A WICKED CHRISTMAS 1870

WC70-0 A Wicked Christmas 1870 6x9 sm

A WICKED CHRISTMAS 1870

(Wicked Christmas #2)

by Nia Farrell

Release Date December 15, 2018.  Length: 11,904 words. 

FREE with Kindle Unlimited.

Amazon Universal link e-book     Amazon US e-book     Goodreads reviews 

 

In this holiday novelette, sculptor Elena Davenport Wainwright prepares to celebrate her art studio’s second open house and her third Christmas with her husbands Edward Wainwright and Daniel O’Flaherty. 

While working on her larger-than-life statue of Achilles, Patroclus, and Briseis, a fainting spell sends Elena tumbling from the scaffolding.  Daniel breaks her fall, but the episode makes them all wonder at the cause.  The doctor lists a number of potential suspects, including bone break fever, parasites, and a baby.  The possibility of contracting a disease is as disturbing as the possibility of pregnancy, but how will Elena know?

Maybe she should call in her Romani herbalist for an intuitive medical consultation.

Although written as a standalone, your enjoyment will be enhanced if you have read As Wicked as You Want (named one of The 50 Best Indie Books of 2016, voted #1 erotica and #10 overall) and A Wicked Christmas 1869, a sizzling holiday short story.

Historical MMF ménage erotic BDSM romance, a steamy novelette written for Ages 18+.

 

Excerpt:

Lucy helped me into the striped blue silk dress that was Edward’s favorite and arranged my hair, coiling it at the back of my head and securing it with pins and a pair of jeweled dragonfly combs.  Adding pearls at my throat and a pair of earbobs, my transformation was complete.

Daniel was waiting in the hall to escort me downstairs for dinner.  Edward’s cook Babs had outdone herself.  The soup was savory.  The beef was fork-tender, the vegetables were tender-crisp, and dessert was to die for.

Paddy had two servings.  I envied him his constitution.  He could eat all he wanted and never gain a pound of fat, only muscle.  But then, he worked hard, too.  At the studio and in the morning regimen that the three of us maintained.  Sculpting was a very physical pursuit.  My work required me to be as fit as a field hand.

The men, of course, were great admirers of my form.  They could not wait to take me upstairs, undo all of Lucy’s work, and get me naked as Venus rising from the sea.

Edward hooked my wrapper on his finger, found the shoulders, and held it open for me.  He might be a hedonist, but I drew the line at traipsing nude through the halls when Young Frank’s duties included tending the attic boiler.  Babs’s son was an affable, dependable, impressionable young man.  I did not wish to frighten him away.  If he chose to stay in our service, no doubt he would get an education.

Tonight, there would be no corruption of his youth.

The three of us wore robes to the third-floor room that Edward had transformed into an indoor sexual park that we referred to as our play room.  Here, we played hard and fucked harder.  Our Master’s collection of “toys”—instruments and aids—was ever increasing.

As soon as the door closed behind us, I shrugged off my wrapper and dropped to my knees.  Daniel did the same, taking his place beside me.  We waited, wordless, to see what Edward desired.

Tonight, it was both of us.

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THE THREE GRACES TRILOGY (Something Else, Something Different, Something More)

TGr Three Graces Trilogy 2018

THE THREE GRACES TRILOGY:

Something Else, Something Different, Something More (Second Edition)

by Nia Farrell

Length 61,047 words.  Expanded second edition release date December 1, 2018.

Amazon Universal Link e-book   FREE with KU  Amazon US e-book  

Goodreads (second edition) reviews

 

The Three Graces Trilogy includes Books 1-3 in the seven-book series.

SOMETHING ELSE (Book One, click on the title so see teasers)

Grace Murphy is the local psychic medium who dreams of her soulmates—Nico White, a bisexual American Indian musician, and J.T. Santiago, an ex-Navy SEAL and former cage fighter with PTSD on top of the guilt that he’s still carrying from other lifetimes that they’ve shared.  J.T. is a Dominant, but he’s never had a male submissive and Grace and Nico are a package deal.  It’s a learning curve for all of them, with J.T.’s initiation into MMF and MM relations and Grace’s introduction to BDSM.  With Grace’s yin, J.T’s yang, and Nico’s center balance, the three of them come together as far as J.T.’s PTSD will allow.  But forging a future will mean healing the past, however painful it might be.

An interracial paranormal MMF ménage BDSM erotic romance, this book is written as a standalone, but the epilogue ends with a teaser for the second book in the series.  Contains explicit sexual content, written for mature readers.  Ages 18+.

 

SOMETHING DIFFERENT (Book Two, click on the title to see teasers)

Singer/songwriter Anna James is getting desperate.  Even with a day job, money’s tight, and she’s wound tighter yet, having sworn off sex to reconcile with her mother who’s in chemo and her father who disowned her for her wild, wicked ways.  No sooner than her psychic best friend predicts an end to Anna’s self-imposed drought, rock stars Jackson and Jacob Thomason come to town, with the dream of an indie album co-written with local American Indian flutist Nico White and his songwriting partner AJ McPherson. 

The triple-platinum artists are attracted to Anna, who gives as good as she gets.  Learning that Anna’s alter ego AJ puts the “twist” in Nico’s “tribal” music only makes them want her more.  The part-Comanche Thomason twins need an album’s worth of songs.  That means spending night after night, working closely, getting to know each other, learning how to co-create. 

Anna’s never written music with anyone but Nico.  Their collaborations are so natural, so organic.  They’re comfortable with each other.  The Thomason twins, who perform as No Mercy, make her anything but.  What’s a fangirl to do, when submitting to her rock star idols means exploring the darker side of passion?

A BDSM MFM ménage erotic rock star romance, written for Ages 18+.

Contains advanced BDSM and may contain triggers.

 

SOMETHING MORE—2016 Golden Flogger Finalist for Best BDSM Book of the Year (Book Three, click on the title to see teasers)

Loving a biker and his adult film star brother came at a terrible price. Taken by a rival gang, beaten beyond recognition and sexually assaulted, Rachel Givens saw a chance to survive by claiming the identity of the other girl who was taken and killed. She spent months recovering from her physical injuries but still struggles with PTSD. Add her three-year-old autistic daughter to the equation, and Rachel (now Rae Simmons) has her hands more than full as she makes a new life for them in a quiet little town.

