Out Now! Beast Denied by Faye Avalon (@faye_avalon) #paranormal #PNR #shifters

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Beast DeniedBook Blurb:

To embrace the future, they must defy the past.

Beasts of Bodmin Moor, Book 2

Naomi Flynn never intends to mate or marry. Either one would leave her open to the manipulation she’s sworn never to endure again. Besides, no panther male will want her once they know the truth behind what happened a decade ago.

She’s happy to burn up the sheets in a buddy-with-benefits arrangement, until a craving for a three-way sexual adventure thrusts her right back into the arms of the man she can’t afford to remember.

Tynan Galloway doesn’t intend to stand by and watch the woman he wants throw herself at every male with a pulse except him. Ten years ago, a brutal assault robbed him of his destiny as a protector of the pack, but damned if Naomi is going to be another casualty of his fate.

In the heat of a fantasy come true, Naomi’s resolve to keep her emotional distance weakens. But when Tynan discovers she’s in potential danger, he dares her to deny he’s the only man who can protect her. Never expecting she’ll go to extremes to prove him wrong…

Product Warnings

A hot panther shifter with something to prove, a heroine with a secret to keep, and a threesome arrangement which brings out the teeth and claws.

*Top Pick* Night Owl Reviews

“captivating paranormal romance…fast paced…sizzling chemistry…spine tingling tension.”

https://www.nightowlreviews.com/v5/Reviews/Evampire-reviews-Beast-Denied-by-Faye-Avalon

 

Buy Links:

Samhain: https://www.samhainpublishing.com/book/5747/beast-denied

Amazon: http://myBook.to/BeastDenied

Nook: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/beast-denied-faye-avalon/1122833125?ean=9781619233034

All Romance: https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-beastdenied-1955321-340.html?referrer=6bdb1f9160564c0525b41f36e51861a0

Kobo: https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/beast-denied

 

Excerpt:

Pushing through the jittery discomfort, Naomi moved until her back was to the men. She reached around to unhook her bra, then held the unfastened cups close to her chest. Turning back, with the men’s gazes focused on her still-covered breasts, she let the straps fall away. There was a sense of power, Naomi thought, in holding a man enthralled, or in this case, men. While it might have been better easing herself into this particular game more gradually, there was sometimes a lot to be said for simply plunging in at the deep end.

Reminding herself this was her choice, her fantasy, she let her hand fall away, and the bra fell to the floor.

Malcolm groaned, his prick bobbing again. Derek had barely moved, but his throat contracted as he swallowed.

Twisting around again, Naomi hooked her fingers into the sides of the wispy black panties and began to lower them down over her hips, the cool brush of air on her bared backside sending shivers along her sensitive flesh.

“Fuck. Get over here before I come just by looking at you.”

Malcolm, Naomi thought. The more gregarious of the two. Derek was far more intense, quietly watching her as the three of them had chatted in the bar, and now while she performed her striptease.

When she turned back, Derek was on his knees at the end of the bed. His eyes gleamed dangerously, and he grabbed her wrist, yanking her onto the mattress. She tumbled facedown, the breath knocked out of her.

Hands trailed over her naked flesh, sliding up her thighs, cupping her rear, stroking her back. Roughly, she was tossed onto her back, and she looked up into Derek’s menacing gaze. His cock pressed against her leg, while Malcolm cupped her pussy.

Oh shit. What was she doing? She didn’t know these men. Had no idea what sort of people they were apart from the fact they were down from London on business and, like her, were looking for a good time.

She was such an idiot. She needed her damned head examined.

Her strength was greater than that of human women, but when she tried to scramble up, Derek pressed her back with ease. “You’re not going anywhere until we get what you’ve been promising all evening.”

Malcolm laughed and pressed his finger inside her. “She’s up for it,” he said on another laugh. “Just likes to make it more exciting, don’t you, babe?”

He pushed deeper, making her flinch. “Like that, don’t you?”

“No. This was a mistake. I—”

Derek shoved Malcolm aside, then scrambled between Naomi’s legs, pushing them apart with his knees. She tried again to get up, but he pressed a hand to her shoulder, weighing her down. “Give me a damn condom.”

