and all, I thank you.’ The blush grew, but the smile stayed put as she offered him a salute and went into her bedroom to get the device.

She returned to find that he’d shed his hoodie and was filling the sink with soapy water, his broad back mantling the counter like a giant bird of prey. For a second her stomach bottomed at the sight of Wade Crittenden doing dishes at her sink. She stood, Android crushed to her chest, feeling flushed and slightly off-balance. His t-shirt was a loose fit, misshapen and short in the back from too many washings for something that should have migrated to the rag drawer some time ago, and when he reached across the sink to add still more soap, the shirt rode up to reveal the slim line of his back and the muscles where his hips joined his torso just above the swell of his buttocks. The baggy jeans gave enough of an intimation of that swelling to leave Carla breathless and hot enough to want to throw off her own hoodie and splash herself with the soapy water in which he was nearly elbow-deep.

As though he sensed her watching, he turned, slopped water down the front of his shirt and onto his jeans and uttered a surprised curse.

Without thinking she rushed to his side, dropping the device on the table. ‘You don’t have to do that,’ she managed, in a breathless gasp. ‘Sometimes I go for weeks without ever washing so much as a coffee cup.’ She stretched around him, grabbed for a dish towel and offered it to him instead of patting him dry herself, which was what she really wanted to do.

He reached for the towel, holding her gaze. ‘You cook for me, I do the cleanup for you. Fair’s fair.’ His hand slid into the cloth and around her fingers as he drew it to his chest. His breath caught, his lips parted as though to speak, and God help her, she couldn’t resist, she leaned into him on tippy-toe and planted a kiss firmly on his mouth. She only meant for it to be a friendly peck, a way of saying thanks for checking up on her and for doing the dishes, but his other hand, covered with soapy water, swooped in and grabbed the front of her hoodie reeling her to him. Then he curled his fingers in the tangle of her wild hair and cradled the back of her head, pulling her still further up on her toes. ‘Oh God,’ he whispered, his tongue darting deep, his lips, soft and hard and bruising all at the same time, meeting hers in a clash of wills and a heroic effort to get closer and deeper. ‘Oh God, Carla, why did you do that,’ he gasped against her mouth.

‘Just being friendly,’ she managed, before the tongue sparring got serious. He gave the towel a toss and yanked down the zipper of her hoodie, shoving it off onto the floor, his hands skimming her breasts in his efforts, thumbs lingering to rake her nipples that were already painful in their peaking. His jeans might have been loose, but they were not loose enough to disguise his erection, and he didn’t seem to care. Both hands slid to cup her bottom and he lifted her, settling her onto the kitchen table, pushing her legs apart with his knees and moving in between her thighs as she went to work on his fly.

‘I have lots of friends,’ he breathed. ‘None of them do that to me.’

‘How about this,’ she said biting his lower lip and sliding her hand down inside his boxers. ‘Do they do this?’

‘No,’ he returned the nip. ‘Never, none of them.’ For a second he faltered. ‘Carla, I –’

‘Shut up, Wade. I don’t wanna hear it.’ This time she bit his tongue before she took his hand and guided it down into her baggy sweat bottoms and into her own boxers.

Interviewing Wad is available from:

Amazon UK

Amazon US

Amazon AU

Amazon CA

 

Lily Harlem’s Seriously Hot BDSM Billionaire Novel, IN EXPERT HANDS is now available!

IEH smallLook what’s new and sizzling from my good friend, sister Brit Babe and fabulous writer, Lily Harlem! 

 

In Expert Hands Blurb:

Imogen White has it all—a high-flying career, a prestigious London home and friends she knows will fight her corner. She’s going up, and she’s in control, she’s also got the hots for one very important, very sexy client.

Kane Ward is a self-made billionaire whose determination to be the best of the best has left him alone. He has everything money can buy, yachts, jets, and villas in all four corners of the globe, but even he can’t buy time to suit his needs.

And his needs are very specific, his desires a particular shade of kink and his tastes anything but vanilla. So when he sets his sights on Imogen it’s a given that things are going to get dark, that pleasure will be laced with pain and determining his success will be measured by her blushes and gasps and cries of delight. But Imogen doesn’t need to worry, she’s in expert hands and her every fantasy is about to come true—and then some she’d never imagined in her wildest dreams.

IN EXPERT HANDS has a spin-off short story, IN SAFE HANDS which is featured in the Brit Babes SEXY JUST GOT RICH anthology. Go grab your copy – it’s available from all good ebook retail outlets at a bargain introductory price – and let yourself fall into the dark, erotic world of the Ward brothers, but remember to call them Sir if you’re wearing their collar!

