Tuesday, 16 June 2015

The Sky Is Not Falling (and other thoughts about the changes in the Kindle Unlimited program)

KBoards has been on fire the last two days, as every short-fiction author moans and groans about Amazon’s new plan to change their borrows system to pay per-page-read, not a flat rate for any book read past 10%.

Technically, I guess I should be upset as well. After all, Storm, my 5-part short, does well on Kindle Unlimited. I think my income will drop by about 40% as a result of this change. But I’m not really upset, and here’s why.

Money isn’t the only reason I write short serials. In fact, it doesn’t even place in the top 3. Here are the top 3 reasons I write serials.

  1. It helps me release something quickly. I average between 30k and 40k published words a month. If I were writing 65k novels, it’d take me anywhere from one to two months to write a book, and that’s assuming everything goes well. But in the meantime, my readers will forget about me. New authors are busy releasing new books. If I don’t release, I will languish into obscurity.
  2. It increases reader retention. A serial is the best way to lock readers into your books. (See fascinating post on Rachel Aaron's blog.) It is insanely hard to find a reader. To keep them hooked to your books is exponentially harder. Series are a way to combat that.
  3. It gives me more books to promote. Let’s face it – some authors might make it without any form of promo, but most of us need to promote often to keep our books in the spotlight and to gain new readers. But at the same time, I don’t want to be promoting the same book over and over, and I definitely don’t want to be promoting a standalone book for free. Writing series books really help with that.
These reasons are basically good business practice – but they are about selling books, not writing them. That being said, I do have more personal writing reasons to skew to a shorter book.

  1. I’m easily bored. A 90k story might never get finished. A 15k story will almost always get finished.
  2. If a book bombs, and fingers-crossed that one never will, it’s a lot easier to move on when you haven’t invested three months of your life in it. Assassin’s Revenge – the entire series – took almost six months to write. It’s doing well enough, and it’s been well-reviewed, but had readers hated it? Let's not go there. 
  3. I’m incapable of writing long. It’s something about the way I pace books – I’m all about the high-notes, the key plot points, the climatic events. I can’t write restfully. I’m working on this and it comes with practice, but it’s only in the last few months that I’ve broken the 50k barrier. 65k in a book might never be possible for me.

Now, I’m not entirely altruistic. While I will always write, I might not write at the pace I do, neglecting friends and family and hobbies and my cat, were it not for the fact that I earn money at this. I watch the Kindle Unlimited rate keenly. I plan promotions and give away books. I run contests and hope to participate in boxed sets.

But I’m less than two years into what I hope will be a lifelong journey and I know there’ll be shocks and disruptions along the way. I need to remember - at the end of the day, I’m a writer that wants to keep writing and get read. While the business portions of this profession cannot be neglected, the urge that drives all of this is a creative one – a desire to tell the best possible story I can.

And no matter what Amazon does with the Kindle Unlimited program, the urge to tell a story never goes away.

That’s what’s important. That’s why the sky isn’t falling today.

Monday, 18 May 2015

Found is FREE May 18 and 19

Found (Assassin's Revenge Book 1) is available @ Amazon US | Amazon UK |Amazon DE | Amazon CA | Or borrow for free on Kindle Unlimited! 

Friday, 15 May 2015

Saturday Spanks - A Touch of Blackmail (Part of Twist!)

Hello Saturday Spankers! 

I've a steamy little excerpt to share from my new story, A Touch of Blackmail, part of the absolutely amazing Twist boxed set! 

Buy Links: Amazon US | Amazon UK | Amazon DE | Amazon CAOr borrow for free with Kindle Unlimited. 

Without further ado, let's get to it, shall we? 


“Not demanding that I kneel next to you?” He sips at his wine. His gaze pins me down. “If the situation was flipped around, you’d be kneeling next to me.” His voice deepens. “I’ll feed you morsels of food. Your pretty little mouth will wrap around my fingers as you eat...”

I gulp and take a bite of my pasta. It is delicious, but I’m too captivated by his words to speak and compliment him. “You’ll be naked, of course.” His voice is husky. “Because you’ll be my pet and pets don’t wear clothes.” His eyes drop to my cleavage. “I’ll clamp your nipples till they are cherry red in colour. Not to hurt you, but with each throb of the trapped flesh, you’ll be so aware of the moment. Your attention will be entirely on me. On the sensations I can give you. Your lips will part and you’ll plead so sweetly. Then I’ll make you touch yourself. You’ll push your fingers in and out of your cunt and just when your body is heavy with desire, I’ll order you to stop. And you’ll obey, because you won’t be in charge. And with the right person, not being in charge is the most freeing sensation in the universe.” 