Malcolm tossed him the foil packet, and, keeping his gaze on hers, Derek ripped it open. His feral look pushed fresh fear into her stomach, and with every ounce of strength she possessed, she tried to scramble up. She couldn’t budge him.

Derek released his hold on her shoulder to slide on the rubber, but before she could take the chance to escape, Malcolm pinned down her arms.

Panic clutched at her throat, nausea churning her stomach. Oh God. This was so not how she’d thought it would be.

With his face a snarling mask of determination and sickening lust, Derek yanked up her hips.

“I… I’ve changed my mind.”

Her throat was so tight, she could barely enunciate, and it was evident he hadn’t heard her when he grabbed his cock and leaned over her.

“I said, no!” With sheer will, she directed every fiber of strength into her arms. Energy pulsed along her muscles, firing the nerve endings, and she sucked air into her tight lungs. Releasing her breath, she shoved upward, and Malcolm toppled back. Naomi had a glimpse of the shock lighting his face before she pushed at Derek’s shoulders. When he recoiled, she took advantage of the surprise factor and scrambled off the bed.

She almost made it to the bathroom, intent on getting her dress and hightailing it out of there, but Derek caught her around the waist.

Naomi lashed out, shoving her foot against his chest with such force that Derek went hurling into the air and across the room. He landed awkwardly against the walnut bureau, blood oozing from his cheek.

While Malcolm stood motionless by the bed, watching openmouthed, Derek wiped a hand across his face. He stared at the blood-smeared hand and staggered dazedly to his feet. Naomi didn’t hang around. She grabbed her dress from the bathroom and hurried into it. Snatching up her bag, she beat a hasty retreat.

She dashed out into the empty hallway and, with her dress half-zipped, fled down the hotel stairs. The lights in the reception area were dimmed for the night, but she focused on the revolving door ahead of her. When she pushed at it, nothing happened. She gave it another shove before realizing they were probably locked for security reasons. Glancing in the direction of the reception desk, she saw a young man hurrying toward her.

“Is everything okay?” His pale eyes were full of concern. “Can I help you with something?”

“Just let me out of here,” she said. “Please.”

He hesitated, and Naomi considered summoning that superhuman strength she’d found upstairs to get the doors open.

“What the hell’s going on?”

Her mind buzzed, her body still trembled, but through the mayhem of it all, she recognized the voice from behind her. She took a moment to center herself, to find a degree of balance, which bordered on impossible as memories slammed into her.

Tynan Galloway.

Naomi had spent the past decade well over a hundred miles away from him, and during the months she’d been back in Bodmin had managed to largely avoid him. Now he decided to show up at the lowest point in her existence. Well, not the lowest, but she wasn’t going there right then, and certainly not with him looming beside her.

She turned, her hands trembling around the strap of her bag, and met his piercing emerald gaze. It had haunted her for so long, the devastating hue of it. But now, facing it again, her heart trembled.

“I just need to leave.” She swallowed before addressing the young porter. “Can you please open the door?”

His concerned gaze slid over her short black dress as, she imagined, did Tynan’s. “Are you sure everything’s all right, miss?”

“Everything’s fine. I just—”

“Brandy,” Tynan said to the porter. “Double, I think.”

Before Naomi could object, the young man nodded and slipped away. Tynan took her arm and headed for a nearby chair. She tried to shake him off. She’d had quite enough of being manhandled for one bloody evening.

“I don’t want brandy. I just want to leave. I’ve had a crappy night.”

Still with his hand on her arm, he swung her half around so her back was to him. “Is that why your dress is unzipped?”

She took the inference. “It’s none of your business.”

“If you’re sleeping with a sleazebag who throws you out in the middle of the night before letting you get dressed, I’m making it my business.”

He zipped her dress, then plunked her down on the chair and pulled another one close so he could sit facing her. His knees bumped hers.

The contact shot a wave of longing through her. “All I want is to get out of here. And what are you doing skulking around hotel lobbies in the middle of the night? Doesn’t high-tech hacking keep you busy enough?”

“Yeah.” He frowned, effectively ignoring her barbed comment. “But there’s always room for more excitement.”