In Expert Hands Buy Links

Amazon US http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00TI0T5KE

Amazon UK http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B00TI0T5KE?*Version*=1&*entries*=0

Amazon Ca http://www.amazon.ca/gp/product/B00TI0T5KE?*Version*=1&*entries*=0

Amazon AU http://www.amazon.com.au/gp/product/B00TI0T5KE?*Version*=1&*entries*=0

Goodreads – https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/24916749-in-expert-hands?ac=1

 

Excerpt from IN EXPERT HANDS 18+

“Would you like a drink?” he asked over the sound of the music.

“I’m okay, unless you want one.”

“No. I drank water after my workout.” He urged her forward. “So shall we go straight into a playroom?”

“If that’s what you want?”

He glanced at his watch. “There should be something going on to satisfy our voyeur plans for the evening.”

They stepped toward the bar.

Kane indicated another doorway at the opposite end that had a chain mail curtain hanging from its frame. “It’s through there.”

“Ah, K. Long time no see.” A man wearing a similar jacket to Kane’s but with only two stars over the breast pocket extended his hand.

He didn’t wear a mask and Imogen could see that his smile was genuine.

“Nate, how have you been?” Kane took his hand and they shook.

“Great, been in the City for a few weeks on business. Making the most of my free time by coming here.” Nate turned to kane 1Imogen and raised his eyebrows. “You have company.”

“Don’t look so surprised.” Kane squeezed Imogen a little closer.

“I am. You don’t usually bring guests. Special occasion?”

Imogen felt Kane tense. She sensed he wasn’t enjoying having his break from the ordinary commented on. “

No occasion,” Kane said. “Good to see you, Nate, perhaps we’ll get a chance to catch up later.”

“Yep. That would be cool.” Nate held up what appeared to be a glass of fizzy water and nodded. He kept his attention on Imogen. “Enjoy your evening here at Sub Space. I’m sure Master K will address your every need.”

“Thank you.” Imogen smiled then felt her cheeks heat as Nate swept his gaze down her body—starting at the collar, then lingering on her breasts and finally on her boots.

Kane stepped forward, tugging her with him. “This way.”

After several paces she touched the collar. “This, around my neck,” she said quietly. “What would happen if I wasn’t wearing it?”

“It would make you fair bait for men like Nate, who are just out to play in a scene, find someone to hook up with.” He glanced at her. “He had no right to look at you like that.”

“Well, the outfit kind of screams look at me.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Oh.” She was confused. “It’s not?”

“No. You’re with me. I’ve claimed you with a collar. What’s more, I outrank him. He should show more respect.”

“You outrank him?”

“Of course.” He pulled back the chain curtain and opened a door. He ushered Imogen into the new room.

Imogen opened her mouth and stared around, thoughts of Nate vanishing.

Kane moved her from the doorway and into the shadows. He stepped behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.

“What are your first impressions?” he asked by her ear, his lips brushing her lobe and his breath heating a trail down her neck.

She leant back into him, loving being so close, held by him. But she couldn’t concentrate fully on his embrace because of what was before her. “It’s…sexy.”

“Mmm, I’m glad you think so,” he said, the soft material of his mask rubbing against her temple. “What else?”

She looked around. The room was sectioned into six large cubicles, each one decorated in dark tones and with a combination of low lights and spotlights. Each three-walled area held a bed or a table or some other piece of equipment in the center. Three spaces were occupied.

There was an audience, too, couples, singles, threesomes sitting on more large sofas. Imogen could only see the backs of their heads. Some appeared enraptured, others holding quiet conversations.

“Tell me,” Kane urged, slipping his hand over the smooth material covering her waist. “What do you think about that, over there, to your left.”

Imogen was already staring in that direction. It had been the main thing that had captured her attention.

Portrait of a young couple
A naked woman was bent double, tied to a skinny padded table with her ankles fastened to the legs and her arms stretched out on two platforms, crucifix-like. Her skin was pale except for her behind, which was scarlet.

Beside her stood a man—dressed like Kane in black trousers and a velvet jacket—wielding a flogger. He walked around the woman as if surveying the marks on her ass then cracked down the many strands over her skin.

Imogen jerked and a tingle traveled over her buttocks, as though her nerves were empathetic with what the woman on the table was going through.

The man hit again.

The woman groaned and moved her head, her face coming into Imogen’s view. She had her eyes screwed up tight and her lips were parted. There was a flush of red on her cheeks that matched the rosy blush on her backside.

“Talk to me,” Kane said softly.

“Is she enjoying it?” Imogen asked, although she was pretty sure she knew the answer. The woman appeared to be in ecstasy, as though she’d folded in on herself and only her body and sensation existed.

“Very much so,” Kane said. “Master Zen is very capable of working his sub towards orgasm just through striking her.”

“Are they just…playing a scene or are they…?”