When her former lovers walk into the restaurant where she works, it’s clear that the Colson brothers have come for more than the plate lunch special. Once Rachel gladly submitted to their domination, but she hasn’t been with a man since her ordeal. She has triggers and issues and a daughter whose needs come first. Cord and Cam don’t care whether or not Hannah is theirs. As far as they’re concerned, Hannah is Rachel’s and Rachel is theirs.  They’ll do whatever it takes to convince Rachel that they belong together.

This newly expanded edition of a 2016 Golden Flogger Finalist is a BDSM MFM ménage erotic romance with adult situations and potential triggers. Written for Ages 18+.

Excerpt 1—from Something Else:

J.T. notices my submissive traits.  I keep my eyes down and let the two men lead the conversation, listening more than talking.  And I notice his Dominant traits.  He pays attention to my needs, making certain Cherry finally brings the glass of water that I ordered when we first got here and asking if my burger is cooked the way I like it.  He compliments my hair, my flowing New Age dress, and asks me the standard getting-to-know-you questions.

I tell him where I was born, where I went to school, where I work, where we live.

“You need to come out,” I tell him.  Please, please, please.  “It’s too cold for swimming, but on warm days, the fish still jump.  Or we could kayak.”  We have two, but a neighbor has several that he rents to campers, fishermen, and the occasional waterfowl hunter looking for a better way to retrieve downed birds.

Nico seconds the notion.  “Sure,” he says, lifting his beer in a toast.  “Bring your stuff.  Spend the weekend.  You can have my room.  I’ll take the couch.”  His choice of words reminds J.T. that, so far, we are only friends.

Hopefully, that’s about to change.

The warmth in Nico’s eyes makes me wonder if he’d rather share his room—his bed—with J.T. alone.  It would let the two men bond before adding me to the mix.  The trouble is, I can’t get a handle on J.T.  What’s he up for?

I need J.T. to want us.  Both of us.  I want what I’ve seen.  What I’ve dreamed about.  The three of us sharing a bed together, sometimes with me between, sometimes with Nico.  When we looked at properties, a master suite large enough for a California king was at the top of our list.  So far Nico’s been sleeping there alone, just him and those big, talented hands of his, fisting himself into oblivion.

But I can almost hear J.T.’s doubting Thomas.  The man doesn’t trust himself.  I sense the same darkness he does, the part of him that makes him afraid he’ll cross a line and hurt someone.

Wounded spirit.  And not just in this life.

Nothing that simple.

Nothing that easy.

Not that healing PTSD is ever easy.

Suddenly, I see him, struggling, hurting, lost.  Crippled with “soldier’s heart” in an alternate-reality past life that we shared, he’s also suffered shell shock in wars that he fought without us.  With the vision comes the knowledge of why we are here this time.  To help him mend.  To help him heal.  He’s been trying to dispel the darkness when he needs to embrace it.  Harness it.  Learn to live with his shadow self.

I can almost feel his collar on my neck and see the ink on Nico’s.

Excerpt 2—from Something Different:

There are six feet three inches of male heat on my back when I grab one of the reusable glass bottles and close the refrigerator door. He bends down to murmur in my right ear; his nose nudges the row of hoops that rim it as his breath dances over my skin. “I don’t know where you went,” he says, “but I sure as hell hope you go there again–and take us the fuck with you next time.”

I catch myself leaning toward him, like I’m drawn by a goddamn magnet. There’s no denying I want them. I’d just like an idea of how this needs to go down. Before I give myself a chance to chicken out, I flat out ask him, “Do you two do everything together?”

“Yeah. Pretty much.” He lifts his hand–the one that has L O V E tattooed on his fingers–and strokes my arm, leaving gooseflesh in his wake. “If you know our music, you know us. It won’t be gentle, and it won’t be quick, but I can fucking guarantee we’ll give you the best sex of your life….”

If anyone else called me kitten, I might take offense.  But the Spanish rolling off his tongue has an oddly erotic appeal.

Now I’m curious.  “Kitten?  You want to tell me where that came from?”

“Ever try to catch a feral cat?” he asks me, sliding his hand up to my shoulder and flexing his fingers around it.  “Even a kitten will shred you to ribbons.  But you’ve got the spice to go with the claws, don’t you, gatita?”

Shit.  The temperature in here just raised ten degrees.  Needing to chill, I twist off the lid, slam back a mouthful of cold spring water, and nearly die of brain freeze.  “Fuck fuck fuck!”

Jackson chuckles.  “That’s the plan.”

“Since when?”  I stop rubbing my forehead long enough to throw a look over my shoulder.  I flick my eyelashes at him, daring him to flirt some more.  We kind of skipped that part when we went straight from heated looks to promises of three-way kink.

“The diner,” he says.  “You gave as good as you got.  You sounded like you could handle us.”

“Mmmm.  My hooker voice.  And how did I look?”

I’m fishing.  He knows it.  I know it.  We’re both aware it’s not a deal breaker, but his answer could put a whole new spin on things.

“Like you’d dare anything.  Risk anything.  You were…hot,” he rumbles.  “So fucking hot.  I wanted to drag you into the back and bend you over a sink and—”

“Spank me?”

“Is that what you want, brat?”  He underscores the last word with a slap on my bottom, his tone full of menace.

I shiver, and not from the chilled bottle that I’m holding against my chest.

“Ah,” he says, sounding pleased.  “Then here’s a word of warning.  A little sass gives us an excuse to get creative.  Disrespect us, or anyone else, and we’ll keep you on the edge so long, you’ll be begging us to put you out of your misery.  No Mercy,” he whispers, turning me to face him.

Up close, his tats are even more amazing.  I’ve never wanted ink, but I’ll gladly give his some serious consideration.

“If you’ve wondered about the band’s name, there it is.  From a former groupie when we were still performing as The Thomason Twins.  She had a sweet little pussy, but she wouldn’t watch her mouth.  When she figured out we’d never let her come, she moved on.  The bitch lasted four weeks.  It was the longest fucking month of my life.”

