REPLAY BOOK 10: PATRIOT GAMES

R10 Patriot Games

REPLAY BOOK 10: PATRIOT GAMES

by Nia Farrell

Length 22,729 words. Release date June 1, 2018.

99¢ Special Intro Price – FREE with KU

Amazon e-book          Goodreads reviews

 

 

Will the third time be the charm?  Replay Dominant Richard Benjamin Franklin lost Gini Shelton to Marcus Vos and Jannet MacDonald to Ian McGregor.  Now it’s Revolutionary War weekend, and he’s been assigned a new submissive—and not just anyone.  Victoria St. Leger is the Replay owner’s sister and an heiress in her own right.  Earning her submission will be the ultimate prize.

This weekend they’ll play Patriot and Loyalist, Whig and Tory.  However, this Tory’s surrender isn’t guaranteed despite the electricity that sizzles between them.  Rich might have her, but can he hold her, when her life is in England and he’s stuck here?  And will he want her, once he learns Tory’s secret?

She’s not just descended from a witch.  She is one.

This paranormal BDSM erotic romance has adult content, hints of reincarnation, and elements of magick.  Written for ages 18+.

Excerpt 1:

“Are you all right?” she asked softly, regretting her initial conclusion.  He wasn’t rude.  He was hurting, at least a little.  “Can I get you anything?  Water?  Or something stronger?”

“No, thanks,” he said, his voice still strained.  “I was headed into Replay One to make a massage appointment when Eleanor brought out Piers to show him the cake.  I knew it was more than she should handle and offered to bring it in for her.  If you’ll excuse me, I need to get back.”

He forced a smile, just enough to make dimples dent his cheeks.  His teeth were wide, white, and strong.  His jaw was slightly square and shadowed by a dark scruff of beard that matched his thick locks of hair.

Unable to do anything for the pain etched on his face, she stood there, feeling awkward and foolish.  “Well, thank you for helping Eleanor.  It was very kind of you….”  Drawing out the last word, she made it a blank for him to fill.

“Rich,” he said.  “Rich Franklin.”

“Franklin.  Any relation to Benjamin?” she teased.

“Actually, yes.  My full name is Richard Benjamin Franklin. No relation to the actor, though.”

“Really?  How fascinating!  Well, Richard Benjamin Franklin, I must say, it was nice meeting you.”

She extended her right hand.  When he took it, she felt the current run from her palm into his.  He felt it, too.  His dark eyes widened.

“What was that?”  Free of icy disdain, his voice was low and mellifluous.

This close, she had to lift her chin and arch her neck to meet his gaze.  The man had to be at least six feet, three inches tall, shorter than Piers but still inches taller than she was.  His dark eyes were stunning, almost black and full of questions.

“The sparks?” she ventured.  “I’ve been told that it’s something in the blood, passed down from a Scottish ancestress who was said to be a witch.  It seems more Tesla to me than that, but I can’t explain it any more than I can command it at will.  If you’d like to venture a guess, please, feel free to do so…, Sir, is it?  I assume that you are called Sir here.”

That earned her a genuine grin.  “At Replay, you would call me Sir, and I would call you trouble.”

“Oh?”

He tightened his grip when she tried to take back her hand.

She arched a brow at his impertinence.  “And why is that?”

“Because I strained my back this week and I’m under doctor’s order to take it easy.  There’s nothing easy about you.”

She couldn’t tell if he meant that as flattery or not.  “You never know.  I might surprise you.”

He looked at her, considering.  “I don’t doubt it.  I don’t doubt it one bit.”

When he finally released her hand, she curled her fingers into a fist, as if she could capture and keep the feel of him.  She’d felt the sparks before, but never as strongly as just now.  Then again, she’d never met a man quite like Richard Benjamin Franklin.

 

SEXCERPT:

Tory took him in her mouth, licking his length and sucking his cock until his skin gleamed with her saliva.  She kissed the tip and crawled up his body.  Reaching between them, she grasped his erection and held it.  Parting her folds with his crown, she found her opening and slid down onto his shaft.

He was too much for her, but she was greedy for his possession.  She remembered how totally he’d filled her.  How he’d claimed her mouth, her pussy, her arse.  How he’d taken his time, being careful to not hurt her with that massive erection of his.  She’d never handled a man his size.  She hadn’t been certain that she could.

Somehow, they managed to fit.

What a sensation that was, being filled completely by a man who was focused on her and committed to meeting her needs.  It just kept getting better.  He more than filled her, but her body delighted in accommodating him, stretching to allow his possession.  He played with her breasts, squeezing her mounds, catching the tips between his fingers, pinching, tugging, and twisting them, sending a searing bolt of sexual energy to her root and belly chakras.