“Lovers, committed to each other? Yes, actually those two are. They’re regulars here and live the lifestyle.”

“The lifestyle?”

“Yes.” He slid his hand to her collar and spanned it with his thumb and fingers. “They live full time as Dom and sub. He commands and she obeys.”

“It sounds…old-fashioned.” Imogen wasn’t sure about the obeying thing. She’d known friends who’d purposely had that removed from their wedding vows.

“It’s a symbiotic relationship,” Kane went on, smoothing his fingers around her collar and brushing her skin.

A small shiver ran down Imogen’s spine.

The woman was struck again—several times in fast succession.

Imogen stared at the spectacle.

“You see,” Kane said. “She needs to be adored, cared for, taken through life by the man she loves. He needs to protect her, satisfy her, ensure that everything is perfect for her at all times. That is what makes him feel complete.”

“And that includes this. Beating?”

“Beating, spanking, flogging, whatever you want to call it, yes, it includes this, because that’s what they both enjoy, it’s their thing. It’s their kink.”

Kane went quiet and Imogen watched as Master Zen stood directly behind his sub. He appeared to fiddle at his groin then his pants loosened around his hips. He pushed forward.

The woman arched her back and her cry echoed around the room.

He reached for her shoulders, dragged her onto him.

“He’s…” Imogen said.

“Yes. He’s clearly very pleased with her. She’s getting exactly what she wants tonight.” Kane’s voice was low and husky, as though the sight was turning him on.

Imogen watched, fascinated as the Dom began to fuck his woman with urgency. The sub couldn’t move, she was strapped down, but he was moving for them. Thrusting in and out, hard, frantic, gripping her shoulders, her hair, her hips. His hands were all over her.

Imogen’s knickers dampened and she shifted within Kane’s arms.

“Would you like to get fucked like that?” Kane whispered.

Imogen half turned to him, his words a shock, despite where they were and what they were watching.21 spanked in stockings

“Tell me,” he said, cupping her cheek and holding her face. “Tell me what you’re thinking?”

“I…” Imogen was breathing heavily. Fuck. What was she thinking? That she wanted to get fucked like that? She wanted to feel the flogger?

“Would you like to be her, on that table, with Master Zen taking you to the exquisite high she is rocketing towards right now?” Kane asked. “Red and sore, filled to the max? Nothing else in your mind except claiming that pleasure?”

She did, but it wasn’t Master Zen she wanted behind her, yanking her hair, scratching and marking her skin. Sinking deep, so deep. Filling her to bursting point.

It was Kane, or K as he was known here. It was him she wanted.

“Imogen,” Kane murmured, his mouth almost touching hers. “Talk to me.”

“Yes.” The word scratched from her throat. “But—”

He pressed his thumb over her lips, flattening them against her teeth. “No buts. Or if there are, tell me later.” He gave a brief smile. “Yes is enough.”

 

lily-harlem lipsAbout Lily Harlem

Lily Harlem lives in the UK and is an award-winning, best-selling author of contemporary erotic romance. She writes for publishers on both sides of the Atlantic including HarperCollins, Totally Bound, Xcite, Ellora’s Cave and Sweetmeats Press. Her Hot Ice series regularly receives high praise and industry nominations.

Before turning her hand to writing Lily Harlem worked as a trauma nurse and her latest HarperCollins release, Confessions of a Naughty Night Nurse, draws on her many experiences while nursing in London. Lily also self-publishes and The Silk Tie, The Glass Knot and Scored have been blessed with many 5* reviews since their release.

Lily also co-authors with Natalie Dae and publishes under the name Harlem Dae – check out the Sexy as Hell Box Set available exclusively on Amazon – The Novice, The Player and The Vixen – and That Filthy Book which has been hailed as a novel ‘every woman should read’.

One thing you can be sure of, whatever book you pick up by Ms Harlem, is it will be wildly romantic and down-and-dirty sexy. Enjoy!

meet the ward brothers

Lily Harlem Links

Website http://www.lilyharlem.com/

Blog http://www.lilyharlem.blogspot.com/

Twitter https://twitter.com/lily_harlem

Facebook https://www.facebook.com/lily.harlem

Facebook author page https://www.facebook.com/LilyHarlemAuthor

Pinterest http://pinterest.com/lilyharlem/

Raw Talent http://rawtalentseries.co.uk

BritBabes http://thebritbabes.blogspot.co.uk

Hockey Romance http://www.hockeyromance.com

Newsletter Subscription http://www.lilyharlem.com/newsletter-subscription.html

Hot Ice https://www.facebook.com/hoticeseries

Google+ https://plus.google.com/u/0/106837751333678531161/posts

Harlem Dae http://www.harlemdae.com

Goodreads http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4070110.Lily_Harlem

 

 

 

 
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The Romance Reviews

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