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. 

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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. 

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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! 

Found (Assassin's Revenge Book 1)

Bought (Assassin's Revenge Book 2)

Freed (Assassin's Revenge Book 3)

Claimed (Assassin's Revenge Book 4)

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And the other authors are here...

WIP Wednesday - Assassin's Revenge

Hello, lovely people! I've been missing from WIP Wednesday for a while, because I've been so deep in my current project, I couldn't lift my head long enough to breathe. Plus, February was an insane month. There were 3 anthologies, there were books to write and edit - it was all quite crazy. 

Anyway - I finally got my shit together and here's a little excerpt from my biggest writing project. It's a series called Assassin's Revenge. This is a bit out of the third book (which I'm currently writing, even though I'm not actually done writing book 2. I do some not-quite sane stuff sometimes.) 

In case you are wondering who XXX is, that's just a bit of writer laziness. Somewhere, I think I named XXX, but I'm too embroiled in the writing to go back and find it. So she'll be XXX till I have time to search. 

***

When we got to the house, she looked at me. “Sir,” she said, with sweetness and not a trace of fear. “I was late getting ready. Please punish me.”

I raised an eyebrow. This was a very different woman than the one I’d seen so far. This time, there was no terror. Her eyes sparkled with nervous anticipation. I didn’t know what had wrought this change, but I wanted to find out. “Not afraid, cherie?”

“No, I’m not,” she replied.

As much as I wanted to rush her into the playroom and take advantage of her willingness, I owed it to both of us to keep these lines of communication open and to try and understand what lay at the root of her fear. And what had changed since the last time we’d been in the playroom. “Why not? What’s different now?”

She exhaled. She appeared to be grappling with a decision, then she reached it. “I’ve been stuck between my head and my heart for the last few days,” she said softly. “My head tells me that a man with enough money to pay a million dollars for three months of my company is someone to be feared.”

“But?”

“But every instinct tells me I have nothing to be afraid of. Every instinct tells me to trust you.”

What she was describing was exactly the way I felt towards her. I should have been constantly fretting about who she worked for and why she’d wanted to be bid on by me. I should have never slept in the same bed as her until I fully understood her motives. She’d been in Paris two years ago; she’d been in Bangkok for Lori’s auction. There were no coincidences. I had many enemies – she could be working for one of them.

Yet when I was with her, all of that faded and what was left was trust. Plain and simple. Again and again, I was drawn to her. “So what is it, cherie? Which one are you going to listen to tonight? Your head or your heart?”

We were sitting on a couch in my bedroom. In response to my question, she slid off the couch and knelt at my feet. “I’m ready for the playroom, Sir.”

My heart was hammering in my chest. Not since the first time I’d tied up Angela had I been this ready for a session. This eager. “Get up for a minute,” I urged her, pulling her up and into the seat. “Let’s talk about limits for a few minutes. Is there anything you want to do tonight? Anything you want to try, anything you want to avoid?”

She looked a little tentative. I guessed that checking in with her desires wasn’t something her former master had done too much of. “Can we avoid the canes?” she asked.

XXX had enjoyed pain and I’d bought the canes on her request. It wasn’t something I had ever needed. “Okay. What else? Do you like the flogger?”

Her lips parted at that image. The thought of being flogged aroused her. Lust was rolling off her in waves and I wanted to wade in and drown myself in her desire. “I like the flogger,” she confirmed, her cheeks flushed. “A lot.”

I rested one hand on her thigh and she parted her legs slightly. Oh, my bright star was turned on. I couldn’t wait to play with her. “Any other special requests?”

Her forehead wrinkled as she considered. I loved this. She wasn’t flinching away from me. She was leaning into my body, so close that I could see each inhale and exhale of breath she took. Under that midnight blue evening gown, her nipples had pebbled and I wanted to run my palms over them, teasing, playing, until she begged me to go harder.

The only time we’d been in the playroom, I hadn’t been certain she was there because she wanted to be. I’d had to be careful, cautious so that I wouldn’t do anything that caused her to panic. Today, things were different. 

My dick stirred in my pants. Anticipation ran hot in my blood as I waited for her to respond.

“No Sir.”

I rose to my feet, extending my hand to her. “Come on then,” I replied. “Your punishment awaits.”