She did the same, twisting the hard peaks of his nipples and feeling his cock swell inside her.  Leaning down, she took a pebbled tip in her mouth, teasing it with her teeth, flicking it with her tongue, closing her lips and sucking on his sensitive flesh.

“Yes,” he grated, fisting her hair and pressing her face to his chest.  “God damn, that’s good.  Suck it, duchess.  Suck me and fuck me.”

She slid a hand between them to finger her clit, rubbing circles over her sensitive button of flesh.  The pressure built.  Her body stiffened, poised on the edge of release.

“Please, Sir,” she begged him.  “I need…I need…”

His fist pulled on her hair, turning her face up to meet his dark gaze.  The expression on his face was fierce, with nostrils flared, his jaw clamped, and breath hissing between his teeth.  Beneath her, she felt his testes tighten, signaling his own eminent release.

“Come for me,” he ordered.

She came with a cry, shattering around him and over him, needing his touch to keep her anchored, his fingers to pick up the pieces and put them back into place.

 

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LOSER: Avenging Angels MC Book 3

handsome young bodybuilder

LOSER: AVENGING ANGELS MC BOOK 3

by Nia Farrell

Length 44,170 words. Release date May 8, 2018.

Amazon e-book (FREE on KU)    Goodreads reviews

They’ve both lost something…

For kindergarten teacher and kidnapping victim Sara Davies, it was a baby.  For tattoo artist and Avenging Angels MC member Flynn McGee, it was his belief in a happily ever after.  Bullied as a dyslexic teen, the product of a broken home, he struggles daily with self-worth.  Sara battles PTSD, anxiety, insomnia, and night terrors that require medication if she has any hope of getting some sleep.

Flynn believes that BDSM would help Sara in her healing process but she’s only done vanilla.  She thinks that Flynn needs to share his original artwork with the world.  Each of them pushes the other, but the conflict that comes from being outside their comfort zones only fuels their passion.

Their fledgling relationship is put to the test when Sara becomes the target of a dangerous stalker.  Can Flynn and the Avenging Angels keep her safe, or will Sara become Reaper’s next victim?

This book has adult content and may contain triggers. Written for ages 18+.

EXCERPT:

“What do we do?”

They’d come to another crossroads in their conversation.  He could either hedge or go for broke.  If he didn’t scare her off, things could get interesting.

“Kink,” Flynn said simply.  “BDSM.”  He watched her face as she took it in.  She didn’t look shocked like he was expecting.  Either she’d talked to Isabella or had heard enough that it didn’t surprise her.  Sara schooled her features, but her eyes revealed curiosity and maybe something more.  Was it possible that the idea of kink turned her on?  If she had PTSD, giving up control was a huge step in learning to trust again.

“Every member of the Avenging Angels is a Dominant.”

She looked at his cut.  “Then you’re a Dominant, too.”  She sounded like she didn’t know what to do with that.

“Yes,” he said.  “And unless I’m really reading you wrong, I’d say that you’re a natural submissive.  The idea of putting yourself in someone’s hands, surrendering control to someone you can trust to meet your needs, appeals to you on some level.  You know, the women at the clubhouse are submissives.  The clubhouse lounge is essentially a playroom.  A dungeon, if you will.  Play goes on every night of the week, not just party nights.”

“So if I take you there,” she said slowly, “and go inside, I can expect to see something?”

“I can’t imagine you not getting an eyeful with as many members, prospects, old ladies, mamas, and sweetbutts as we have.  I can see those questions swirling in your eyes.  You’re curious.  Maybe more than curious.  Say the word, and I’ll see that you get a first-hand look.  It’s the least I can do.”

Their waitress chose that moment to slip the guest check on the table.  Flynn snagged it before Sara had a chance to.  “I got this,” he told her.  “You’re driving.  I’m buying.  Energy exchange.”

He’d rather be making a power exchange with her, but that would have to wait.  He wanted to see how she reacted to the clubhouse lounge.  What caught her attention.  What made her cringe.  What made her breath catch and her panties get wet.

Fuck, yeah.

Excerpt 2:

“I don’t think that skirt meets the school dress code, Sara.”

She felt her cheeks grow flush.  “No, I wore this for you.  It shows my thigh.”

He arched a brow.  “It shows a helluva lot more than that.  Did you wear those red panties for me, too?  Don’t bother tugging on the skirt, Sara.  It’s too late for that.”

She froze with her fingers on the hem.

“Well?” he said.  “Did you?”

She snapped her spine straight, and looked past his shoulder, refusing to give him the satisfaction.  “No.  I wore them for me.”

