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Out Now – Something Different by Nia Farrell #erotica #menage #mfm #bdsm

SOMETHING DIFFERENT coverSOMETHING DIFFERENT (The Three Graces Book Two) is a standalone MFM ménage BDSM rock star erotic romance by Nia Farrell.  Only $2.99 for a potty mouthed gamer girl and triple platinum indie artists who are about to rock her world.



“Sexy and sultry”  “Fun and hot…This ménage à trois, featuring two sexy rock star brothers and a talented musician, will leave you breathless and wanting for more.” “Nia Farrell did not disappoint. Although Something Different is a heavier BDSM read than its predecessor, it was well written and flowed well. I cannot wait for more in this series.”



Singer/songwriter Anna James is getting desperate.  Even with a day job, money’s tight, and she’s wound tighter yet, having sworn off sex to reconcile with her mother who’s in chemo and her father who disowned her for her wild, wicked ways.  No sooner than her psychic best friend predicts an end to Anna’s self-imposed drought, rock stars Jackson and Jacob Thomason come to town, with the dream of an indie album co-written with local American Indian flutist Nico White and his songwriting partner, Anna’s alter ego AJ McPherson.  From the first, it’s clear that the triple-platinum indie rock stars want more than her music, but does Anna dare submit to the part-Comanche twin brothers who perform as No Mercy?


Buy links to Something Different:

Amazon US | Amazon UK | Barnes and Noble | Allromance | BookStrand | Smashwords | Dark Hollows Press | Goodreads

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The Three Graces Series by Nia Farrell

SOMETHING ELSE August 25, 2015

SOMETHING DIFFERENT September 29, 2015

SOMETHING MORE October 15, 2015

from Dark Hollows Press

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They’re staring now, trying to reconcile reality with my stage name and with how I look in the cheesy publicity photo I use, shot four years ago when I turned eighteen and my mother wanted the whole glamour thing captured for posterity. She’s never forgiven me for refusing to let them tease and torture my hair. In the shot, I’m looking over my shoulder like I’m caught in a fucking daydream, while my thick, straight hair drapes my back like a black silk curtain.

I wear my hair shorter now, streaked with red and purple. Those splashes of color and my asymmetrical cut keep it well this side of boring.

My eyes, on the other hand, are the same. Unlike my hair, they wouldn’t improve with the enhancement of colored contacts. They’re purple. Fucking Liz Taylor purple–one of those anomalies of nature that my mother can’t explain. Hell, I’ve caught my dad looking at me sideways, like I might be the spawn of an incubus, ‘cause there’s no way that I belong to the Chinese-born mail man. I guess my wild ways haven’t given him any peace of mind, either. Shit, when I met Grace, she didn’t screw, didn’t swear. Now she goes to bed with two strapping men every night and has a mouth that could make a biker blush. As far as I’m concerned, my corruption of her is complete.

Right now, she’s staying blessedly silent. The Thomason twins are, too.

When the intensity of their stares shifts from kind of rude to downright disconcerting, I’m tempted to stick out my tongue and tease them with the surgical steel ball I’ve sported since I turned twenty-one last year. Right now Jacob’s looking at the diamond stud adorning my left nostril, and Jackson’s staring at my C-cup breasts, his own nostrils flaring as my responsive nipples tighten to hardened nubs.

Enough of this shit.

“Guys.” I drop my voice to a husky whisper that could earn six figures at a 900 number. “I might use an outdated picture to throw people off, but my eyes–they’re fucking purple, for Christ’s sake.”

Yep, the eyes have it. Recognizing them, both men sit straighter and exchange a look that makes excitement thrum in my veins. They’re here to see Nico, but why? I remind myself to breathe, tell myself to slow down before my imagination runs too wild. They wouldn’t be the first major artists wanting to lay tracks with the American Indian artist and his native flutes.

“So…AJ–Anna James.” Jackson says it likes he’s tasting my name, tasting me.

I swear my pussy’s gushing. Okay, so they might not have come looking for me, but they know my work. They’re big fish in my small pond, and their recognition means everything to someone like me.

“Yes, but please, guys, call me Anna. Jax. Jake.”

Recognizing them as individuals, and not just as No Mercy, earns me a brownie point. I rack up more for not going all fangirl on them.

“You work with Nico White. Motherfucker.” Jackson eyes his brother, then turns back to Grace. “Nico’s expecting us at eight. I suppose we’ll see you both then?”