A shiver ran through her as I opened the door of the playroom. Then she grinned in amusement. “Don’t you think I should remove the jewelry before we play?” Her fingers played with the gold chain that the yellow diamond hung from. “I’m assuming that your insurers wouldn’t approve of whatever you are going to do.”

I laughed. Oh, I liked her unafraid. “So much attitude,” I said, layering menace into her voice. My hands reached for her ponytail and tugged, pulling her head back until I was looking into her eyes. “Being a brat might get you punished here, cherie.”

Her lips tugged into a smile. “You like it,” she accused. She reached out and ran her palm over my trousers, tracing the outline of my erection. “Don’t you, Sir?”

I laughed. “Shh.” I put a finger over her lips. “Be good.” I walked behind her and kissed the exposed spot at the back of her neck. I felt her quiver in response and my cock jumped once more. My fingers found the zipper and pulled it down, letting the gown ripple fluidly onto the floor. “Step out of it, Jenny.”

She obeyed. She was still wearing the strappy silver sandals she’d worn to the concert. I stood for a minute, just admiring her body. Her breasts were cupped lovingly by a midnight blue lace bra. The matching panties contrasted with the pale skin of her ass. My palms itched to touch her. To caress her body and spank it. I wanted to feel her wriggle helplessly against me, her eyes bright with desire. 

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And the other authors are here... 

WIP Wednesday - why am I talking about the Watcher once again?

Why, it's because I have an anthology cover to share! 

Happy Wednesday, lovely readers! My participation last week was somewhat shitty, but I promise you, it was in a good cause. I was having the day from hell. 

This Wednesday is going to be pretty much the same, as we all push this puppy over the hump. (Hello, mixed metaphor!) 

Anyway. Super exciting, because the second Erotic Collective anthology is almost out. The clock counts down towards Feb 1, and look! A cover. I'm actually squealing with excitement as I write this.  

Isn't that absolutely gorgeous? I think I'm in love. In keeping with the boxed set theme, it's a sick, unhealthy, obsessive kind of love. Grin. 

Okay. Enough rambling. Here's another bit out of the Watcher. I don't think I've shared this bit yet? 

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I watched as the tip of the cane indented my flesh. Bolts of agony radiated outward from my nipple and my entire breast ached in sympathy. I gasped and exhaled through my mouth as I struggled to process the agony. My torturer kept his eyes on me and a small smile played about his lips.

He was enjoying this. My moans were an aphrodisiac to him. The sharp look of lust in his eyes; the tenting of his pants, the torturous bite of the cane on my flesh – all of these bore witness to his arousal.

My gaze flickered, just for a second to the Watcher. As always, his eyes revealed nothing.

My groans increased in volume but the push of the cane into my breast was unrelenting. Finally, after several excruciating seconds, he slowly pulled it away. My nipple stayed indented for long instants before returning to its engorged state. I looked at it and I was convinced it was bruised. What was I doing in this room? But my pussy was wet.

His arm encircled me, drawing me closer to the cane, which moved unrelentingly towards my other breast. I exhaled sharply at the slice of pain but my arms were tied up and my body was firmly in the grasp of the man in black. There was nowhere to run.

This time when the cane sank into my flesh, he added a twisting motion, twirling the cane between his fingers. I watched my areola spiral around the bamboo and I gritted my teeth as the ache intensified. My breast deformed and twisted in the hands of the man in black and I groaned and yelped. But he was unrelenting.

Once again, several seconds elapsed before the cane was removed. Once again, my nipple stayed hidden for several beats after, afraid to expose itself to even crueler fates.

The cane was presented to my mouth and my lips opened to grasp it. The man in black walked over to the carefully stocked side table and returned with a riding crop.

His hand stroked my head before tugging at my ponytail, forcing me to raise my head and look straight. The leather tip teased my bruised, throbbing nipples. Please don’t hit them, please don’t hit them, I thought frantically, but of course that’s exactly what he had in mind. The crop moved and I watched it as if in slow motion as it descended towards my breast, landing with a sharp thwack on my skin. A spot of red bloomed where it had made contact and I flinched and whimpered. One solitary tear rolled down my cheek and the man in black wiped it away with his finger.