“Liar.”  He pinned her with his gaze.  “Look me in the eye and tell me again.  Did you wear those panties for me?”

His hazel eyes were this beautiful mix of colors that seemed to shift with his emotions.  Right now, they were as dark as she’d ever seen them.

“Maybe,” she hedged.

He crossed his tattooed arms and gave her a look that demanded the truth.

“Yes,” she admitted, feeling the blush that colored her cheeks and spilled down to her chest.

“That’s what I thought.  And why would you do that, Sara?  Wear red panties and flash me?  Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

“No.”

“Did you want me to notice?”

“Yes,” she croaked.

“You know, some men would think that you were asking for something you might not be willing to give.  What were you hoping for, Sara?  What did you see happening here tonight?”

“I don’t know,” she keened, at once ashamed and aroused.  “After I got out of the hospital, I created this image that people wanted to see.  Someone who has it together.  Someone who’s happy.  But no one bothers to look past the mask.  No one wants to see the darkness or the grief, the guilt or the regrets.  They want to see the old Sara, and she’s not there anymore.”

Flynn listened.  Nodded.  “You’re trying to find yourself.  Redefine yourself.  I get that.  I’ve had to do it, too.  More than once.  It just takes time.”

“Time?”  She shook her head.  “It’s been three years since I’ve felt anything and now I don’t know what to do.  How to act.  What to think when you get flirty with me.  I don’t know.  Maybe you’re that way with everyone.  I mean, look at me.  I’m nothing like those girls in your club.”

“No,” he said.  “You’re not.  And thank fuck for it.  Sweetbutts are a dime a dozen.  Sleeping with them is meaningless sex.  Scratching an itch, nothing more.  A woman like you…you have no idea how rare you are.  I look at you, and I see someone who’s stronger than she thinks, wiser than she knows, and better than I deserve.  There’s a kindness in you that’s survived despite everything that you’ve been through.  The way you stayed with me, I have to wonder if you’d have done it for anyone else.  Would you have been brave enough to go to the clubhouse, say, with Iceman if you’d seen him go down?  What I’m saying is, I know it took guts to go in there with me and you didn’t really know me from shit.  Hell, you took a bigger chance going to my room.  If you had any idea what was going through my mind, you’d have dropped me at the door and gone straight home.”

Sara pressed her thighs together but it did nothing to ease the throbbing between her legs.  “You said you were a Dominant.  A true Dominant wouldn’t force himself on me.  Nothing would have happened without my consent.”

“And it won’t tonight, either.  But I’m too old for games, Sara.  If you want something, tell me.  Don’t play coy.  You say that you want to discover who you are.  Well, I want that, too.  After we eat, I’ll show you something that may help.  Doing it will be your choice.  I’m hoping that you’ll trust me to guide you through it.”

 

SEXCERPT:

“Those nipple clamps need to come off.  When the blood rushes back in, it’s going to hurt.  I can make it feel better if you trust me to do it.”

“Okay.”  She didn’t sound sure but she was brave enough to take a chance.

He started with the clamp closest to him.  “Here goes.”  He took it off.  She gasped at the pain.  Seeking to ease it, he bent his head and fastened his mouth over her nipple, sucking on it until her gasp turned into a moan.

Flynn raised his gaze to meet hers.  Sara was watching him with a lambency in her eyes that he couldn’t fail to recognize.

He could smell her arousal.  If he slid his fingers between her legs, he was certain that he’d find her panties wet with her juices.

Lifting his head, he covered her breast with his hand and gave it a squeeze.  “We good?” he asked.  She nodded.  “One more time, then.”

Leaning over her, he took off the second clamp and took her nipple in his mouth, sucking it to ease the hurt and making her moan with desire.  She clasped his head and arched her back, pressing her breast more fully into his mouth.  He caught the nipple between his teeth and teased it with his tongue, licking and flicking it while his fingers claimed her other breast.

“Flynn,” she breathed.  “Fuck me.”

He knew what this was.  She had just revisited the scene where she’d nearly died.  She was seeking a life-affirming action, but what sex the best answer?

“Are you sure, babe?”  As her Dominant, it was his responsibility to put her needs before his own, even though he was rock hard for her.

She covered his fly with her hand and squeezed his erection through his jeans.  “Yes,” she breathed.  “Please, Flynn.  Don’t make me beg.”

Framing her face in his hands, he bent down and brushed her lips with his.  She put her palms on his shoulders and spread her fingers wide, sweeping them over his chest, seeking and finding the barbells in his nipples.  She teased them with her palms.  He bit her lower lip.  When she gasped, he slammed his mouth over hers and thrust his tongue inside to mate with hers, an erotic duel that left them both panting with need.