Natalie can never say ‘no’ to a dare. Add in alcohol to the mix, and all reason flees the room.
But when the dare on the table is blackmailing a hot co-worker for sex, with her job and future on the line and the risk of jail-time very real, things are about to get a lot more interesting
And look, it's not just me! There's eight of us in all & eight amazing stories. 

The other authors in this anthology: Livia Grant | Jennifer Bene | Sophie Kisker | Christine Hart | Alice Schermer | Richard North | Livnah A. Eden
Buy Links: Amazon US | Amazon UK | Amazon DE | Amazon CAOr borrow for free with Kindle Unlimited. 
And the other Saturday Spanking participants are here... 

Tuesday, 12 May 2015

Cover Reveal - Twist!

Happy WIP Wednesday, everyone! 

My participation has left something to be desired, but I promise you, it's because I've been absolutely snowed under, with about a million balls I'm juggling at the same time. 

Balls, ha ha. I've the sense of humour of a teenage boy. 

Anyhoo, less about what I find funny and more about Twist - the next Erotic Collective anthology! If you like plot twists and all-around unexpectedness, you'll love this bundle. It's filled with sexy and smutty and completely unpredictable goodness. 

My story in this collection is called A Touch of Blackmail. It features a dominant guy and a woman who's blackmailing him for sex. Ahem. Of course, things aren't quite what they seem... 

(Side note: Tone-wise, this story is light and fun, and a lot closer to Storm's tone than say, Assassin's Revenge, which is darker. It's a little confection of a story and I had a blast writing it.)  

So let's jump to the excerpt, shall we? Here's the full Chapter 1. 