I can’t help it.  Lifting my free hand, I palm his chest to feel his piercing and his nipple peaks against it.  I drop my gaze and see a distinct tenting of his jeans.

Impressive.

“Yep, I feel your pain.”  Slanting him a look, I wonder if they were thinking music and hoping for more when they bought me an excused absence.

If he’d known, would Kirk have given me time off work for bad behavior?

Not that it matters.  I’m theirs, or will be.

Excerpt 3—from Something More:

Cam scoots his chair around.  When I step between his feet, I’m facing him and, across the table, Cord.  I lean forward, nuzzling Cam’s ear, watching his brother, remembering what it was like to have them both inside me.  The plus-size dildo they bought to use while Cam was gone was a poor substitute for the real thing.

I catch his earlobe with my lips, caging it with my teeth and gently tugging.  My mouth slides down, following the line of his jaw to the center of his chin.  He was clean-shaven this morning, but Cam’s beard grows so quickly, he usually shaves twice a day.  Right now, there’s sandpaper abrading my skin, making my lips ultrasensitive.

I glance at Cord, who’s watching us with the intensity of a hawk in a fresh-cut field, who knows that patience is a virtue well-rewarded.  I just don’t know how prison has affected his control.  Telling myself that I’d better not test it, I give my full attention to his older brother.

Cam smells like I remember him, ocean breeze and woodsy musk.  I suck on his lower lip, hear the telling intake of breath, and know his body’s response.  I’ve seen it too many times on screen and in person.  He can go from flaccid to fully hard in seconds flat and can maintain an erection pretty much all night.

The memory jolts me, and I realize there is a tiny, tiny chance that my daughter is his.  He usually took my mouth or my ass, but in a marathon session the night before the last time he left, he had all of me, every way that he could take me, with and without Cord, who was still there, watching, when he wasn’t joining in.

I wonder what he thought when I said that he couldn’t be Hannah’s father.  Was he hurt, thinking that I could so easily forget?  Or did he realize the horrors that followed mere days later messed with my mind?

“I remember,” I whisper against his mouth.  “This.  Us.  I remember….”  It’s why he needed tested, too.  Oh, God.

I kiss him.  Open mouth, tongue thrusting, hands fisting in his hair, bent on ruining his hundred dollar cut.  Forgive me.  Punish me.  Take me.  Don’t hurt me.  My mind is a maelstrom, but my body is on fire.

The bag of peas falls to the floor.  Rather than fisting my hair and pulling it like he used to during kink, Cam winnows his fingers in my pixie cut.  If he rubs my scalp, he’ll feel the scar from the surgery, done to relieve the pressure on my brain.

My pussy throbs, outer lips engorged, inner folds getting wetter by the second.  I feel a terrible emptiness in my womb.  My breasts ache, hurting almost as much as they did when my sick baby Hannah slept through her feeding time.  I long for what once was.  For the three of us together, sharing my childhood home. 

I wonder what Cord did with it.  Except for the thousand dollars I left to my parent’s church, he inherited everything I had, everything my parents left me.  The checking and savings accounts.  Stocks and bonds.  Daddy’s 401K and the insurance money divided into multiple CDs.  The house I was forced to abandon, the day I officially died.

I pull back, breathing hard.  Focusing on Cam, I look into eyes filled with pain, and hunger, and questions that I can’t begin to answer.  “I’m sorry.”  I touch my forehead to his, hoping he won’t press me to expound or to explain.

“You okay?” Cam asks, his voice hoarse with longing.

“I think so.  And you?”

“I think so.”  He quirks his trademark grin.  “Give me two minutes in the bathroom and I’ll feel better.”

Something Precious (The Three Graces Book Seven)

Tough Middle Aged Man

Something Precious (The Three Graces Book Seven) by Nia Farrell

Length 28,243 words.  Release date November 1, 2018.

Free with Kindle Unlimited

 

Amazon Universal link e-book 

Amazon US e-book  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07JDH36KS

Goodreads reviews  

 

Cordell “Cruz” Colson’s world ended when the woman he and his brother loved was kidnapped and killed by a rival MC.  After four years in prison for a crime he didn’t commit, Cord learns that Rachel is alive and living under an assumed name.  As soon as Cord walks out a free man, the former biker and his porn star brother Cameron head for the little town of Posey, Minnesota.  They’re determined to take Rachel home with them where she belongs.

Only Rachel isn’t alone.

Rachel Givens aka Rae Simmons has post-rape PTSD and a three-year-old autistic daughter, father unknown.  A blood test will hopefully answer the question of paternity.  Chances are, Hannah belongs to Cord.  Whatever the results, the Colson brothers won’t rest until Rachel remembers what it was like to submit to them, to be shared by them.  Two men love her, and they’ll do whatever it takes to win her back and be a family.

A New Age, New Adult MFM BDSM ménage, written for ages 18+.

Excerpt 1:

“What do you mean, she’s alive?”

I stare at my brother Cam.  I reek with the stench of prison and he smells like the movie star that he is.  Granted, it’s porn, but he can afford a dresser, a hair stylist, and a personal trainer to keep his eight-pack abs in perfect shape.

“Just what I said.  Hell, Cord.”  He runs a hand through his hundred dollar haircut and slaps the steering wheel as he drives.  “Look, I heard about someone matching her description.  I hired someone to confirm it.  She goes by Rae Simmons now, but it’s her.  I didn’t tell you because you were too close to getting out.  I wouldn’t have put it past you to make a run for it, once you knew where to find her.”

I rub my temples, struggling to process what he’s telling me and all that his news implies.  Rachel—our Rachel—is alive.  It’s a goddamn miracle.  But no word to let us know?  She let us fucking believe that she died?  We loved her.  Her death ripped out our hearts.

She ripped out our hearts.

All this time, I’ve been blaming the Blackwater Demons MC.

Fuck.  Me.

Fuck.  Her.

“God damn it.”  I’m pissed now.  “How could she?”

Cam is calm enough, I want to punch him, shake him up.  But then, he’s had more time to deal with this.  “Think, Cord.  Remember the security camera footage?  They took her from her house.  She was probably afraid they’d come for her again.  Hell, she might still be afraid.  Right now, we need to think about how to approach her.  We can’t let her run again.  We’ve got to let her know that it’s safe to come home.”