He shoved a hand down the front of her panties and fingered her clit.  Coaxing it from its hood, he dove deeper, stroking her swollen folds.  She thrust her hips against him, humping his hand.  She was soaking wet.  He traced her seam and parted it with his middle finger.  Pushing up, he found her opening with practiced ease and worked his way into her tight, wet channel, feeling her walls resist, then yield to his invasion, not stopping until he was knuckle-deep.  Curling his finger, he found her G-spot and brought her to a shattering climax.

Her pussy milked his finger, her walls spasming, rippling along its length.  He wished it had been his dick, but this was about her, not him.

He fucked her with his finger, letting her ride his hand, adding a second finger once he’d stretched her out a bit.  Pulling out, he grabbed the sides of her panties and yanked them down.  He stood to finish pulling them off her feet and tossed them aside.

His boots went next.  He felt her gaze when his fingers went to the waist of his jeans, found the button, and pushed it free.  His erection strained the zipper.  He opened it slowly, taking care to not catch anything on the way down.  Hooking his fingers in his waistband, he shoved his jeans over his hips and down his legs, freeing one, then the other, until he was as naked as a Michael Stokes model.

The way she looked at him, he felt like one.  The woman liked ink, no doubt about it.  Her gaze drifted south to his cock.  He stroked himself, working pre-cum from the tip.

“Bend your knees up,” he told her.  “Put your heels by your ass and make room for me, sugar.”  The chair wasn’t nearly as wide as a bed.  You could fuck on it, but positions were limited.

Letting go of his dick, he crawled between her legs, not stopping until the head of his cock was nudging her crotch.  Planting his palm by her head, he took hold of himself with the other hand and stroked her folds, wetting himself with her juices.

She palmed his pecs, spread her fingers, and squeezed, feeling the contours of his muscles.  He flexed his hips, demanding entrance and achieving it in one, meaty thrust that took her breath away.  She bucked and writhed beneath him, struggling to accommodate his length and girth.  The truth was, he more than filled her.  He had to work for every inch, but eventually, he was balls-deep in her sweet, welcoming warmth.

He started really fucking her, then, building in speed and intensity until he was pounding into her.  She climaxed twice more while he was screwing her.  Her juices coated his cock and gave the lubrication he needed to keep from fucking her raw.

When he felt himself nearing the end, he had three choices: finish in her mouth, mark her front, or finish in her ass.  “I need to come,” he grated.  His balls tightened, getting ready to unload.

“My mouth,” she panted.  “I want you in my mouth.”

Good enough.

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Replay Set 3: Wing Men, The Dark Side, Naughty New Year, Gladiator

RSet3 box

Replay Set 3: Wing Men, The Dark Side, Naughty New Year, Gladiator

by Nia Farrell

Length: 75,405 words. Release Date April 1, 2018.

Amazon e-book         FREE WITH KU          Goodreads reviews

 

Welcome to Replay, the BDSM theme resort where patrons roleplay in the past.  Replay Set 3 contains Replay Book 7-9 and Replay Reunion 1.

Replay Book 7: WING MEN. During World War I weekend, a singer comes under the sights of two rival fighter pilots. If they want her, they’ll have to learn to share. Released August 1, 2017. Length 20,081 words.  Teasers and Excerpt http://bit.ly/WingMenWP

Replay Book 8: THE DARK SIDE.  It’s Cinema Classics weekend at Replay BDSM theme resort.  When 1930s Hollywood vamp meets vampire on the dark side of the resort, the chemistry is off the charts.  But can a relationship survive the light of day, when a doctor requires anonymity and his submissive is a celebrity?  Release date November 1, 2018.  Length 25,313 words.  Teasers and Excerpt http://bit.ly/RB8WP

Replay Reunion 1: NAUGHTY NEW YEAR.  Replay BDSM theme resort hosts its third New Year’s Eve party in the newest addition, The Steamroom, built for Iron Domination Steampunk play.  Release date January 1, 2018.  Length 6,218 words.  Teasers and excerpt http://bit.ly/RR1WP

Replay Book 9: GLADIATOR.  Replay BDSM theme resort has four new Doms, an international team of gladiators who live and train together at the resort’s Roman villa.  Replay’s wardrobe assistant Leda Giannopoulis hopes to be the tie that will bind them, but her kidnapping fantasy will threaten to tear them apart.  MMFMM interracial multicultural bisexual reverse harem ménage a cinco.  Release date February 1, 2018.  Length 23,793 words.  Teasers and Excerpt http://bit.ly/RB9WP

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A Package for Paige (Unbillable Hours #2)

A Package for Paige (Unbillable Hours 2)

by Ree L. Diehl

Length 9,402 words. Release date April 15, 2018.