A Touch of Blackmail by Tara Crescent

Chapter 1

“Change of plans,” my friend Anna chirps into the phone. “We can’t meet at The Friendly Drinker.”
Oh thank heavens, I want to say. The Friendly Drinker is constantly on the brink of being shut down by the health department. Every time I eat there, I feel like I’m one forkful away from food poisoning. Or from spending the night kneeling next to the toilet, puking my guts out.
Though that might also be the drinking. Anna, Beth, Joan and I can pound it back, or we think we can. In our minds, we are trying to deny that adulthood is slowly encroaching, and our days of carefree drinking adventures are over.
“Why not?” I ask absently. An email has appeared in my inbox from Ted Ashburn. I sigh and look at the time. Almost seven on a Friday evening, and Theodore Philip Ashburn is sending me email. Jackass.
I ignore it and listen to Anna. “The place got shut down,” she says. “They found rats in the kitchen.”
Ugh. I shudder at that. I know some people have rats as pets. My brother Steve is one of them. He can never stop gushing about how intelligent they are. But I can never see them as anything but disease-carrying vermin, no matter how many times I watch Ratatouille.
“There’s a bar at the street corner,” I tell Anna. “How about there? My treat.”
I make sure to mention I’m paying. Anna is a struggling actress. Off-Broadway, walk-on parts, that kind of thing. Beth writes for a small magazine in Brooklyn. Money is always tight for these two. Hence the dirt-cheap pitchers at the Friendly Drinker.
“How expensive is it?” she asks directly. The four of us are open about money. Joan’s a lawyer and I’m an investment banker and we don’t struggle financially. Beth and Anna, on the other hand, live paycheck to paycheck. There’s an old Friends episode about this kind of thing – Ross and Monica and Chandler always want to go to expensive places, while Rachel, Phoebe and Joey can’t afford it. Us, we deal with it by being honest about our financial situations. We’ve been friends for a very, very long time. We aren’t going to let money come between us.
“Fifteen bucks for a mixed drink,” I reply. “Ten for a pint.”
“Well, fuck me,” she replies.
A beep sounds; I have yet another email from the infuriating Mr. Ashburn. I ignore it as well. “Anna,” I beg my friend. “I have another hour of work here before I can leave. Can we please go to the bar downstairs, and I will owe you for life?”
“Okay,” she agrees. “See you at eight?”
I look at the waiting emails. “Make it eight thirty,” I respond.
Ted Ashburn. Transferred from the London office; he’s been assigned to work with me on the due diligence for the Hartland bank merger project. In three short months, he’s become the bane of my work existence.
I want to say that I hate working with him, but it’s more complicated than that. Part of it is that he is ridiculously hot, almost to the point of farce. He’s got this young Colin Firth thing going on, except with stubble and these slightly nerdy glasses that just make me want to rip them off, along with the rest of his clothes, then do nasty, sweaty things to him.
Pertinent side-note - the investment banking firm of Statham, Brown and Clarkson has a zero-tolerance policy on employees dating each other.
I scan Ted’s email briefly, something about numbers and projections and other such nonsense. Then I ignore it. He’s welcome to be all gung-ho about work on a fucking Friday night. Me, I’m going to go drink some pitchers of beer with my girls.
I’m about to grab my jacket and head out the door when I’m intercepted by John Clarkson. He’s one of the named partners. He’s a big deal.
“Natalie,” he leans against the doorway of my tiny office. “Still here?”
Damn it. Had he been just three minutes later, I would have left. Now, I’m going to have to endure a prolonged work conversation on Friday evening when all I want to do is go downstairs and drink the pint of beer that’s waiting for me. No, scratch that. The pitcher of beer that’s waiting for me.
Kill me now. End the agony.
“I was just leaving,” I tell him but he ignores the hint.
“Great job on the Hartland bank merger,” he says. “I was talking to Jamie earlier today. He can’t stop singing your praises. And I hear Ted’s doing excellent work as well.”
I can’t lie. Ted is doing fantastic work, mostly because unlike me, Ted actually gives a damn. It’s one of the things that makes him annoying. “Thank you,” I reply. “Yes, Ted’s been really helpful.” I’m never sure how to address John Clarkson. Mr. Clarkson seems really formal. Sir is a word I reserve only for bedroom games, but calling him John makes him sound like he’s my buddy. So I avoid calling him anything. A proper grown-up, that’s me.
“We are lucky to steal him from the London office,” he confides. “Anyway, I don’t want to keep you. Just saw your light on and I thought I’d congratulate you. And Natalie, I think I’m going to have both you and Ted work on the Brannon account next.”
The Brannon account is prestigious, so I smile brightly and thank him again. Inside, I roll my eyes. In the batshit crazy world of investment banking, dumping a buttload of work on me is considered a reward. Delightful.
Ted will be thrilled though. He’s just the sort. Still, I can’t complain too much. Every project is useful on my resume.
It’s late. The office is almost empty and I’m eager to get out of there and get my weekend started. When I head to the bar downstairs, I’m the second one there. Beth’s already nursing a pitcher and chatting up the guy behind the bar.
When she sees me, she ceases the casual flirting and we slide over into an open booth. “I didn’t mean to interrupt,” I incline my head towards the bartender. He’s got that hipster thing going on – flannel shirt, sideburns and square glasses. Cute if you like the type.
“You didn’t,” she replies. “He’s a bartender. He’s only flirting for the tip. How was your week?”
In response, I pour myself a glassful of beer and down half of it in one gulp. “That bad?” she asks sympathetically.
“Worse.” My reply is succinct. “I’ve worked till midnight every single day this week.” I frown. “I’m in my fourth year. It feels like it should get easier, but it doesn’t. It’s the treadmill that goes faster every year and there’s no way to get off.”
“Have you applied for that job at that environmental firm you talked about last week?” she asks me.
I wince and shake my head. McQuade and Perlman is a small boutique firm that invests in early stage environmental startups. Once upon a time, I used to work for nonprofits that wanted to save the world. Then I grew up and realized money talked and companies needed to be well-funded to accomplish their mission. Now, I dream about being the one to choose which environment-saving company to invest in.
McQuade and Perlman is the place to be if you want to make a difference and still pay rent. I’ve wanted to work there for the longest time, but I’ve been procrastinating on doing anything about it. Mostly because if they say no, I don’t have another good option other than to keep working at SB&C, and the idea of that makes me want to curl up in a tight ball and cry. And drink and maybe even scream a little.