“It’s far too early to cry, my dear.” 

***

Only 4 more days to go! I'm counting down. Lots of anticipation! 

And the other authors are here: 

WIP Wednesday - Storm 4

When this post goes live, it'll be Christmas Eve. If you celebrate, have a lovely one. 

Have I shared a bit out of Storm before? This story seriously doesn't sell well, which is sad, because I like to think it's awesome. At some point, I might re-title it or something. For the moment, I'm just enjoying writing it. 

The first part of Storm is perma-free (at least on Amazon US, and if it isn't free elsewhere, feel free to complain to Amazon, I don't control that BS) - go read it! 

Buy Links: Amazon US | Amazon UK | Amazon DE | Amazon CA

Anyway, my excerpt is from a true WIP, the 4th part of Storm, which will be released (and go out for free to my mailing list) on Dec 30. Here's a sneak-peek of the cover. Want to read it for free? Go sign up to the mailing list! 

“A woman after my own heart,” he said approvingly. He leaned in, and our noses touched. I yelped a little, because we’d just come in from the cold, and his nose was icy. But I stayed where I was, leaning into him, before I tilted my head up and kissed him.  

His lips were warm, and I explored shamelessly, caressing the seam until he parted his mouth. Our tongues danced together, and his hands nudged under my sweater to warm my sides. Finally, he pulled away with a muted groan. “I don’t think so, Tessa. That backpack wasn’t light, and I carried it for forty-five minutes without complaint. Go to the bathroom if you need to, shower if you must, but be in the bedroom, kneeling next to the bed, in twenty minutes.”

A very familiar heat filled my body. “Yes Sir.”

“Such ready compliance,” he mused, “should I be flattered?”

I grinned. I couldn’t help the cheeky quip. “Some of it is you,” I said, “but mostly, I want to see what’s in that backpack.”

His hand descended on my denim-covered ass swiftly, and though I was well padded and his spank didn’t hurt at all, my body sparkled at the contact. “Am I going to get spanked again?” I asked. I wasn’t sure if I wanted a spanking or not. My ass still felt a little tender today from last night’s play.

He gave me an even look. “Was there some confusion with my instructions?” he asked smoothly and politely, and oh-so-dangerously.

“No Sir.” My reply was instantaneous. “I’m going to the bathroom. Right now. Kneeling next to the bed in twenty minutes.”

“Seventeen minutes,” he corrected.

I didn’t respond. I just hustled.

***

Although I could have skipped the shower, the idea of even a quick soak under steaming hot water sounded amazing. I didn’t have time for a bath, but I braved the crappy water pressure and let the water cascade over me.

I guess I could have just walked out naked. I didn’t want to though. My tiny but pretty collection of lingerie saw very little use, and there was a guy in my apartment that was the embodiment of male hotness. I wanted to knock his socks off.

I took more than my customary care with my make-up, going for dramatic eyes and pouty red lips. The slip I’d grabbed out of my underwear drawer before I had dived into the bathroom was a simple black sheath, but it made me look amazing, showcasing my cleavage and my legs, while skimming over all the lumpier bits.

After running a comb through my slightly damp hair, I stepped out of the bathroom and into my bedroom.

To find it transformed.

Tim had lit about two dozen tea-lights all over the room, and had thrown a scarf over my reading lamp to mute its brightness. All of a sudden, the room was transformed from the prosaic space I knew well into an area of mystery, with a thousand little flickers of golden light.

Outside, it was still snowing. And in my bedroom, sitting on my bed, leaning against the headboard, naked to the waist, was Tim Banks, who looked at me with complete desire in his eyes.

“This feels magical,” I whispered. I couldn’t speak at my normal volume. The gleam of the candlelight in the warm room contrasted with the thick carpet of snow outside, and there was a sense that we were creating an oasis of shelter in the space between us.

“Magic is good,” he said quietly.

He gestured to the bed. I walked towards him and knelt at his side. “I’m ready, Sir.” My eyes rested on him, just drinking him in.

“You are a vision.”

Just like that, with his words, he made the effort totally worthwhile. I smiled at Tim from my position on the floor. “You know how to make a girl feel good, Sir,” I told him.