Seeing as she’d had more than enough excitement for one night, Naomi found it hard to agree.

The porter came back with brandy, hovering over her like a mother hen while she dutifully sipped at it. At Tynan’s nod, he moved away back to the reception desk and left them alone in the dimly lit hall.

“Want to tell me about it?”

She peered at him through narrowed eyes. “No.”

Tynan kept a steady focus on her, almost as if he could see right down to her very soul. She remembered that look. She hated it.

“Did he hurt you?”

He asked the question so quietly, so gently, her eyes filled and she turned away. She was coming down, all that adrenaline leveling out and leaving her raw, exposed. She’d felt that way once before with Tynan, a long time ago. She hated that too.

 

Copyright © 2016 Faye Avalon
All rights reserved — a Samhain Publishing, Ltd. publication

Author Bio:

Faye Avalon enjoys writing sexy stories about strong men and the savvy women who rock their world. She has taken a roundabout journey toward her writing career, working as cabin crew, detouring into property development, public relations and education, before finally finding her passion: writing spicy romantic fiction.

Faye lives with her super-ace husband and one beloved, ridiculously spoiled dog. They regularly expand their family by boarding puppies destined to become guide dogs. Between writing, reading, running around after manic puppies and grabbing some quality time with her husband, Faye enjoys a challenging yoga session or a night at the movies.

Links:

Website:  www.fayeavalon.com

Blog: www.fayeavalon.wordpress.com

Twitter: @faye_avalon

Facebook: www.facebook.com/faye.avalon.1

Pinterest: https://uk.pinterest.com/fayeavalon1/

Instagram:  https://www.instagram.com/fayeavalon/

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Writing Compost

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7July growth
Spring is in the air at long last! The birds are getting amorous. It won’t be long till the bees will be out pollinating their little socks off. It’s that time of year. Yup, that very fecund, fertile time of year when a woman’s thoughts turn to … compost!

 

Yup! You heard me right. It’s time, once again, to give some serious thought to compost. Most of you know by now that I’m an avid veg gardener. I’ve flooded social media with images of ripe, succulent strawberries, flirtatiously phallic courgettes and full-bodied, mouthwatering sweet corn. I’ve told tales of the allotment – some of them dirtier than others, and I’ve even written a fair few sexy encounters that take
cucumber 17 aug 1mail.google.complace in veg gardens. Gardening is one of the topics I’m almost as enthusiastic about as I am writing. That’s not terribly surprising since the two are so philosophically compatible. So today, in honor of the beginning of Spring, I’m talking compost.

 

My husband and I inherited our first composter from the people who owned our house before us. We were suspicious of it at first and more than a little intimidated by it. It looked like a Rubbermaid Dalek casting a long menacing shadow across our back lawn. We’d heard that if we put egg shells and fruit and veg peels, cardboard and tea and coffee grounds in the top that in a few months, we could open the little door at the bottom and the myriad resident worms would have magically transformed all that garbage into rich luscious soil. Then all we’d have to do was
shovel all that organic loveliness out into our garden.

Harvest 25 AugIMG00569-20130825-1722

I’ll admit, we were skeptical at first – I mean seriously – egg shells and veg peels in and rich, luscious compost out? I mean that’s just crazy talk, surely! Still, we did as instructed, every day adding coffee grounds and tea bags and other goodies worms and invertebrates love to chow down on. Then one day we took the plunge, slid open the door and there it was, all dark and rich and soft and warm, and smelling vaguely of citrus. We filled a couple of planters. We were planning to put in geraniums, but never got around to it. Several weeks later I noticed there were tomato plants coming up in the compost we had excavated. My mother used to call plants that came up where they weren’t planted volunteer and, sure enough, we had eight volunteer tomato plants, the result of seed not broken down in our strange compost-making Dalek.

 
We never did get our geraniums, but it didn’t really matter. Our eight tomato plants
yielded up their yummy fruit at the end of the summer, an unexpected, unintended First ripe toms 10 Aug 2013IMG00572-20130910-0951gift from our predecessors. The next year we actually dug a bed and planted corn and beans and squash. After that there was no looking back. Our one lone composter has been joined by three others, and twice a year we open the doors at the bottom and marvel at what an army of invertebrates can make from our kitchen waste.