Amazon e-book        Goodreads reviews

 

Bicycle messenger Ben Walker delivers his last package of the day and is confronted by one very disgruntled author.  When she manages to look past the box from her editor, her mood shifts at warp speed from sullen to sultry.

Paige Turner hates being interrupted when she’s writing, especially in the middle of a sex scene.  When her intercom’s summons leaves her as unsatisfied as her hero, she plans to answer the door, accept delivery, and get right back to it.  Plans change when she comes face to face with the bicycle messenger who inspired her latest hero. 

The erotic novelist insists on examining his package for hidden damage, but the warning label on her shirt makes him wonder if he can trust her with a knife.  Paige lures him into her apartment by promising to let him in her kitchen drawers.  Now if she can manage to get into his….

Welcome to the Unbillable Hours Series, where the best things happen off the clock. 

Romantic Comedy Erotica, written for ages 18+.

 

Excerpt:

Paige Turner might write soft porn, but she blushed like a Disney princess.  Ben Walker hadn’t seen a woman’s face pink up like that since his senior year in high school when his best friend’s mother caught him licking cake batter off her spatula.

“Well, well,” he drawled, taking an insane amount of pleasure in watching her squirm.  “First, you lure me into your apartment with the promise of cutlery.  Then you tease me with a utility knife and the promise of more—a promise that you have yet to deliver on, I might add.”  He shook his head and tsked.  “You want to play games?  All right.  We’re gonna do a little Show and Tell.  You’re going to show me the good stuff, and you’re going to tell me about this.”  He held up her book cover.  “After that, we’ll see.”

Ben had been a little put off when Chloe insisted on a last-minute pickup and delivery to end his five-day workweek, but she’d been wrapping him around her finger as long as he’d known her.  She had used her wiles two months earlier, to get him to pose for the cover of a book that she was editing.  She hadn’t told him the author’s name or the title.  He was okay with the promise of a copy and being paid scale for posing.

The thing was, the photographer wanted more and had booked him for two more sessions since then.

Now, he had agents calling him, wanting to set him up with photo shoots and acting gigs.

Paige Turner had no idea what she’d started.

She bit her lip and turned her Bambi brown eyes to meet his.  He waggled the cover and laid it on the counter.

“I can explain,” she said.  The hint of pleading in her voice made him wonder how she would sound, on her hands and knees, begging for more.

“I’m listening.”

“Well,” she hedged.  “I saw you.  I mean, obviously, I saw you.  You were leaving Chloe’s office.  You walked right by me, but you were busy looking at your phone.  You didn’t notice me, but I saw you.  It was like your image was burned in my brain.  The only way to get it out was to write you into my next book.”

“So…, I’m in your book.  Want to tell me how I came to be on the cover?

“When Chloe read the partial of the manuscript, she guessed it was you.  I told her about the day that I’d seen you.  I didn’t think anything of it.  Hell, we’ve swapped sighting stories before.  Man candy is way better than Big Foot.  But I swear, I had no idea that she asked you to do the cover.  I’m sorry.  No…,” she said slowly.  “I’m not sorry.  You were perfect for my hero, and you’re perfect on the cover.  Now, might I interest you in some cutlery, Sir?”

Hearing the honorific, he went still.  She didn’t know.  She couldn’t know, right?

Only one way to find out.

Ben crossed his arms and gave her his Dom look—the one that he used when a subbie disappointed him.  “You lured me into your apartment with the promise of it, and you failed to deliver.  Do you know what happens to women who tease?”  He dropped his voice to a husky rumble.  “They get spanked, Paige.  Spanked until their ass is on fire, then fucked so hard, they can’t walk straight for days.”

She squeezed her thighs together and swallowed.  He didn’t know which turned her on more, the thought of being spanked or the idea of a good, hard fuck.

“Cutlery,” he said firmly.  “Open your drawers and show me what you’ve got.”

What she had was a chef’s dream kitchen, from the six-burner gas range to the double-wide drawer full of knives, everything from paring and rabbit knives to santoku blades, chef’s knives, and Chinese cleavers.

He pulled one knife from its slot and tested the flex of the blade.  He looked at her over the perfectly sharpened Swiss steel.  “Do you know what this one is, Paige?”

She did.  Of course, she did.  Her pussy was practically gushing.

“It’s a boner, Paige.  A very nice boner.  Take care of it, and it will perform for you every single time.  Get lax, and it will, too.  You know what I’m saying?  Tell me, Paige.  How do you take care of a boner?”

She swallowed hard.  “Tell me.  Please, Sir?”