Eight? Shit. That’s–

“You’ll see more of Anna,” Grace tells them. “I make myself scarce on music writing night. The energy’s too intense for me.”

I’ve suspected as much, but the lake where she lives with her lovers is really conducive to creativity. So, rather than meet at the apartment I rent above a vintage storefront on Main Street or somewhere else, Nico and I have our songwriting sessions at their house. Grace, bless her, doesn’t complain, since it means she gets to have some alone-time with J.T., the half-Puerto Rican member of their threesome.

While Grace starts a review of local businesses that would make a Chamber of Commerce proud, I’m thinking of tonight. I might be working with these two men, writing for them. Fuck, maybe we’ll be writing with them. The possibility makes me wet. I know how Nico and I work. Our collaborations are so natural, so organic. We’re comfortable with each other.

These two make me anything but.

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Author Nia FarrellAUTHOR BIO:

Nia Farrell has been writing for pleasure since junior high. Now that she writes about pleasure, she can share the fantasy worlds she visits and introduce readers to characters who remain with her long after their tales are told.

When crafting a story, Nia draws upon a rich diversity of life experiences, which include singer/songwriter, prize winning needle artist, private pilot, Reiki Master/Teacher, crystal healer, psychic fair reader, jewelry maker, physician’s assistant, factory worker, waitress, genealogist, period reenactor, and children’s author. If this life isn’t enough, there are plenty of others to choose from. Otherwise, she devotes hours of research to subjects outside her realm, determined that her stories ring true.

Nia lives on a farm in Southern Illinois (far, far from Chicago, in the heart of “Little Egypt”). A seventh generation Illinoisan, she is descended from Mayflower Pilgrims, American soldiers from the Revolutionary War to World War II, and Scottish nobility. She enjoys playing in the past and visits Ren fairs and historical reenactments in period attire, sharing her love of history and her passion for music. While her husband and two grown daughters may only read her nonfiction work, she appreciates their support in pursuing her dreams, one of which is being published in erotic romance.

Nia Farrell’s Facebook page https://www.facebook.com/?q=#/pages/Author-Nia-Farrell/1678898589004941?ref=bookmarks

Nia Farrell’s Tumblr page http://authorniafarrell.tumblr.com/

Nia Farrell’s Twitter page https://twitter.com/AuthrNiaFarrell

Nia Farrell’s Amazon page http://www.amazon.com/Nia-Farrell/e/B014HAAWLK/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1441506277&sr=1-2-ent

Nia Farrell’s Author page at Dark Hollows Press http://www.darkhollowspress.com/#!nia-farrell/c1mop



COMING in COSTUME: New from Lisbet Sarai!

ComingInCostume600No costume can hide who you really are

When her dominant husband Greg proposes that they attend a company Halloween gala, Isabella is too excited to be suspicious. Unlike her introverted master, she adores parties and dressing up. Greg provides the perfect costumes―a schoolgirl and her stern professor―outfits that are not too revealing or risqué while still celebrating the nature of their relationship. Only after they arrive at the party does Bella learn her Dom has planned a kinky, semi-public scene involving both pain and pleasure―a Halloween masque that includes a starring role for Greg’s best friend James.

This volume includes two bonus stories featuring the same characters. In Silver Bells, Greg gives his long-time friend James a spectacular Christmas gift―Isabella’s body and obedience. In On the Beach, the two dominants join forces to chastise Bella for her lack of self-control in coming without permission―and to reward her for her willing surrender.



Coming in Costume Excerpt:

Greg had more than made good on his promise, dressing us as a schoolgirl and her stern professor. I loved the short, pleated skirt of green plaid and the crisp white blouse with the Peter Pan collar the minute I laid eyes on them. Matching knee socks and black Mary Janes completed the outfit. Underneath—somewhat to my surprise—Greg insisted I wear simple white cotton panties and a stretchy training bra that didn’t quite contain my woman’s breasts. I braided my hair, tying the plaits with matching Kelly green ribbons. The final look was sassy, even suggestive, but perfectly decent. Still, the way the skirt swished against the back of my thighs made me imagine, a bit wistfully, what it would be like to be bare underneath. I pushed the thought away, determined to act respectable if that was what my husband required.