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly.  Two more, and it starts taking the edge off my anger.  “So where is she?”

“Some little hick town named Posey.  Its claim to fame is a couple of diners that have been featured on TV.  Rachel is a waitress at one of them.”

Déjà vu.  I almost smile.  Rachel worked in an ice cream shop when we met.  She had planned to go to college and be a nurse.  I guess all that changed when she “died.”  Now she’s waiting tables and goes by the name of Rae Simmons, the other girl who was taken.

The girl we buried in Rachel Given’s grave.

“How far?” I ask, not that it matters.  I’d go to the ends of the earth to see Rachel again.  The fucked-up part is not knowing what’s going to happen after that.  She was taken because of me.  She suffered because of me.  She’s been living a lie for four years, and she’s about to be slammed in the face with reality.  The truth is, I want her regardless.  I don’t care about the past.  I don’t care about who she’s been with in the time that we’ve been apart.  Well, I can’t let myself care, anyway.  I.  Just.  Can’t.

I can’t.

There’s too much at stake.  For the first time in years, I feel… alive.  I feel… hope.

When I was told that she’d died, it felt like the biggest part of me left with her.  I went through the motions, not caring what happened.  I went where I was directed and did what I was told.  The club was my life now that Rachel was gone.

I missed her.  Dear God, I missed her.  I took flowers to her grave and let myself shed the tears that no one else should see.  I got angry, with God, with that fickle bitch Luck, with Rachel, for not being here, for leaving me alone.  On the worst nights, I drank myself to sleep.  I became an animated, hollow shell of a man.  I existed.  Nothing more.  But now… the part of me that found her, that knew her and loved her… it’s back.  Resurrected.  The fracture line is still there, but I’m praying it will heal in time.  The only chance I have at any kind of life worth living is a second chance with her.

Excerpt 2:

Rachel opens the door.  We follow her into the living room.  It’s an older home, probably built in the forties or fifties, with dated fixtures and painted over wallpaper.  Good bones, though.  A fixer-upper if you’re handy, and I am.  Her furnishings are worn but the space is clean, neat and tidy except for a pile of building blocks abandoned near a three-shelf bookcase that’s filled with children’s books and DVDs.

My heart seizes when I realize her child is old enough for blocks and books and animated films.  A sense of urgency grips me, and I look for her.  Rachel’s daughter.  There’s a little girl lying under the coffee table with her eyes closed.  Her hair is the color of mine and Cam’s—and now Rachel’s since she dyed it.

“Have a seat, guys.”  Rachel points to the sofa.  “Just watch your feet around Hannah.”

Thanks to Cam’s lack of communication, I have questions that won’t wait.  “How old is she?”

“She turned three on March twenty-second.”

God.

Oh, God.

My jaw tightens, and I rub the back of my neck beneath my ponytail.  She’s quiet now, stopping short of disclosure.  She’s going to make me say it, make me ask the question whose answer I may hate to hear.  Rachel was taken, held by men with no mercy and an agenda.  The timeframe is so close.

I swallow, hard.  My voice is rough with emotion when I ask, “Is she mine?”

My words are like the crack of a whip, reopening wounds that clearly haven’t healed.

Rachel can’t bear to look at me.

She glances at my brother and drops her gaze to her lap.  “Probably.”

Holy mother of all—

I’ve been so focused on the enemy without I never considered I might need to look closer to home.

“Fuck, Cam!”

His eyes flash, indignant.

Fucker.

I almost snort.  He knows as well as I do what happened that last time we were together.  It was fucking Fourth of July weekend.  Three days, spent mostly in bed.  I was preoccupied with club business, about to leave, heading out to set up the Lost Creek MC safehouse, getting ready for the war that we feared was coming with the Blackwater Demons MC.  Cam was only too happy to distract Rachel while I packed.

We’ll be having more than words later, I fucking guarantee it.  Son.  Of.  A.  Bitch.

Cam bristles, still rejecting the idea that he might be a baby daddy.  If he is, he’d better man the fuck up.

“Hey!”

“Enough!” she hisses.  “You will watch your language, or you will leave.  She’s not Cam’s.  We never… we didn’t… We were never together without you.”

I say nothing but inside, I’m feeling this weird mix of relief and hope and trepidation.  Cam’s tastes run toward mouth and ass.  I don’t remember him dipping his wick in Rachel’s pussy more than once or twice if that.  But there are others.  The ones who kidnapped her.  Who brutalized her.

Who raped her.

Monsters, they took what was ours.

Rachel draws a deep breath.  And another.  She looks at her hands.

They’re shaking.

Fuck.

“You two need to go.”

We can’t.  Not yet.  I’ve spent four years mourning her loss and I’m not walking out of here without some answers.  She might not know who fathered Hannah, but she sure as hell can tell us why she let us think that she was dead.

I motion Cam to stay right where he is.  “Talk to me, Rachel.  Tell me why… this.”

The pain in her voice cuts me like a knife.  “You don’t want to know.  You won’t want to hear it.”

“Fuck, Rach—”

She throws up her hand, putting any conversation on hold.  Loading a DVD in the player, she glances at Hannah and motions for us to follow her into the kitchen.  She starts the exhaust fan over the stove before turning to face us.

Christ, the look on her face.  The innocent girl we knew is gone.  This is a woman who has clearly been through hell and back.

“They.  Took.  Me.”  She spits the words, full of bile, at me.  “They stole me from my house, and then they took me.  Do… you… understand?  For two nights and three days.  At least one of them had your coloring.”  She looks at the coffee table, where her daughter is hiding.  “Is she yours?  Who knows, really?”

Shit shit shit.

Her words strike me like brass knuckles, landing hard enough to strip away any pretense, beating me down and leaving me feeling exposed and vulnerable.  The harsh truth is, she didn’t say anything that I haven’t thought to myself.

Still, hearing it from her lips is wrenching.

I feel the color drain from my face.

“Sorry if I didn’t write you,” she snips, “but then, I’m supposed to be dead.”