“Natalie,” Beth uses the same nagging voice that my mother would use. “Why not?”
“Because…” My voice trails off. “It’s complicated.”
Her expression is a perfect mix of understanding and severity. Beth would make a great parent.  “Get it done, Nat,” she tells me firmly. “I dare you.”
“Mmm-hmm.” My reply is non-committal. I pour myself another pint and we talk about other things.
Two hours later, I’m well and truly buzzed. My thoughts drift all over the place and I’m barely paying attention to the conversation at the table. The place is crowded and service is slow. Empty pitchers litter our table. A few solitary French fries, now cold and soggy, sit on a platter in the center. Used as we are to the similar charms of the Friendly Drinker, we aren’t particularly fussed.
“Earth to Natalie,” I hear a voice say. “Are you in?”
I give myself a little shake and turn my attention back to my friends. “What?”
Anna rolls her eyes. “Cole is doing this live art thing at Beltline Park,” she says. Cole’s her boyfriend. He’s another flannel wearing, sideburn possessing hipster. Could be the bartender’s twin, honestly. His art is actually quite introspective and interesting, but I’d be damned if I’m telling him that. I find him pompous, narcissistic and insufferable. “Reclaimed spaces, Reclaimed bodies, remember? He’s looking for volunteers. Men, women, all shapes, all sizes. You in?”
Cole wants us to strip off our clothes in Beltline Park. Artists. “Cole’s nuts,” I say flatly, not bothering to mince my words. “We’d all get arrested in ten minutes. No thanks.”
Joan smirks openly and Anna hands her twenty bucks. I frown at them, wondering what’s going on.
“We had a bet,” Joan explains. “Anna thought you might do it. I didn’t.” She shakes her head. “This from the girl who once streaked across NYU’s quad shouting something about saving the sharks.”
“The movie Jaws made sharks appear as predators when they really weren’t,” I start hotly, then their words sinks in. They think I’m a goodie-goodie two shoes. “That’s not fair. I still do crazy stuff.”
In case you need reminding, there’s four empty pitchers on the table, and the fifth one is half-full. And there’s four of us at the table. I’m going to use this as an excuse for what happens next.
“Please,” Anna mocks. “Face it, Nat, the bank has taken over. You dress like them,” she waves at my neat charcoal grey suit with the crisp cotton blue shirt from Brooks Brothers, “…you drink in their bars. You have become one of them.”
“I’m not one of them.” Not at heart. I just have to play the role, right? There’s more to me than the banker.
“You haven’t applied for the job you really want,” Beth points out. Traitor. “Maybe you really are content with your job, Nat. It’s okay to like the money. Fuck, I’d kill to make as much coin as you.”
What she’s telling me is that it’s fine to sell out. But it’s not. I’m not okay with this. “I’m still who I am,” I say weakly. I tell myself I’m trying to convince them, but I’m really trying to convince myself.
“Prove it.” Beth is often quiet, but she’s the craziest one of the bunch. It comes from spending too much time on the internet. When you spend your days researching mothers who insist on breast-feeding their eight-year old children, kids who will undoubtedly spend thousands of dollars and much of their future lives in therapy as a result, you lose your real world filter. “Do something crazy.”
Anna leans forward, her eyes gleaming. “Something better than crazy. Something illegal.”
“I can pee in the alley behind this place,” I suggest.
Joan, the lawyer, rolls her eyes at that. “Please,” she scoffs. “At the worst, that’s a misdemeanor and a fifty dollar fine. If you are going to do something, do something good. That is not a professional opinion, by the way,” she adds hastily.
I’m assuming that encouraging your friends to break the law for kicks and giggles is kind of the thing that the New York Bar Association would frown on. “How do you know?” I challenge her, hoping to get them distracted. “Did you pee in the streets, Joanie?”
She blushes and I know I’ve got this. I can feel it. Everyone’s going to focus on Joan and bam! No more talk of Natalie doing something illegal.
Except right then, all three of their heads swivel to the entrance. I follow their gazes and groan silently. Theodore fucking Ashburn has just walked into the bar.
“That guy,” Beth sighs. Her expression is dreamy. “Do something with that guy. Something horribly, deliciously illegal. Have sex with him in public.”
Alcohol does not make you smarter, people. It makes you do stupid shit.
“What?” My voice comes out in a high-pitched squeak. “You guys, I work with him. That’s Ted Ashburn.”
Everyone instantly zooms in on me. “That’s the pain in the ass, brown-nosing co-worker you’ve been bitching about? Umm, Natalie, are you blind? Have you noticed that he’s as hot as all fuck?”
Yes, I’ve noticed. Trust me, Ted Ashburn’s hotness is hard to conceal.
Beth grins. There’s a devil-may-care gleam in her eyes. “That’s it, then. Something illegal involving that guy. Not citation-illegal, Natalie. Properly illegal. Jail-time illegal.”
Joan covers her ears with her hands. “Plausible deniability,” she says in explanation. “Don’t do it, Natalie. Don’t be stupid.”
About the only excuse I have for this entire conversation is the pitchers of beer. We are on the sixth pitcher now. Just in case anyone’s keeping count.
“I don’t want to rot in jail,” I protest.  
Beth rolls her eyes at me. “Would the Natalie who boarded that Japanese whaler have said that?”
No. I used to do a bunch of crazy stunts to try to draw attention to the environmental devastation that confronts us. I boarded whaling ships. I wrote messages on my breasts. I was very young once, and very naïve.
Anna is watching this back-and-forth with an intrigued look. “You want to,” she guesses. “I can tell, Nat. You think the guy’s hot.”
“Of course I think the guy’s hot,” I say, exasperated. “I mean, come on. I have eyes.” Ted’s now seated at the bar, with a glass of red wine in front of him. A beer’s evidently too good for Theodore Philip Ashburn. Pretentious idiot.
“I’d do sexual assault myself,” Beth says dreamily. Then she wilts under our collective glares. “Fine, fine, rape is a serious subject and I shouldn’t joke.”
“You bet your ass it is,” says Joan. “Natalie, as the only person here with her head on straight, I have to dissuade you from this crazy plan.” She glares at the other two, who are completely unabashed.
“Joan, stop it. Let Natalie have some fun.” Anna leans forward and voices the words that spell my doom, “Do we have a dare? An official dare, Nat. Something illegal and sexual with that guy.”
Most of the trouble I get into can be traced to one simple truth. I don’t know how to turn down a dare. No matter how stupid, no matter how inadvisable. You just add the words’ I dare you’, and some inner demon in me takes over, obliterating common sense.
And tonight, there’s seven empty pitchers at the table. Any kind of good sense has left the building. 