As for his costume—well, it really didn’t matter what Greg wore. He always looked devastating. He’d gone for a bookish style: a white shirt with thin blue stripes open at the throat under a corduroy jacket with, believe it or not, suede elbow patches. He must have scoured the thrift stores to find that relic, but it really fit the part. A slide rule case was strapped to his belt. Glasses with dark plastic frames sat on his nose. His black locks were deliberately mussed.

His clothes didn’t really matter, though. What made his costume convincing was his serious, even severe expression—his aura of total authority. No one could look at him without immediately understanding that he was in charge.

To complete the role, he carried one of those wooden pointers that I remembered from my mother’s photos of her sixth grade classes, at least a yard long and perhaps half an inch in diameter.

“That must be practically an antique,” I commented in the cab.

“A classic instrument of correction,” he replied. “Passed down through the family. My father used this on my brother and me when we needed to be punished.”


Coming in Costume

By Lisabet Sarai

Halloween-themed BDSM ménage erotic romance (X rated)

Approximately 14,000 words, 43 pages

HEA ending

ISBN (Smashwords): 9781311938695


Coming in Costume Buy Links

Amazon US – http://www.amazon.com/Coming-Costume-Lisabet-Sarai-ebook/dp/B017A4L2KK/

Amazon UK – http://www.amazon.co.uk/Coming-Costume-Lisabet-Sarai-ebook/dp/B017A4L2KK/

Smashwords – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/588590





About Lisabet

LISABET SARAI occasionally tackles other genres, but BDSM will always be her first love. Every one of her nine novels includes some element of power exchange, while her D/s short stories range from mildly kinky to intensely perverse.

You’ll find information and excerpts from all Lisabet’s books on her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com/books.html), along with more than fifty free stories and lots more. At her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com), she shares her philosophy and her news and hosts lots of other great authors. She’s also on Goodreads and finally, on Twitter.





Her Secret Ingredient – M/F/M BDSM Erotic Romance from Lisabet Sarai

Available 15 November from Totally Bound: https://www.totallybound.com/her-secret-ingredient

Buy from Totally Bound and get a sizzling extra chapter, available only to TB VIP readers!

Her Secret IngredientHer Secret Ingredient by Lisabet Sarai


Stir in a pinch to stir up his passion

When the Tastes of France food channel offers Mei Lee “Emily” Wong a series of guest spots, she jumps at the opportunity to take her culinary career to a whole new level. Ultimately, she wants a show of her own, but first she has to prove herself to Michelin-starred network founder and effective dictator, Etienne Duvalier. A legend in the world of classic French cuisine as well as a domineering perfectionist, Etienne is sceptical about the culinary abilities of a woman from Hong Kong. To make things more difficult, the master chef is also so gorgeous that Emily can’t help being attracted to him.

Emily tries to solve both problems by spiking her luscious profiteroles with an ancient Oriental aphrodisiac. Unfortunately, Harry Sanborne, the low-key, bespectacled producer for Emily’s show, samples the delicacies she intends for Etienne’s consumption. His powerful reaction to her secret ingredient comes as a pleasant surprise to them both. Harry turns out to be far more impressive in bed than on the set. However, he can’t do nearly as much to advance her ambitions as Etienne. Emily tries once more to tempt the exacting M. Duvalier with her special cooking as well as her feminine charms. The outrageous results threaten to end her TV career forever – until Harry steps in to save her reputation and claim her heart.


X-Rated Excerpt

“Even our Monsieur le Chef can be swayed by great food. The desserts – oh, I’ve just got to try one of these…”

“No! Harry…”

Before I could stop him, though, he’d nipped a cream puff off the pile and popped it into his mouth. His eyes went wide as he chewed and swallowed.

“Unbelievable! Give me another…”

“Please, no…!” I grabbed at his arm, but it was too late. He’d already devoured a second choux.  “Those are supposed to be for Etienne…”

“Come on, you’ve made at least two dozen. He won’t miss one or two.”  Harry made as if to reach for a third puff. I hung on, trying to restrain him, but he was far stronger than I. Under that dorky clothing, I felt his muscles tense and shift.

He halted, his fingers inches away from its target, as if suddenly aware of my touch.  Turning away from the tower of pastries, he gazed down at me. Behind his glasses, his mocha-coloured eyes gleamed with powerful purpose.

“Harry?” My stomach did a somersault. My cheeks felt as though they’d just come out of the oven. Meanwhile he held me in that fierce, all-consuming stare.