Jesus, I don’t know how she can sound so cavalier, watching the blood pour from the holes her words have ripped in me.  She’s right.  I don’t want to listen, but hearing this is part of my fucking penance, punishment for not protecting her.

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SOMETHING AWESOME (The Three Graces Book Five)

Guitar Player With An Open Guitar Case

Something Awesome (The Three Graces Book Five) by Nia Farrell

Length 21,103 words.  Release date October 1, 2018.

 

Free with Kindle Unlimited

Amazon Universal link http://mybook.to/TG5

Amazon US https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07H1FXLLB/

Goodreads http://bit.ly/TG5GR or https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/41588545-something-awesome

 

Jackson Thomason is a triple platinum recording artist who performs with his twin brother Jacob as No Mercy.  Unhappy with their current contract and hungry for something better, they dream of an independent project that speaks to their part-Comanche blood.  They contact American Indian composer and flutist Nico White about collaborating, but it’s his writing partner Anna James who’s responsible for putting the twist in his tribal music.  The songwriting sessions heat up, and the purple-eyed goth-haired gamer girl goes down on her knees, submitting to the darker side of passion in a rock star interracial MFM ménage BDSM romance.

Written for Ages 18+.

 

Excerpt 1:

“We know your work,” my brother tells them.  “We like it.  A lot.  We’ve had a project in mind for a couple of years now, but our label won’t touch it.  It’s important enough to us, we’ve decided to tell them to fuck themselves and do it ourselves.  It’s a concept album with a tribal theme.  We want to return to our roots.  Not musically, but ethnically.  We may be only a sixteenth Comanche, but we’re related to Quanah Parker.  We cut our teeth on the stories of his life, his family, our people.  We want to express those stories in song, and we’d like your help to do it.”

Nico stays silent, considering.  When we approached him about working with us, he didn’t ask for details.  He knows that teaming with No Mercy will give him exposure that he might never achieve on his own.  And Anna?  She looks like she’s having a songwriter’s wet dream.

Fuck, yeah.

“And how does that work,” she asks, “doing a record while you’re still on tour?”

It’s a good question.  Fair enough.  We had wondered that ourselves.  Had worried about it until we figured out just how we could make it happen.

Thank fuck for hi-speed WiFi.

“We’ve got ten days before our next gig,” I tell her.  “After that, we can hook up over the internet.  Nico says his connection will let us Skype.”

She’s used to her weekly one-on-ones with Nico, sharing space, feeling the energy, tapping into the same creative flow, but to co-create over the internet?  She hugs her Fender to her heart, clearly skeptical.

Jacob keeps talking about his ideas for the album as a whole and for individual tracks.  While he uses his powers of persuasion, I let my hands speak for me.  I pick up my guitar, a Master Classic Pacific with curly maple sides and a Sitka spruce top, and touch the strings, exploring.  My fingers find chords, random at first, slowly gathering form.  Anna turns on a digital recorder when patterns start to emerge.

I hold back a smile when she lowers the neck of her guitar to playing position.  Her fingers move, her strings dueling with mine, until suddenly we’re in sync, creating melody and harmony.  Nico weaves his flute around us.  Jacob adds rhythm on the djembe.

By the time we’re through, we have the musical equivalent of a manuscript’s first draft.

Fucking.  Awesome.

“This…this…is why we’re here,” I tell them, pumped as hell.  I don’t say that we’ve memorized every fucking track that Nico’s ever recorded, and all the best ones were co-written with AJ McPherson.  We knew that we needed them both.  Being here, playing with her, makes me want Anna even more.

Jacob catches me staring at Anna and smiles.  He knows where my mind is, knows that my stirring cock wants to follow.  Anna throws ice water on it when she starts breaking down.  “Sorry, guys.  I need three hours of sleep or I’m toast at work.” 

What.  The.  Fuck?

The mantle clock reads four in the morning.  She’s fucking leaving, and there’s not a damn thing we can do about it.  Nico sees her off, then comes back into the living room.  I debate packing up, too.  He nods when he sees that our guitars are still out.

“Sorry, guys,” he says.  “I know you’ve had some surprises today.  I needed to see if Anna could handle this—could handle working with you.  She’s never written with anyone but me.”

I take a breath, think about what I don’t want to say, which is anything that will jeopardize our working relationship.  “You didn’t tell me she has a job.”

He shakes his head and crooks half a smile, like I should have known.  “Writing doesn’t pay her bills.  Not yet, anyway.  Little sister works at a gaming store in Charleston.  Castle Keepers.”

“Wait.  She’s a gamer?”  This, from Jacob, who plays rings around anyone else on our team, comprised of us and a few of our roadies.  Chances are, if we’re not writing music in our downtime, we’re playing games or watching porn.

“Big time,” Nico says.  “Whatever you play, you do not want to go against her.  She’ll only smile and kick your asses.”

Fuck that.  We’ll add her to the team.

“Wednesday is her one guaranteed day off work.  That’s why I had you guys come tonight.  I went behind her back and asked her boss if there was any way she could get off work, but chances are slim to none.”

Which means he didn’t totally diss it.

“Give me his name and number.  I’ll see what I can do,” I tell him.

“Yes, Sir.”  There’s a shit-eating grin on Nico’s face when he flicks on his laptop and finds the contact information for Anna’s work.  Such a switch.  But he’s smooth, he’s smart, and he clearly cares for the gamer girl he calls “little sister.”  With that scene he arranged in the diner, I suspect he wanted to see how well Anna can handle us on every level, beyond fame, beyond music, beyond words.  I suspect that he’s researched us, enough to know our tastes.  Jacob and I do our own version of tribal with a twist, and after the grueling first half of our concert tour, with the almost mindless, meaningless sex that happens on the road, I’m ready to bring something better into our mix.

Anna James, before we leave, you will be ours.

Excerpt 2:

Anna gets here at half-past eight, hauls in, sets up.  J.T. has Grace in the playroom.  The way the thermostat is kicked up, I’m guessing there’s some nudity involved. 

By the time Anna finishes, she has sweat beading on her face.  A rivulet forms, tracking down her chest and disappearing between her luscious breasts.  Jacob and I take mental notes, not bothering to hide our interest.  She resists as long as she can, then says, “Fuck it,” and sheds her sweater.  She’s wearing a pink camouflage camisole underneath that technically covers her breasts, but every fucking detail is there if you look hard enough, and I do.