“Oil,” he said, watching her eyes grow lambent with arousal.  “Lots of oil and long, smooth strokes.  Do you think you can handle that, Paige?  More importantly, do you want to?”

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STITCH: Crime Family Values Book 1

Elegant vampire

STITCH: Crime Family Values Book 1

by Nia Farrell

Length: 54,123 words. Release Date March 8, 2018

 

Amazon e-book     Goodreads reviews  

When physical therapist Beth Shelton is kidnapped by a wounded man who mistakes her for a doctor, she finds herself in the middle of Godfather Four.

**********************

Physical therapist Bethany Shelton is supposed to be dead.  That was the plan when Matteo Visconti kidnapped her by mistake, thinking that she was a doctor. He survived the infection after she took the bullet from him, but he left it to his mob boss father and assassin brother to finish her.

Except they didn’t.  After a long, futile search for the man who shot him, Matteo learns that Beth survived and he’s a father.

Beth will do anything to stay alive and raise her son.  Matteo doesn’t hesitate to drag her down into his world.  He’ll make her want to stay despite the danger, despite the pain.  But when you marry into the mob, you don’t just get a crime family.  You get their enemies, too.

A full-length, standalone dark, dubious consent erotic Mafia romance, written for Ages 18+.

 

Excerpt 1:

His physical therapist was proving to be an enigma than begged solving.

Discomfited by his study of her, she stepped back and turned to leave.

“Stay,” he said.

“Broth,” she answered.  “We’ve got to start building you back up, and you need something for the pain.  I’ll be back as soon as I can.  I’ll see if I can find a bell or timer, something you can use that I’ll hear if I’m not in the room.  If I can find canned broth or bouillon, it shouldn’t take long.  Ten or fifteen minutes tops.”

She came back with another tray, loaded with two coffee mugs of broth, a sleeve of saltine crackers, all of the analgesics that they’d bought, and a digital timer that he could punch and sound an alarm a second later.  She had also brought another kitchen towel to use as a bib.  Looping it around his neck, she secured the ends with a small bag clip and picked up the first mug of broth.

“You strike me as a beef man but you’re getting chicken to start.  If you can keep down liquids, after an hour or so, we’ll try crackers, then pain meds.  Otherwise, they’re just going to eat your stomach before they come back up.”

As much as he’d love to argue with her, he knew that she was right.  He had to be wise about this.  That included governing his body’s reaction to her whenever she came near.  One whiff of her skin and all he could see was how she looked naked, unaware, and vulnerable, totally at his mercy.  He could have done anything that he wanted, but that would have made him no better than Reaper.

Even crime families had values.

He’d left her pretty much alone—although he’d felt one of her breasts, to see if they were natural or enhanced.  She was built like a swimmer or runner, with toned legs, a trim waist, and beautiful C-cup breasts.  Her nipples were a soft, rosy pink.  The nest of curls at the juncture of her thighs was two shades darker than the crowning glory of her long, brown hair. 

She had braided it to keep it from misbehaving.  He wanted to see the waist-length curls flowing down her naked back and teasing the dimples at the top of her shapely hips.  He wished that she would whisper his real name, the one that he could not tell her, just in case she decided to split.  He wanted her to offer him something far more satisfying than tepid water and warm broth.  He could only imagine what it would feel like to possess her, to drive his cock inside her until she shattered in his arms.

Maybe before this was all over…

He was dreaming, of course.  This could only end one way for her.  Beth Shelton would eventually have to be dealt with, which was too bad, really.

He needed her to survive, but he couldn’t afford to let her live.

 

Excerpt 2:

“I shouldn’t want you,” he grated, his breath still minty from when she’d helped him brush his teeth after supper.  “But I can’t stop thinking about you.  With the cashier.  With that mother at the checkout.  You, without a stitch, lying on the seat of my SUV, looking so peaceful.  So pure of heart.  I promised myself that I wasn’t going to touch you again.  You don’t know who I am.  What I’ve done.  What I’ll have to do as soon as I can go again.  There’s a monster out there who needs put down.  He takes women, shares them with his club, and kills them.  He raped my cousin.  I promised to avenge my family’s honor.  I failed once.  I won’t rest until he’s stopped.”

Stopped…as in dead.

Matteo was not the kind of man that most parents envision for their daughter.  He had no qualms about killing someone who deserved it.  He was willing to be judge, jury, and executioner if it meant that justice would be served when the legal system failed.

The intensity in his eyes was mesmerizing.  She wet her lips and swallowed hard.

“You should have run away as far and as fast as you could go.”

“You pointed a gun at me.”