My right hand still gripped his left arm, near the shoulder. He reached out to rest his on my shoulder, as if we were about to dance. “You know, I actually see something a lot sweeter right here.” He slid his palm down my back and pulled me to his chest with a decisiveness that sent my pulse into overdrive. When he leaned in close, I smelled the almonds on his breath.

“Harry…I don’t think…”

“Shh!” He enforced this directive by fastening his mouth on mine in an energetic kiss.

He tasted, unsurprisingly, of sugar and cream. His firm lips moulded to mine while his tongue teased at the seam, coaxing me to open. I shouldn’t have given in, but I honestly couldn’t help it. He might look like a bit of nerd, but this guy really knew what he was doing. Wet, but not sloppy – forceful, but not brutal – alternating between deep penetration and playful flickering – he kissed with consummate sensuality. All I wanted was to swoon in his arms, to let him take me over.  He seemed eager to oblige.

The hand on my back wandered down to cup my ass and pull my pelvis against his. I gasped at the size and rigidity of the lump pressed against my pubis. My nipples snapped into aching knots and moisture flooded my already damp panties. He laced the fingers of his other hand through my hair, using them to control the position of my head as he drank his fill of me.

His mouth slipped away from mine to nuzzle below my ear, somehow finding the precise spot that’s directly connected to my clit.  Meanwhile he groped my breasts, squeezing hard – harder than I usually like, but now I actually wanted more.

Apparently he did, too. He tugged at my blouse, trying to pull it out from the waistband of my skirt, and finally succeeding. The first graze of his fingertips along my naked skin sent a wave of arousal crashing through me.

“Wait – no – aah…oh…” My protests faltered as he deftly extricated one of my breasts and caught the nipple between his thumb and forefinger. He tugged on the taut node of flesh, twisted it, flicked it back and forth. I swear I felt him doing the same to my clit. At the same time, he caught my earlobe between his teeth, worrying it like a pup with a toy.

Oh God! He was all over me, fondling and caressing whatever flesh he could access through my dishevelled clothing – and it was glorious! Crumpling my skirt to the waist, he worked his clever fingers under the elastic of my panties to stroke my soaked fur. I jerked against his palm, wanting him to explore more deeply. He appeared happy to oblige, pushing into my channel with his fingers while strumming my clit with his thumb. I wormed  my way into his loose trousers and clung to his cotton-covered ass, feeling his gluts flex as he ground his astonishing hardness against my belly.

I’d never doubt my grandmother again.


Lisabet SaraiAbout Lisabet

Lisabet Sarai became addicted to words at an early age. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since then, she has written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance – nearly fifty single author titles, plus dozens of short stories in various erotic anthologies, including the Lambda winner Where the Girls Are and the IPPIE Best Erotic Book of 2011, Carnal Machines. Her gay scifi erotic romance Quarantine won a Rainbow Awards 2012 Honorable Mention.

Lisabet has more degrees than anyone would ever need, from prestigious educational institutions who would no doubt be deeply embarrassed by her chosen genre.  She has traveled widely and currently lives in Southeast Asia with her indulgent husband and two exceptional felines, where she pursues an alternative career that is completely unrelated to her creative writing.

For more information about Lisabet and her writing, visit her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com) or her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com)


Lisabet Sarai Breaks the Rules with Her Genre-defying New Release, Rajasthani Moon

Fear of Flying

It would have been much faster to fly.

Alas, Cecily Harrowsmith—special agent for Her Majesty the Queen, expert in the martial arts of three continents, past mistress of princes, potentates and the occasional prime minister—was afraid of flying. She despised herself for this weakness, but not enough to board one of the Empire’s sleek, viridium-powered airships, strap herself into her seat and hope for the best.

Hence the current tedious journey. Cecily peered out of the window of herLisabet Sarai May post123rfDirigible-14428352_s carriage at the endless

expanse of russet-coloured desert stretching in all directions. The mere sight of all that sand was enough to make her throat burn. She sipped her tepid tea, wondering for the twentieth time why she’d accepted this bloody assignment.