I grab my guitar and grind out a riff of stripper music.  Jacob gets theatrical and peels off his tee, swinging it overhead and letting it fly.

Anna’s jaw drops when she sees his inked torso.  “If I had you guys in my bed, I’d read myself to sleep every night….”

When Nico snorts, Anna realizes she didn’t just think it.  She fucking said it out loud.

I look at Jacob.  He’s thinking the same thing I am.

Maid service on the sheets tomorrow.

“Well, well.”  I lock my gaze on Anna’s purple fuck-me eyes.  God damn, she’s hot.  I set down my guitar and lose my shirt, revealing my tats and my pierced nipples.  Her mouth goes dry.  She licks her lips and looks away, dropping her gaze to the keyboard she hauls in but never touches.

Nico leans over, whispers in her ear.  Anna picks up the battered Gibson she brought tonight and starts playing, letting the music weaving itself in her head flow through her fingertips, stringing chords that shouldn’t go together, finding what makes them work.  It’s like nothing I’ve ever heard.  When Nico adds his flute, our jaws drop.

Magic.  Pure magic.

“Damn, little sister.”  Nico turns off his digital recorder.  Thank fuck at least one of them got it.

Jacob is at a loss for words.  “Anna.  That was… wow.”

I rub my chest, still feeling her music touch me like a lover.  When she goes to the kitchen for a chilled bottle of water, I follow her.

She reaches inside the refrigerator, grabs one of the reusable glass bottles, and closes the refrigerator door.  She can’t help but feel me behind her, a foot taller than her sixty-three inches and radiating heat like a fucking furnace.  I bend down; my nose, with its small silver hoops, nudges the rings that rim her right ear when I whisper into it.  “I don’t know where you went, but I sure as hell hope you go there again—and take us the fuck with you next time.”

She inhales a shaky breath, exhales, catches herself when she starts to lean back against me.  “Do you two do everything together?” she asks, still facing the fridge.  She doesn’t deny her attraction, but she’s not quite ready to let me see it, either.

“Yeah.  Pretty much.”  I lift my hand—the one that has L O V E tattooed on my fingers—and stroke her arm, leaving pebbles in its path.  “If you know our music, you know us.  It won’t be gentle, and it won’t be quick, but I can fucking guarantee we’ll give you the best sex of your life, gatita.”

She cocks her head, tempted to look.  “Kitten?” she asks.  “You want to tell me where that came from?”

“Ever try to catch a feral cat?”  I slide my hand to her small shoulder and flex my fingers around it.  “Even a kitten will shred you to ribbons.  But you’ve got the spice to go with the claws, don’t you, gatita?”

Anna twists the lid off her bottle and slams back a mouthful of cold spring water.  “Fuck fuck fuck!”

Brain freeze, not funny.  I chuckle anyway, because it’s like she’s reading my mind.  “That’s the plan.”

“Since when?”  She stops rubbing her forehead long enough to throw a look over her shoulder and fucking bats her eyelashes at me, revealing her inner dirty, flirty girl.

“The diner,” I admit.  “You gave as good as you got.  You sounded like you could handle us.”

When I say us, she doesn’t blink.  The thought of a threesome doesn’t scare her shitless.  If anything, she seems intrigued by it.

Thank you, Jesus.

“Mmm.  My hooker voice.  And how did I look?”

She’s fishing.  We both know it, but I’m feeling generous and goddamn if we’re not about to get lucky.  “Like you’d dare anything.  Risk anything.  You were… hot,” I rumble.  “Fucking hot.  I wanted to drag you into the back and bend you over a sink and—”

“Spank me?”

“Is that what you want, brat?”  I underscore the last word, slapping her sassy little ass, my tone full of menace, my mind alive with possibilities.

Anna shivers.  Her thoughts follow where mine are leading.

“Ah,” I say.  “Then here’s a word of warning.  A little sass gives us an excuse to get creative.  Disrespect us, or anyone else, and we’ll keep you on the edge so long, you’ll be begging us to put you out of your misery.  No Mercy,” I whisper, turning her to face me.

She stares at my ink like she’s mesmerized by it.  Appreciates it.

Like she wants a taste of it.

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REPLAY BOOK 11: WANTED

Facebook banned the original cover (below). Evidently, navels are too hot for them!

R11 Wanted SM

Replay Book 11: Wanted by Nia Farrell

Length 25,502 words.  Release date September 1, 2018.

Free with Kindle Unlimited

Amazon Universal link https://mybook.to/RB11

Amazon US https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07FXJ7395

Goodreads http://bit.ly/WantedGR or https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/40952027-replay-book-11

 

Jeremy Randall is a graphic novelist whose Iron Domination Series inspired The Steamroom addition at Replay BDSM theme resort.  While he’s written BDSM, he’s only researched it, never experienced it.  His first visit to Replay coincides with Wild West weekend, where he’ll portray a gunslinger.  He hopes to be dominating subs before the weekend is through.

Jeremy signs a contract agreeing to train as submissive, but he’s in for a shock when Courtney Reynolds isn’t the latex-clad Domme that he envisioned.  The Dominant assigned to guide him through the weekend is eight years older, experienced, and gay.

Cast in the role of Sheriff Reynolds, Court seems Jeremy’s opposite but he takes the role of training him seriously.  Court believes that Jeremy is naturally submissive, and he agrees with the resort psychiatrist that Jeremy might be bisexual.  Court falls hard and fast for the beautiful, talented, conflicted young man.  He has one weekend to free Jeremy from a lifetime of misperceptions and help him discover his true nature.  When Sunday comes, will he be able to let him go?

This book is a first time MM BDSM erotic romance.  If kink and a sexual relationship between an older man and a younger man offend you, please keep looking for your next read.  Written for Aged 18+.

Excerpt 1:

By the time they returned to Jericho, Jeremy’s shirt was soaked through with sweat and he knew that he’d never done justice when describing the aches of a horseback rider.

“Saddle-sore?”  The sheriff eyed him closely.

“A bit, Sir,” Jeremy said tightly, grimacing when he swung his right leg down and cleared his left boot from the stirrup.