 

The next year, as my sister and I shoveled bucket after bucketful of rich, loamy soil from our original battered, smudged composter and spread it in anticipation of the veg I’d be planting in May, I thought about how much writing is like composting. There are times when my efforts truly seem inspired. Those are the fabulously heady
times all writers live for and hope for, when every word shines the moment we write it down.

 

I would love it if everything I wrote would come forth fully formed and beautiful like Venus on the Half Shell, but more often than not my words are more like used teabags on an egg shell. More often than not, what I write is kitchen rubbish, the remnants of experiences already spent, the detritus of half-formed ideas that aren’t quite what I fantasized when they appeared so perfectly shaped in my imagination. Somehow they’ve turned to apple cores and coffee grounds by the time I manage to get them into words.

2015-06-27 11.36.59

My husband takes his lunch to the office, and he brings home his fruit peels and apple cores because he knows what they will become. He convinced the lady who
works at the office canteen to save the coffee grounds for him because he knows what the worms will magic them into in a few months’ time. It’s true, what we dig out of our composters is technically just worm poop. Oh, but it’s so rich, so fertile, so completely loaded with potential. My husband knows, as I know, what wonderfully succulent corn and tomatoes and green beans we’ll grow in that rich compost in a few months’ time.

 

Writing is no different. On the written page, the coffee grounds and apple cores of my everyday existence, the remnants of half formed thoughts, the grandiose ideas that didn’t quite have the magic on paper that they did in my minds’ eye will become compost, no matter how much they may seem like rubbish. Nothing can happen until I write those words down — no fermentation, no agitation, no digestion, no chemistry.

 

Writing imageBut once the ideas are words on the written page, the real process begins. I turn them and twist them and break them down and reform them until they become the rich luscious medium of story, until they are just the right consistency to grow organically
what my imagination couldn’t quite birth into the world in one shining Eureka
moment. It takes longer than Venus on the Half Shell, and it involves some hard work and some getting my hands dirty, and a whole lot of patience. But the end result is succulent and full bodied, organic and living. And my finger prints, my dirty mucky finger prints are all over it. It’s intimately and deeply my own, seeded in the compost of what I put down in a hurry, raised up in the richness of what I then cultivate with sustained, deliberate, sometimes desperate, effort. The result is achingly slow magic that lives and breathes in ways I could have never brought about, ways I could have never experienced in a less messy, less composty sort of way.

2015-06-27 11.40.19

 Happy Spring, everyone! May your compost be rich and your yields be fabulous.

The Psychology of Dreams 101: Episode 5

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f7c97536836dc44ea7a1faaa02ab1a6aIn Part 5 of The Psychology of Dreams, Leah and Al begin to wonder if they’re really having a Groundhogs Day, Comedy of Errors, sort of experience rather than a punishment dream.

What if you got punished when you didn’t get your dreams right? That’s the dilemma our heroin, Leah, and her psychology of dreams teacher, Al. The Psychology of Dreams 101 is a romp into the sexy unconscious as Leah Kent takes a Psychology of Dreams adult education class, only to discover that the required Dream Journal leads to some seriously kinky night journeys.

No, I didn’t dream it, and I’m seriously hoping I don’t get punished like Leah and Al do if I don’t get it quite right, but The Psychology of Dreams did bubble up from somewhere in my unconscious and I had to share it. Since then,the Muse has been back knocking around in my imagination in some pretty unusual ways, and never taking the path I’d expect, but then dreams are like that, aren’t they? Enjoy episode 5!

 

I have no idea how long this little ditty will be, nor where it will lead, but I’m willing if you are. Please, read and enjoy The Psychology of Dreams 101.

 

If you’ve missed Episode 4, find it here. 

 

Chapter 5 In Which Nothing Happened … Again?