His hand stroked my hair, before running along the line of my jaw. He held my chin between his fingers. “A vision that was late getting out of the shower.”

Uh-oh. “But it was worth it, right?” I asked hopefully. I felt a twinge of sympathy for the punishment my poor ass was going to face.

His lips twitched. “I can’t dispute the results,” he commented, “but punishing you is so very rewarding.” 

***

And find the other WIP Wednesday authors here... 

WIP Wednesday - Another little slice of Never on a Sunday

It gets closer! The anthology will release sometime this weekend. We have a cover and a blurb and everything! 

My story for this is called Never on a Sunday. Last week, you read the opening thousand words or so of this story.  This week, I'm not going to pick up where I left off. I'm going to jump around to another scene. 

***

Mr. Buttman also lives in Brooklyn, thank heavens. I head to his apartment right after work, and I’m there by six-thirty. I’m hoping this is a quickie. I need to catch up on my sleep.

Mr. Buttman is Trent. He’s a kitchen cabinet maker, and he makes an exceedingly good living making custom cabinets for people like the Playboy and the Dominant. You know, rich people with more money than sense. His own kitchen is something of a wet dream. A place for everything, and everything in its place.

Like all the others, my nickname has to do with the Trent’s kink of choice. Mr. Buttman is my anal sex guy. He has an ass fetish like you wouldn’t believe. Today, he greets me with a wide smile. “I have something to show you.”

“Your cock?” I ask hopefully. Yes, I’m incorrigible. I’ve had my pussy licked Monday, and been thoroughly fucked Tuesday and Wednesday. You would think I’d be satiated. Not even close. Besides, my ass has been neglected in comparison.

Mr. Buttman is in his early thirties. He’s got the tight body of someone whose muscles are built by hard work, not hours at the gym. His hands are calloused, and I shiver as I think of them running up and down my body, the rough texture prickling at my skin with each stroke. His hair is short and dark, and I’ve never seen him in something other than a pair of jeans. He’s wearing jeans now, and a faded navy-blue t-shirt. His hair is damp, as if he just got out of the shower.

“Not my cock, you little slut,” he says indulgently. My pussy throbs at the name-calling. Mr. Buttman’s been part of the rotation for the last two years. I know him well, and once the sex is over, he treats me like a princess. If he genuinely thought of me as a slut, I’d be out of his apartment in a heartbeat. He’s having casual sex with me as much as I’m having casual sex with him, and I refuse to allow a double-standard about the way we see ourselves. I am not a slut, because I’m a woman who craves sex. If he gets to have no-strings-attached sex without society judging him, I demand the same right.

Okay. Rant over.

I’m curious about what Mr. Buttman wants to show me, and I look around his living room for a clue. There’s an opened package on his coffee table, and I raise an eyebrow. He nods. “Yup, that’s it. Open it.”

It’s already been opened, so I don’t need to rip off packing tape. I notice the return address is a location in Italy, and my fingers unfold the top of the box to reveal the contents underneath.

Of course, it’s a butt plug. But not just any old butt plug. This is the Ferrari of butt plugs. It looks like three butt plugs stacked right on top of each other. The one on top is the smallest, then it widens to a larger plug, and the final one, closest to the base, is wider than a fist. “Is it marble?” I ask, my voice reverent as I pick up the stone piece.

“Black Italian marble,” Mr. Buttman confirms. “A special order.” He grins. “Comes from the same quarry as the countertops, but the butt plug is more interesting.”

It is heavy and cool to the touch. I need both hands to pick it up. “It’s large.”

“You can manage,” he says. “It’ll be training for you. It’s good to have goals, don’t you think?”

“I have goals,” I protest. “I’m trying to get past my gag reflex.”

He chuckles. “Okay, I promise you, I’ll help you work on that.” I roll my eyes. Of course, Mr. Buttman, I’ll give you a blowjob and thank you for the privilege.

“This is wider than a fist.” My voice is nervous, but I’m curious.

“Just the last one,” he points out. “Come on, Stephanie. Go get ready.”

***

I will undoubtedly blog with purchase links once we go live, so keep an eye out! My co-conspirators on this project are some of the hottest writers of erotica I've ever read, and I'm so thrilled to be working with them on this.