Sheriff Reynolds rubbed his face in his hands.  “Okay.  Then we’re headed to the bathhouse.  We need to get that soreness worked out if you’re going to be much good tonight.”

Tonight.  Jesus, he didn’t want to think about tonight.

Working out the soreness, though…

That, he could handle.

Jeremy followed Sir Courtney out of the livery and fell into step behind him, keeping his eyes on the broad shoulders and the muscled width of his back.  He was grateful that the Dom kept his pace to a lazy amble.  Despite his soreness, he managed to keep up with him, at least.

A scantily clad attendant greeted them when they stepped inside the bathhouse.  “How can I help you, Sir?”

The sheriff sliced a quick glance at him.  “The boy needs a bath and a rubdown.  Is there a private room available?  First time here,” he explained.

First time anywhere, Jeremy silently corrected him, grateful to be spared a public display.  The Dom and the concierge spoke longer, keeping their voices low and their conversation between the two of them.  When they finished, she showed them to a room upstairs and opened the door for them to step inside.

Two old-fashioned tubs were filled with steaming water, just like in the movies.  A table between them held small bars of soap, washcloths, and towels.  Pitchers of clear rinse water sat within reach on the board floor.

Sheriff Reynolds hung his hat on the wall rack.  Jeremy stood with his feet rooted in place, feeling as fidgety as a freshman athlete in the varsity shower room.

The Dom gave him a longsuffering look and nodded at the tubs.  “Strip and get in,” he ordered.  Pulling off his tie and shrugging off his sack coat, he hung them on the wall hooks and reached for the buttons of his vest.

The sheriff was stripping.

The gay sheriff was getting naked.

There were two tubs, Jeremy told himself.  Nothing was going to happen—especially nothing without consent, and he hadn’t agreed to anything yet.

Except for what was in the contract.

Submission.

Bondage.

Impact play.

Anal play.

Sex toys.

Possible fisting.

God, he was so fucked.

 

Excerpt 2:

Jeremy snatched up the bath towel and began drying himself off, turning his back to them so that his front was out of view.  Did the boy not know that the sight of his virgin ass was almost as hot as his seven-inch cock?

Court managed to not roll his eyes.  Ignoring his own rod for the moment, he wrapped the towel around his hips and sat in an empty spindle-back chair.  If he’d had time and toys, he would have bound Jeremy to it for a session of sensory play.

Later, he promised himself.

His priority right now was getting Jeremy to open up, to finally experience the feelings that he was used to suppressing and allow things to unfold naturally.

Jeremy wrapped the towel around his trim waist.  Inhaling deeply, he squared his shoulders with a grudging acceptance, marched across the floor, and got on the massage table.  Reaching beneath his stomach, he adjusted himself, put his arms at his sides, and settled in for his session.

He had a beautiful body.  His fair skin was even lovelier, glistening with oil, his supple flesh yielding to Quentin’s talented hands.  When the masseuse had worked the aches and knots from his backside, he told Jeremy to turn over.

The boy was still hard.

Good.

Very good.

Court waited until Quentin was nearly done to rise from his chair and go stand at the table near Jeremy’s head.

“What are your safewords?”

Jeremy craned his neck.  His alarmed hazel gaze clashed with Court’s.  Seeing the heat in his eyes, he whispered, “Oh, God.”

Court shook his head.  “Not oh God.  Safewords need to be things that you would never say during a session.  If you can’t think of anything, we’ll use the stoplight system.  Green to go, yellow to slow, red to stop.  Now, one more time.  What are your safewords?”

“Shit,” he murmured.

Court grabbed his wrists and pinned them to the table.  “Safewords,” he rumbled.  “You won’t like what happens if I have to ask for them again.”

“All right!  Sir!” he bleated, remembering to address him as his Dominant for the weekend.  “Yellow to slow and red to stop.”

Court gave a slight nod of approval.  The boy was nervous to the point of panic, judging from his pulse and the rapid rise and fall of his chest.  “It’s alright, son.  One more time.  Give us your safewords.”

“Yellow to slow and red to stop, Sir.”

“Good boy.  Now, do you remember the story I told you?  Do you remember what happened on my eighteenth birthday?  I’d been wearing blinders.  I didn’t see it coming.  It was a complete surprise because I hadn’t opened myself to the possibilities.  It took my coach and a kiss and a mindfucking blowjob to break free.  All I needed was someone who could guide me.  It would have happened eventually.  I’ll always be grateful that it was Paul and not some predator bent on taking and not giving.  I’d like to be that person for you.  Let me show you what you’ve been missing.  I’ll give you permission to let go.  Allow you to break free.  I want you to let Quentin finish you.  Just his hands, his fingers, stroking your cock.  You’re so hard, it hurts, I can tell.  Just a few strokes, and he’ll pull you right over the edge and ease that terrible ache.  You have your safeword to use if you absolutely need it, but you won’t.  Not for this.”

He hoped like fuck not.  There was nothing in his background that indicated triggers.  The boy wasn’t fighting his hold on his wrists.

Jeremy’s breath hissed when Quentin pulled down the sheet, exposing his genitals.  Wrapping an oil-slick hand around his shaft, Quentin started pumping his arm, slowly at first, gradually building in speed and intensity as he jacked him off.

“That’s it,” Court crooned.  “Feels good, doesn’t it?  Having someone else’s fingers on you, touching you, stroking you, milking your cock?”

Jeremy bit his lip and moaned.

Court growled at the sight of it.  “So fucking sexy.  I want that lip,” he grated.  “Those teeth.  That tongue.  That mouth.  I want to lick the pre-cum from your slit, suck your balls, and tongue your ass.  When you’re more than wet enough to take me, I’m going to fist your hair and sink my length inside of you.  Inch.  By.  Fucking.  Inch.”

“Fuck!”  Jeremy bucked, spewing thick ropes of cum that landed like lifelines on his chest.  Court kept his wrists pinned until Quentin had cleaned him off with the washcloth that he’d used in his bath.

The moment he let go, Jeremy jackknifed up and tried to scramble off the table.

Court caught his arm and held it.  “Slow down, son.  Safety first.  I want you healthy enough to play.”