“Now then, let’s see if we can’t ease the pain in you lovely little bottom before we get on with the spanking, ” Dr. Clyde said before Leah could ask what he meant by his remark about them never getting out of the dream. He rummaged and rattled through the surprising abundance of the desk drawers until he came up with a tube of something she couldn’t see in her bent-over position, but as he unscrewed the lid, she immediately smelled peaches. There was the sound of something squirting, and then she felt the doctor’s large palm spreading cool lotion against her burning butt. She sighed and clenched at the pleasure of it. “There now. That feels better, doesn’t it hon? Just what the doctor ordered. We don’t want that lovely ass of yours too wounded just yet. Your punishment has hardly begun, after all.”

“Peach? Seriously?” Al said, coming closer to observe and sniffing as he did so.7401867966b49d9e25e799def0c09dae

“Yup! And it’s edible too,” Dr. Clyde said. “Taste! Not like that, Dear God, Al, put the tube down, and use your imagination. You’re in a dream for fuck sake! And you,” he turned his attention back to Leah, “you lie still. You’re being punished. You don’t get to see what’s happening. You have to trust the dream, trust that what happens next is all a part of the experience.”

“Enough of the psycho-babble, already, Derrick. We get it,” Al protested. There was a shuffling of male bodies behind her, and Leah felt a different set of hands, clearly Al’s hands. They were not quite as large as Dr. Clyde’s, but they were slightly calloused. She wondered how someone who taught courses on dream psychology got calloused hands. He gently cupped her hips, carful not to touch her wounded left ass-cheek. Then she felt the humid heat of his breath just before his warm wet tongue pressed against the place where her thigh met her left buttock.

“Oh God!” she managed, as the unexpected, but delightful, sinuous lap of his tongue up the rounded contour of her ass cheek moved inward, closer to the cleft that she knew would taste nothing at all like peaches. Meanwhile the doctor droned on that though at one point in our evolution, we liked the scents and odors of the body, at present that was less the case, and scented and flavored lubricants and lotions for sex often made the partners more comfortable with their personal smells.

“I like her smell,” came Al’s muffled reply. “It’s her I want to taste, not fucking peaches.”

“Wait a minute, you can smell me? I mean I’m sure you can smell me now, but … before?”

“I ha’ a ‘en’ative nothe,” came the slurped reply against her ass, and she Sleeping woman reading181340322466666994_IswNAb85_bdecided right then and there that she was just fine with that.

“I fail to see how eating her out is going to help ease the pain at all,” Dr. Clyde observed as Al licked and slurped and nibbled ever closer to the ache at the center that had nothing to do with the spanking.

“It’s my dream.” Leah protested, wriggling and squirming to open her legs against the restraint of the panties around her knees. “If I want him to do … that, then surely he should do that.”

“It’s hardly a punishment though, is it?” the doctor said, stepping back and folding his arms across his chest observing Al’s efforts from the edge of Leah’s peripheral vision.

“Who the fuck ca — res?” she managed with a little gasp as Al fingered her open to make room for his very talented tongue.

She was just getting into it, just beginning to think that maybe Al’s tongue was prehensile when she heard a grunt and opened her eyes to discover the good doctor had moved closer, and he was now observing with his trousers open, his gaze locked on what Al was doing to her bottom and his fist locked around his heavy erection, which pointed accusingly at her ass as he shifted his hips to free his balls. Not that she wanted him to stop or anything, but she was just about to comment that she failed to see what his cock stroking had to do with her punishment when the sudden absence of a warm tongue from her nether region and the sound of a zipper opening told her that, in solidarity with his fellow male, Al had just freed Simba. She pressed her legs tightly together and wriggled just enough for the binding panties to drop to the floor. Then she kicked them aside and she was free too, opening her thighs anticipating more than Al’s tongue when the damn doctor called a halt to all activities.

“Now what!?” Both she and Al growled at the same time.

“You’re not supposed to fuck her, Al. You’re supposed to spank her, punish her, make her repentant.”
“Oh I am,” she managed breathlessly. “I’m very repentant. I’ll never write down fake dreams again.”

Dr. Clyde ignored her. “Look, in the dreams, you’re both being punished. No
one gets satisfaction until the punishment is complete.”

“Seriously?” Leah said, and Al cursed profusely. Under different circumstance to hear such foul language from the mouth of her mild-mannered instructor would have shocked her, but at the moment, she was inclined to agree with him completely.