“It was empty.  It’s still empty unless you found bullets and reloaded it.  But I needed help.  I’m just sorry it was you.”

He thrust himself against her hand.  Beth realized that her fingers were still wrapped around his girth, or as far as they could reach, anyway.

He had needed her, but the nature of his needs had taken a very carnal turn.  In another time, another place, she might have been seduced into having a one-night stand with a handsome, well-dressed man possessing an air of danger and an impressive cock.  But now…

If she fought him, she could hurt him.  If he didn’t take it easy, he could start bleeding internally again, and this time, she might not be able to stop it.

Would it really be so bad, to give herself to him just this once?  No right, no wrong.  Nothing but elemental need and what it took to assuage it.

“Matteo—”

“You were my angel of mercy,” he murmured, his voice grown rough with desire.  “Have mercy on me now.”

He cupped her head and urged her face down to his.  Rather than risk hurting him, she surrendered to her own rising passion.

They came together with opened mouths and parted lips.  Tongues thrust, twining around each other in a dance as old as humankind.  Forsaking her hold on his manhood, she unzipped her pants, hooked her fingers in the tops of her panties, and shoved everything down.  Kicking them aside, she climbed on the bed and straddled him, riding the ridge of his cock and stimulating his length while his mouth continued to consume hers.

He claimed one breast with his good hand, splaying his large fingers, rubbing and squeezing it.  Her hardened nipple prodded his palm.  Catching it between his fingers, he rolled and tugged on it, a pull that she felt all the way to her core.

She threw off her shirt, wanting to feel his mouth on her breasts.  Pushing them together, she offered herself to him, rising up to meet his mouth and welcoming the feel of his lips claiming one, then the other.  He took a nipple between his teeth and teased it with his tongue, licking, flicking, curling around it and sucking it inside.  He feasted on her flesh like a starving man, a desperate man, a wounded man with an uncertain future, seeking to make the most of the time that was left to him.

She didn’t want to think that he might die.  She wasn’t ready to accept that this might be the last act of his life.  The last time that he’d know the joy of a woman’s body and the comfort of her touch.  She gave it to him, all the while bargaining with God to do what He could to save him.  He might be a dangerous man, but he wasn’t a bad man.  Not really.  He was lonely and vulnerable and likely as scared as she was that things might not end well.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, seeking to reassure him when he pushed down the front of his sweatpants and freed his cock.  “It’s okay,” she said when he bent his knees and started to enter her, skin to skin, with nothing separating them.  She wasn’t about to raise the subject of condoms with a man who might be dying.

He claimed her in one desperate, searing thrust that took her breath away.

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Five for Five Giveway!

5 for 5 sm
From Nia Farrell aka Erinn Ellender Quinn aka Ree L. Diehl:
The three of me are giving away five copies of Replay Reunion 1: Naughty New Year, a standalone, sizzling short story set at readers’ favorite BDSM theme resort. There are five things to do for your chance to win:
 
1. Join our Facebook group The Fold https://www.facebook.com/groups/THEFOLD3
 
2. Follow Nia Farrell’s Amazon author page http://viewauthor.at/NiaFarrell
 
3. Follow Erinn Ellender Quinn’s Amazon author page http://viewauthor.at/EEQuinn
 
4. Follow Ree L. Diehl’s Amazon author page http://author.to/ReeLDiehl
 
5. Subscribe to our gorgeous monthly newsletter http://bit.ly/NiaErinnReeNews
 
Go to this post in THE FOLD and comment DONE. https://www.facebook.com/groups/THEFOLD3/permalink/1292927400812613/
 
Our newsletter goes out once a month, beautifully done and packed with goodies. Here’s a link to the last issue http://bit.ly/Dec2017News.

Highland Desire

 

Highland Desire by Nia Farrell writing as Erinn Ellender Quinn

Length: 7,632 words.  Release Date December 20, 2017

Amazon e-book         Smashwords FREE BOOK 

 

In 1602 Scotland, a young widow traveling alone with her three-year-old daughter finds herself indebted to her clan’s enemy after he saves her child.

A steamy historical Highland romance novelette, written for Ages 18+.

Excerpt:

“Ye look better,” he murmured, sounding as if the mere act of speaking was all that he could manage.

 

“As do ye,” she replied.  If she were judging by looks alone, she would have deemed him fit for travel.  But his voice betrayed his weakness. They would be here at least one night, possibly two.

The last time she was on Rannoch Moor, she was a frightened fifteen-year-old, headed for a marriage that her stepfather had arranged.  Now, she was a woman grown and had a choice—to stay with Niall or go.  Wounded though he was, she still felt safer with him than alone.  Too, she owed him her daughter’s life.  Saving his seemed the least that she could do.