And look, it's not just me. There's eight of us in all & eight amazing stories. Get your twitchy little one-click fingers ready, lovely readers! The book comes out Friday! 

The other authors in this anthology: Livia Grant | Jennifer Bene | Sophie Kisker | Christine Hart | Alice Schermer | Richard North | Livnah A. Eden


And the other WIP participants are here...

Wednesday, 15 April 2015

WIP Wednesday - Found is here!

Happy Wednesday, everyone! Cue the music and the dancing, because Found is here! 

Found (Assassin's Revenge Book 1) is available @ Amazon US | Amazon UK |Amazon DE | Amazon CA | Or borrow for free on Kindle Unlimited! 

Found Excerpt: 

“Kiss me again, Marc,” she replied.
I knew what she was doing – I’d done it too many times myself. Sex as avoidance. Sex as a coping strategy. I wasn’t about to criticize her for it. She was naked next to me and my cock wanted in that soft, hot pussy so much I was in pain.
My fingers traced a pathway down her soft curves till I found the puffy lips of her cunt, slippery and wet with desire. My face followed. I wanted to savour each and every inch of her body. She moaned as my mouth made contact and her thighs tightened around my face. “Keep those legs parted for me, Rachel,” I ordered.
She shook her head with sweet defiance. “You are being bossy again,” she pointed out. She wriggled her body until she’d turned around, her lips just inches from my cock. I was leaking precum and I was more turned on than I’d ever been in my life at the idea of her mouth on me. “Now,” she said, her voice rich with satisfaction, “I can explore too.”
As much as I liked oral sex, it always seemed a little one-sided to me. One partner gave pleasure, the other partner received it. But not this position. Her lips around my dick, my tongue lapping at her juices, our groans of lust mingling with each other? This was pleasure both given and received.
Also, not to be crass about it, but she could give head like a champion. I was pretty damn well endowed. She still took me down her throat with ease, humming around my cock till I was struggling not to blow my load. I redoubled my focus on the sweet pussy in front of me, my fingers parting those lips so my tongue could feast on the treat within.
Every moan she made sent a shockwave of arousal through me. Every twitch of the muscles in her cunt had me fisting my fingers and struggling to hold off my climax. She was wet, naked, trembling, aroused. She was a drug in my bloodstream. The pulsing in my veins.
“Fuck,” she groaned as my tongue lapped at her clitoris. I felt her quiver around my fingers and her hips tried to pull away. I wasn’t having any of it. I intended to bring this woman to orgasm, again and again until the only thought she could form in her head was my name.
No. She would call me Marc, not Alexander, and Marc wasn’t my name. But I wasn’t going to let reality intrude into this moment. This was my stolen interlude and damn it, it was going to stay that way. It was precisely because I didn’t want any reminder of my life that I’d switched off my phone. Even though an operation that I’d spent months planning was in progress as the same time I made her body wriggle in pleasure. 
Found (Assassin's Revenge Book 1) is available @ Amazon US | Amazon UK |Amazon DE | Amazon CA | Or borrow for free on Kindle Unlimited! 