“Well, I suppose I could have some satisfaction,” the doctor added with a little shrug of his broad shoulders, and the movement made his dick look like it shrugged too in its anxious agreement. “After all it’s not my dream and I’m not being punished.” Cock in hand, he insinuated himself between Al and Leah and with a quiver of anticipation, Leah wriggled against the table as he fingered her open.

“Wait a minute,” Al said. “This is Leah’s dream. What if she doesn’t want you to fuck her? What if she just wants to get on with it?”

“No, no! That’s all right. I’m good with it. I’m fine.” Leah just wanted someone to fuck her and soon! Since it was her dream, why not the good doctor? He was Dreams image 2IMG_0351certainly ready.

“That doesn’t mean you can’t put your cock in her mouth if you want,” Dr. Clyde said to Al. “I suppose that could be considered punishment. It could certainly be considered humiliation in most BDSM circles, if done under the right circumstances, or so I’m told,” he added quickly.

“What if I put my cock up your ass instead,” Al said, shocking both Leah and Dr. Clyde as he yanked at the waistband of the man’s expensive trousers.

Before the doctor could protest, Leah added her own bit of profanity to the blue language hanging in the air. “It’s my dream, damn it! So just put your fucking cock in his fucking hole already! I don’t see how that can affect my punishment. And when you do, I want to see, so Doc, if you’ll just hand me the mirror.”

“Wait a minute, Al’s the Dom, not you.”

“Shut up, Doc!” both she and Al said at once.

“It’s my dream,” Leah repeated, “Besides,” she added quickly, “I’ve never seen a man fuck a man before.”

“Come to think of it, neither have I,” Dr. Clyde said. “Do you think you can angle the mirror so I can see too.”

And just like that! They were all back in the shrink’s office again. “Nothing happened! Nothing the fuck happened!” Leah said, slamming both hands down hard on Dr. Clyde’s ginormous desk.

“What the hell’s going on?” Al came to her side, limping slightly. “If anything the situation’s getting worse.” He nodded down to the enormous erection putting serious strain on the fly of his jeans and making him walk like he’d had a rough day at the races.

“He’s right,” Leah said. “You left us in a terrible state, both ready to explode, both bent over the damn desk with our pants down, and you …”

“You were sandwiched in the middle,” Al finished her sentence breathlessly.

“Oh my!” Dr. Clyde laid his pen down on the legal pad and tugged at his paisley tie, then he leaned over the desk giving them his full attention. “Well that was a very inconvenient place to call a halt to proceedings, wasn’t it? But I certainly didn’t do it. While I appreciate your high opinion of my abilities, believe me, if I were about to be the jam in a sandwich, well I certainly would stuck around for that. It all sounds rather delightful to me. “ He picked up the pen again and wrote on his legal pad in enormous block letters, NOTHING HAPPENED! “It sounds like you’re getting farther and farther off track. Tell me,” he said, rubbing his hand over his clean-shaven chin, “is it possible that you’re both still dreaming?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course we’re not still dreaming or we wouldn’t be here” Leah said, plopping herself down on the sofa, then standing quickly with a yelp, rubbing the stinging flesh of her left butt cheek.

“What’s the matter?” the doctor asked.

“It’s just that Al spanked me in the dream and you said it was too hard and there was a welt shaped like his belt and …” she fumbled open her jeans and bared d21d10b7afd3ca521ab7d563891fc7a7her ass-cheek from its snug position in transparent red panties, both men leaning anxiously toward the southern exposure. As she very gingerly slid aside the panties, the room was suddenly awash in the scent of peaches.

“Well I’ll be damned.” Forgetting himself, Al reached out and traced an index finger over the stinging buttock, and in spite of the pain, Leah clenched and wriggled and swallowed back a little moan.

Dr. Clyde shook his head and offered a smug chuckle. “Sorry you two, but you can’t put the blame on me when you’re obviously still dreaming.”

Lily Harlem’s JOY RIDE Out Now!

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Joy Ride CoverOut Now

Joy Ride

By Lily Harlem

 

Hi Kd, thank you for inviting me over today!