Thus begins my most recent release, Rajasthani Moon, a book that deliberately defies categorization. It contains elements of the steam punk and paranormal sub-genres, plus quite a lot of moderately extreme BDSM and a M/F/M ménage. It features a kick-ass Rubenesque heroine, a billionaire Rajah and a sexy, deliciously disreputable bandit. It flirts with non-consensual fantasies and lesbian attraction. It has some funny moments, not infrequently associated with sex. Oh, and it’s a romance, with what I hope is a sublimely satisfying happy ending (although I won’t tell you who ends up with whom!)

Writing this book involved taking risks. I’ve observed how readers cling to their favorite genres. I’m breaking rules right and left with this novel. Will the market embrace my mash-up? Or will readers run away in droves, terrified of the unfamiliar?

Producing the same sort of stories, again and again, can be comfortable. It may help sales,  too. To grow as authors, though, we have to leave safety behind. We must step out onto that high pinnacle of creativity and let go, defying the fear that we’ll plummet ignominiously to the ground. We have to get over our fear of flying.

Rajasthani Moon is like nothing I’ve written before. Well, that’s not strictly true. Like most of my books, it has plenty of erotic content. What I mean is that I’ve never felt so free as I did writing this book. I gave myself permission to follow my imagination, no matter how wild its suggestions. I found this Lisabet Sarai may postrajasthanimoon_noquote_800difficult at first. The further I ventured out onto my self-constructed limb, though, the easier I found the process.

The result? Well, I’m pleased with it. I have no idea what other people will think. But I won’t worry. That’s out of my control.

And Cecily? She conquers her fear, too, eventually:

The passenger compartment was about ten feet long. Its walls were chest height. A canopy shaded one end, including the brass and quartz crystal control panel. The other was open to the sky, though the gas bag a dozen feet above them shielded them from the most direct rays of the sun. She was not surprised to discover that the floor was covered by multiple layers of intricately-patterned carpets and strewn with fat, multi-hued pillows. The Rajasthanis seemed to have little use for furniture.

Amir busied himself at the controls while Pratan lounged on the cushions, looking rakish and indolent. “Come here, Cecily,” he ordered. “Sometimes the take-off is a bit bumpy.”

Her heartbeat accelerated and her palms started to sweat at this reminder of what lay ahead. She gave him a sharp look. She could have sworn he was suppressing a chuckle.

Nevertheless, she reclined beside him, as he’d instructed. He slipped his arm around her shoulder and held her tight against his chest. His strength reassured her, but she still felt as though her stomach was turning somersaults.

A low frequency vibration hummed under them as Amir started the engine.

“Here we go,” called the Rajah. “Prepare to lift off.”

“Kiss me,” said Pratan. He took possession of her mouth without waiting for her acquiescence.

Amir released the tethers binding the dirigible to the roof. They retracted into their housings with a snap and the gondola swayed in reaction, springing upward a few feet. Cecily’s heart climbed into her throat. She gritted her teeth against sudden nausea. Pratan’s agile tongue wormed its way between her lips, urging her to relax and open, and the spell passed. Meanwhile, his hands wandered over her body, pulling her loose clothing out of the way so that he could stroke her breasts and belly.

His scent enveloped her, sandalwood and smoke superimposed on animal musk. The wolf had not returned since their encounter on Mount Abu, but Pratan still smelt like something feral. He burrowed into her, sucking on her tongue and nibbling her lips, while his fingers teased her nipples into hungry knots. Cecily moaned as the pleasure mounted. She lay back, cradled in the nest of cushions, and allowed him free access.


Rajasthani Moon is available now from Total-E-Bound, at a 10% discount, and will have its general release at Amazon and other bookstores on May 31st. But why not get your copy now and save? TEB can download direct to your Kindle or other e-reader.

About Lisabet Sarai

Lisabet Sarai may postlisabetFaceLisabet Sarai became addicted to words at an early age. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since then, she has written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance – nearly fifty single author titles, plus dozens of short stories in various erotic anthologies, including the Lambda winner Where the Girls Are and the IPPIE Best Erotic Book of 2011, Carnal Machines. Her gay scifi erotic romance Quarantine won a Rainbow Awards 2012 Honorable Mention.

Lisabet has more degrees than anyone would ever need, from prestigious educational institutions who would no doubt be deeply embarrassed by her chosen genre.  She has traveled widely and currently lives in Southeast Asia with her indulgent husband and two exceptional felines, where she pursues an alternative career that is completely unrelated to her creative writing.

For more information about Lisabet and her writing, visit her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com) or her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com)

© 2018 K D Grace
The Romance Reviews

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