Found (Assassin's Revenge Book 1) is available @ Amazon US | Amazon UK |Amazon DE | Amazon CA | Or borrow for free on Kindle Unlimited! 

And the other WIP Wednesday authors are here...

Wednesday, 25 March 2015

WIP Wednesday - another excerpt from Found (Assassin's Revenge Book 1) - Coming April 15

Hello, WIP-ers! Happy Wednesday! Time continues to tick down to the Found release on April 15 and my panic and stress levels are rising exponentially. 


Oh, hey - quick announcement. The Professor's Pet is on a $0.99/£0.99. The sale is only in the US and the UK, sorry! 

Cheaper than coffee, people! 

The sale ends Friday, so if you want to buy this, click away while the sale's still on! 

Buy Links: Amazon US | Amazon UK | Amazon DE | Amazon CA | Or buy for free on Kindle Unlimited. 


But hey, you should read some of my book! That's what you are here for, right? 

The Assassin's Revenge Blurb

I have a mission. Kill the man who kidnapped me. Kill the guards who raped me. I have guns and knives and I’m not afraid to use them. Nothing will stop me.

Then I walk into a bar and I notice him. He is gorgeous.

For four long years, my only response to anything sexual has been revulsion and fear. This time, it feels different.

I could use him. I want to use him. I could sleep with him and make a pleasurable memory as a counterpoint to the painful ones. I’m not a frightened young girl anymore. I’m a trained assassin, capable of killing him with my bare hands.

This time, I’ll be in control.

He’s just supposed to be a distraction, this mysterious man in the bar that I have a one-night stand with. But I can't predict the secrets he is hiding... secrets that are about to intersect my world in painful, unanticipated, and dangerous ways. 


And now, an excerpt from Found...
He eyed me speculatively. I met his gaze squarely. Finally, his lips twitched. “In that case, bright star,” he said to me, “take off your clothes.”

“Here?” I looked around at the back yard. I could hear sounds of life in the neighboring houses. TVs blared and dogs barked. Children cried loudly. The backyard was fenced and we couldn’t be seen. But we were surrounded by people who could hear us, the same way I could hear them.
“Would you prefer if it was a dare?” he inquired with a wicked, panty-melting grin. Oh, he was enjoying this a little too much. I took a fortifying sip of the chilled wine and pulled my t-shirt over my head.
I heard his breath catch. His eyes were filled with heat. “Let me guess,” I joked, using humour as a momentary retreat from the intensity of his gaze, “jogging bras really turn you on.”
He chuckled. “Take it off.” He took a sip of wine as well as he waited for me to comply.
This was it. The moment of truth.
I’d been ordered to strip so many times by my former master. Every time I had obeyed instantly, terrified of the consequences of disobedience. Now though, my hesitation was something else. As I looked into Marc’s blue eyes, I felt a little shy and very eager to please.  
The jogging bra came off. Before he could instruct me, I hooked my fingers around the waistband of my track pants, pushing them down along with my panties. Stepping out of them, I looked at him. “What next?” I was astonished that my voice was steady.
“Next time,” he chided, “wait for permission to take off each garment.” He smiled. “I do like that you are in a hurry, Rachel. Come here.”
I took a step forward and my knees bumped against him. He got to his feet smoothly. His hands slid up the sides of my hips, locking around my waist. He lifted me as I squealed, setting me down on the glass-topped table in front of us. I lay there on my back, my legs dangling off the edges, struggling not to laugh. “What are you doing?” I squeaked.
“What do you think?” he asked wickedly. He sat back down between my legs and his hands closed around my knees. “Spread your legs for me, Rachel.”
It wasn’t a request. It was a demand and I complied instantly, shivering in anticipation as I did so. No one had ever done this to me and I was deeply, profoundly glad that the first thing this gorgeous man did was an act that would be untainted by any painful memories.
He bent his head forward with a growl of pleasure. His stubble grazed against my inner thighs and I groaned. “Oh god yes,” I hissed, throwing my head back and surrendering to the sensations that simple touch had caused.
He chuckled and the sound vibrated close to my core. “Keep it down, Rachel,” he advised. “I do have neighbors.”
I almost didn’t care. I lurched forward into him, almost shoving my pussy in his face. I could feel how wet I was. My nipples were hard and erect. Goosebumps covered my entire body.

“Four years,” he muttered as his tongue flicked out and touched me. “I’m quite honoured.” Then he stopped talking. His mouth covered my pussy and only pleasure was left. 

Please add Assassin's Revenge to your Goodreads TBR lists! 


And the other authors are here...