Having fun as husband and wife is something that’s very special to Mr H and I. We met young and married young, but still, no one makes me laugh like he can, and there is no one I’d ever rather be with. He’s my past, present and future. It’s moments when I feel like this that I’m compelled to write fun married couple stories rather than new romances about people meeting and falling in love. My latest story Joy Ride is exactly that. It’s about a couple who have become lost in the day to day of their lives—working, running a home, raising a family—and have forgotten how to have fun together, sexy fun in particular. With the help of a naughty suggestion they soon get their mojo back, in fact, they get more than the bargained for. I hope you’ll check out Joy Ride, it’s available from Amazon/ Amazon UK and if you subscribe to Amazon’s KU you can read it for FREE.

 

 

Back cover information

Kimberly is desperate—muffling gasps of pleasure under the covers is just not doing it for her. She loves 6d66d306f91a5e495be0aee4025a28a0and desires her husband, but she needs more.

Could the Spice Rack game picked up at a girly, wine-infused party be the solution? Anticipation floods her body as she opens the first “task”. What the…? How is “love on the move” going to spice up her sex life? It’s impossible, or so she thinks, because when a sudden sinful idea pops into her head she has to act, much to Nate’s delight.

Until, that is, they’re spotted, pulled over, hauled out and cuffed, and not in fluffy pink.

They’re in for it, but the glint in Nate’s eye tells Kimberly he’s finally got her exactly where he wants her. It might feel like hell, but before she knows it she’s catapulted to a heavenly place she’s been longing to revisit. As long as they can get away with it.

 

 

 

 Please note this book was previously published with different cover art.

 

 

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Billionaires and Why We Love Them

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money-hands-thumb15490930With the plethora of billionaire stories that have burst on to the scene since the 50SoG phenomena and the second film fast approaching, I found myself wondering the other day while I was doing the ironing just what it is about billionaires that we find so appealing.

OK, I suppose that sounds like a stupid question. People are always curious about how the other half (or in this case less than 1%) live. That’s only natural. And who hasn’t fantasized about how their lives would be different if they won the lottery or a long lost relative died and left them with a fortune? So here are just a few of the reasons I think billionaire romances appeal to readers so much.

 

THE FREEDOM

It they can buy it, they can have it. Billionaires don’t have the financial constraints the rest of us constantly live with. Helicopters, jets, palatial mansions in south France, yachts the size of the QE2 are all just an afternoon’s shopping spree. There’s something very appealing about the freedom that buys, which leads me to my next reason.

 

THE RULES DON’T APPLY

If money is no issue, then many of the rules that apply to most of us are no longer relevant. While money may not be able to buy love, it can certainly buy sexual satisfaction in more than fifty shades and way more colours than gray. There’s something very edgy and exciting about the idea of buying sexual control over another person. It’s a Dom/sub relationship based on wealth, and we live in an age when money is power and money is control. It’s not surprising that money is also very sexy. Neither is it surprising that many of our fantasies involve ‘being bought’ in some way.

 

LIVING THE LIFE

The typical billionaire story involves a billionaire loving or at least lusting for someone who is very average. And while we read that story, we fantasise ourselves right into that role. We become the character who is wined and dined, whisked away in the private jet and shopped for by a very exclusive personal shopper. In essence, we get one helluva makeover, readying us to walk in the rarified air of the billionaire’s world. It’s the luxury and adventure of our fantasies along with the hot nasty steamy sex of … er … well … our fantasies.

 

THE LOOK

In billionaire novels the polished, airbrushed look of wealth is associated with the look or our dream guy or girl. We want our billionaires to conform to our personal fantasies of what sexy and rich look like, and it’s amazing, though not surprising, how often the two go hand in hand. If we’re going to have a fantasy man, he might as well look good AND be rich. And of course, he will lust obsessively after US!

 

SUFFERING BILLIONAIRES

Our billionaire must suffer or have suffered. No silver spoons in these stories. Our billionaires must have suffered tragedy, been raised by crack whores, lost a loved one, had an abusive childhood, secretly suffer from self-doubt, self-loathing, horrible nightmares, think themselves unworthy of love. In the eyes of readers, there has to be a cost for wealth. Most of us can’t really imagine what it’s like to have that much money and power. If we’re being honest, we resent the hell out of people we feel have it but don’t deserve it. We find it gratifying to know that, yes, the wealthy really do put their pants on the same way the rest of us do, and they don’t get off without suffering. We need to see that suffering to make that love connection.