She gathered berries and wood sorrel, shaved more meat, and made tea.  Eventually, she helped him up when the water she’d been pushing in him demanded to be let out.  Judging the hour, she gathered bits of wood and dried dung, anything that would burn to help ward off the chill of night.  They spend it hunkered by the fire, trying to stay warm, with her child tethered to her so she could not wander off. 

In the morning, Muirgheal steeped more sorrel and shaved meat for him, and fed Phee and herself.  Niall was quiet.  She wished that he would speak.  Even if he was not up for conversation, he could at least tell her exactly where he lived.  She prayed that it was close.  Hopefully, it was within a day’s ride.  Surely he would not range far from his home to hunt, but with men, one never knew.

By the time the three of them finished breaking their fast, Niall deemed himself ready to try riding.

Muirgheal said nothing.  She nodded, keeping her doubts to herself.  Willpower alone might get him in the saddle and keep him there.  But he would be seated alone this time.  He could barely handle himself.  There was no way that he could handle Phee and her.

She tied their bags behind his saddle.  At least that much of her burden would be lighter.  The two of them walked beside him, or she walked and Phee rode her hip.  They traveled until they entered Gleann Dubh—the Black Glen, which lay west of Loch Rannoch, about eleven miles east of where they had been on Rannoch Moor.  It was almost as pretty a place as where she was born.  The stone cottage they finally reached looked cozy and well-made.

Approaching it, Muirgheal noted a small garden out back.  The door in the side of a hill marked where a root cellar had been dug into it.  The barn behind the house had a paddock.  From beyond the barn, she thought she heard the laugh of a stream as it tumbled over rocks and rills.

The trip had taken most of Niall’s strength.  “Ye need to rest,” she said.  “I’ll take care of yer horse if ye will tell me what ye want.”

There was a long, awkward pause.

He had to clear his throat to answer her.

She listened to his words, but more than that, she searched his eyes, wishing to rewind the clock and read again what she thought they were saying.

Tell me what ye want.

He wanted her.

She had begun to suspect it, the way that he tried, so very hard, to not look at her.  He was a quiet one, except for the occasional tune he hummed or sang before a bullet had nearly felled him.  He didn’t feel the need to fill the air with idle chatter, and in that, they were alike.  She would rather listen to his breath and to his heartbeat and know that when he did say something, his words had weight and meaning.

Niall rode the horse into the barn and managed to dismount.  While Phee jumped on a rick of straw, Muirgheal helped him with the saddle and pad.  He took off the bridle and turned the stallion out into the paddock to graze on lush, green grass.

The inside of the house was cooler than outside, thanks to the thickness of the stone walls and windows that faced east.  It was a typical one-room Highland cottage, with a bed downstairs and a sleeping loft above.  Niall lived here with his ghosts, in the framed silhouette of a woman on the wall, the abandoned spinning wheel near the hearth, and the empty cradle in the corner.

“Nap!” Phee gave it a push and giggled, wanting to lie in it.

“Nay, lassie.  Ye willnae fit.”  Even if she did, her climbing in the cradle might violate his sacred space, and Niall was already hurting.

“Sit,” she insisted when Niall stopped beside a pair of wooden buckets.  “Tell me where tae fill them, and I shall.”

“The burn,” he said, pointing in the direction of the barn.

Taking a bucket in each hand, Muirgheal ordered Phee to come and set out to find water.  The burn was close by.  In the summer heat, the spring-fed water was blessedly cold and clear.  She walked to a point above where the horse drank and brought the wooden pails back full.

Setting them by the door, she found Niall asleep on the floor by the hearth, choosing to lie there rather than dirty his sheets or climb to the sleeping loft.  To let him rest, she took Phee with her and visited the root cellar, taking stock of what was there in crocks, baskets, bottles, and kegs.  Niall clearly needed more variety in his diet.  There was dried meat aplenty but little in the way of vegetables, and his garden was too small to meet more than the moment’s need.

Next year, she thought, then stopped herself.  So close to home, she was.  So near to her mother, her family, her friends.  Try as she might to picture herself on the far side of the pass, she could as easily see herself here, sewing by the hearth, mending stockings and making clothes for her growing little girl who was more comfortable with Niall than she’d ever been with the man who wished only for a son.

Did she want to stay?  Dare she ask?  And if she did, would he let her?  She knew next to nothing about the man who lived here.  How did he earn his living?  Was he wealthy?  Was he happy?  If he wasn’t, could she be the one to ease his sadness and make him so?

She’d only known him three days, and already she could envision a future with him.  In her heart, she was willing to risk it.  Whatever happened now, he would be the one to decide.