 

SALVATION IS AT HAND

Enter the love interest, just your ordinary girl/guy (insert your own name here) whose soul purpose in the story, as in all love stories, is to rescue the hero from himself, lift him above his self-doubts and heal him. The heroine’s job is to bring the wounded hero, even if he’s a surly billionaire, to a shared HEA. There’s something very satisfying about a billionaire who has everything, but is totally lost and impoverished until the love of his life saves him and brings him true love.

 

BALANCE OF POWER

It’s essential to the story that the love interest has something to offer to the billionaire that he needs, craves, can’t buy with his money. No one really wants to read a story about two perfect billionaires falling in love with each other in their perfect billionaire world. I’m convinced the billionaire story works because if offers the non-billionaire reader a balance of power. There’s something outrageously satisfying about an ordinary person having exactly what a billionaire needs, but can’t buy, what a billionaire is willing to give up all his/her wealth to have. The HEA in a billionaire story is that balance of power, when the billionaire and the ordinary heroine come to a state of equilibrium that allows love. Because the contrast in the beginning is so great, the achievement of this balance of power can be spectacular to watch. And the HEA can be very satisfying because of that contrast.

There! That’s K D’s analysis of the billionaire romance in a nutshell. What do you think?

 

sexyjustgotrich coverSexy Just Got Rich Anthology blurb:

Billionaires have it all but that doesn’t mean they don’t have to work hard to get what their hearts desire. In this anthology of erotic BDSM stories the Brit Babes offer heroes and heroines who aren’t shy about taking what they want. From farmyards to luxury penthouses, wealth is all about sating needs, connecting souls and taking pleasure to new highs. Whether you’re looking for a coffee break read or something longer to curl up in bed with, you’ll find something to suit your needs in Sexy Just Got Rich.

‘Buying the Farm’ blurb:

Cassie Fielding is at her wits end trying to save the family farm from bankruptcy after her father’s illness. But when Cassie returns from university, she finds that, in spite of their financial situation, her father has hired the mysterious Simon Dennis to help run the place. As Cassie and the new hired hand experience an unprecedented heat wave of lust, Cassie comes to suspect that her father and Simon may be in cahoots with their own plan to save the farm, and the whole scheme depends on her.

Excerpt

When Simon came to her, she was standing with her back to the open sliding door, arms braced against the stalls they had renovated. He wanted to breed horses – not on a grand scale, but mostly as an experiment in the beginning, a part of their plan to diversify. The planning was still in the early stages, but it was filled, like most of their plans for Fielding Farm, with exciting possibilities.           

‘I’m sorry, Cassie.’ For a long time he stood silhouetted in the door, his shadow stretching out before him, merging with the gloom of the barn. Then he moved to stand behind her, slipping his arms carefully around her waist, as though he feared she might turn on him. In truth, she wasn’t sure his fears weren’t justified.

At last, she relaxed and leaned her head back against his shoulders, feeling his sigh of relief, warm and humid on the soft flesh of her neck. ‘Is any of what he said true?’

‘Some of it, yes. I wanted to buy Fielding Farm. I made your father a very generous offer, one I didn’t think he could refuse.’

‘But he did.’ Her voice was little more than a whisper.

‘Well, not exactly.’ He kissed her ear and tightened his hold just slightly, not sure what her response would be. ‘He told me he wouldn’t consider any offer until I’d worked as his hired hand for six months.’

Cassie laughed in spite of herself. ‘And then he threw in the farmer’s daughter to sweeten the deal?’

He nuzzled her neck and kissed her just below her ear, sending shivers down her spine, and she pressed back against him. ‘I think he knew all along what would happen. I think he knew that when I got to know the farmer’s daughter, I’d want it all, lock stock and barrel, and buying the farm was gonna cost me way more than I expected to pay.’ One hand moved up to cup her breast and for a long second, he seemed to have lost himself in the soft flesh of her nape and along the top of her shoulder. ‘But Christ,’ he breathed against her throat, ‘it’s worth the price.’

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