“To fuck, you mean,” he grumbled.

“You’d best be careful, boy.  You’re only adding to the count when you disrespect me.”

Breaking eye contact, Jeremy bit his lip and swallowed what he really wanted to say.  “Sir,” he said tightly.  “You want me healthy enough to fuck, Sir.”

Court dropped his hand and crossed his arms.  Lowering his chin, he flailed him with a cutting look.  “Don’t ever put words in my mouth, boy,” he said, keeping his voice calm and even.  “I meant what I said.  I want you healthy enough to play.  You’ll have to earn my cock, and so far, that hasn’t happened.”

Jeremy eyed him warily.  Court had yet to win his trust, and nothing much was going to happen without it.

“Get dressed,” he said.  Ripping off his towel, he let Jeremy see just how much self-control he had.  His cock was so hard, he was sorely tempted to have Quentin finish him, too.  “I’m taking you home.”

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THE PRICE OF ADMISSION (UNBILLABLE HOURS #3)

guy kissing his girlfriend against a wall at home

The Price of Admission (Unbillable Hours 3)

by Ree L. Diehl

Length 11,037 words. Release date August 15, 2018.

 

Amazon e-book Universal link http://mybook.to/UH3

Amazon US https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07FJMJR1W

Goodreads http://bit.ly/UH3GR

 

Rumor has it, if she bangs the bouncer, he’ll let her in….

Dax Masters is the star of Save a Horse, Crop a Cowgirl, where country meets kink.  The buff Texan Daddy Dom is in town to promote his new fitness DVD.  Tonight, he’ll be the guest DJ at the hottest nightclub in the city.

The line to Club Oasis is around the block when Dax’s fan Tiffany Santee steps into line.  She knows if she bangs the bouncer, Jace will let her in.  The couple’s tryst behind the building reveals sides of themselves that they’ve kept hidden in their previous encounters.  They’re both into BDSM.  Jace is a Dominant. Tiffany is submissive.  Add Dax Masters to the equation, and this threesome will set the night on fire in Jace’s private dungeon.

Dax is out of the kink closet, and if Jace isn’t, his secrets are nothing to the ones that Tiffany is keeping.  Yes, they’ve signed a nondisclosure agreement, but can she trust him with the truth of who she really is?

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

Romantic Comedy Erotica MFM ménage written for ages 18+.

Excerpt:

Jace took her hand and towed her after him, not stopping until they were behind the building, away from prying eyes.

“Much better,” he said.  Raising her wrists, he pinned them to the wall on either side of her head.

You like to be the center of attention,” he murmured, keeping his voice low and intimate.

“I do, huh?”

“I’ve got eyes,” he rumbled.  “I see you better than you think I do.  You dressed down tonight, little girl.  The jacket’s fine.  The top is nice, but those denim shorts and hooker heels scream slut.  That’s not the kind of look that normally gets you into Club Oasis.  That’s what a woman wears when she’s looking to get laid.”

He pressed his body against hers and let her feel just how ready he was to oblige.

Tiffany resisted the urge to hump the lump shaping the front of his jeans.  “Seems to me, you’re the one looking to get laid.  I planned to have a drink, dance with my girl, and go home to my lonely bed.”

“Jace,” he growled.  “And I wasn’t looking for a hookup until you came.”

She slid her gaze to the gold band on his left middle finger.  “You moved your ring quick enough once you saw me.”

He crooked an unapologetic grin.  “A wedding ring keeps most of the she-wolves at bay.  There’s nothing to be jealous of, sugar.”

Wasn’t there?  Dozens of women lined up for him every night at Club Oasis.  How many others had he dragged behind the building?  How many of them had he screwed before her?

Dammit, Jace.

It wouldn’t hurt him to be a little jealous, too.

“My shorts don’t say slut,” she informed him.  “I wore them for your guest D.J.  You do know who he is, right?  Dax Masters from Save a Horse, Crop a Cowgirl, where country meets kink?  Most of his submissives wear them.  Outside his dungeon, that is.”

He pulled his head back and stared at her, frowning slightly as he tried to figure her out.  “So…,” he said slowly, “you’re telling me that you like Dax’s show?  You like watching kink…?”

Did he know so little about her?

“I don’t just watch kink,” she said meaningfully.  Telling him was risky.  She could have scared him off.  When he didn’t run, she dared even more.  “Ask me nice, and I’ll share my favorite scenes from the show.  Who knows?  You might learn something.  It never hurts to expand your repertoire, Jace.  You don’t want things to get stale in a relationship.  It’s not good to be too predictable.  Women like being surprised.”

“News flash.”  Quick as an adder, he fisted her hair and pulled down, forcing her neck to arch.  Bending his dark head, he opened his mouth, bit the curve of her shoulder, and dragged his teeth up the side of her neck to whisper in her ear.  “Men do, too.”

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SOMETHING AMAZING: THE THREE GRACES BOOK FOUR

Bodybuilder

SOMETHING AMAZING: THE THREE GRACES BOOK FOUR

by Nia Farrell

Length 20,831 words.  Release date August 1, 2018.

Amazon Universal/KU http://mybook.to/TG4 

Amazon US  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07F2QHJ5R

Goodreads http://bit.ly/TG4GR 

 

Nico White is a bisexual American Indian musician and a shaman who has visions of his soulmates.  In his dreams, there are always three of them—two men and one woman who reincarnate together again and again.  He meets psychic medium Grace Murphy first, but it’s six months more before they meet J.T. Santiago, an ex-Navy SEAL and former cage fighter with PTSD on top of the guilt that he’s still carrying from other lifetimes that they’ve shared.  It soon becomes clear that the reason they’re together again is to help J.T. heal.

J.T. is a Dominant, but he’s never had a male submissive and Grace and Nico are a package deal.  It’s a learning curve for all of them, with J.T.’s initiation into MMF and MM relations and Grace’s introduction to BDSM.  With Grace’s yin, J.T’s yang, and Nico’s center balance, the three of them come together as far as J.T.’s PTSD will allow.  But healing the present means remembering the past, however painful it might be.

An interracial paranormal MMF ménage BDSM erotic romance.  The book shares some scenes with Something Else (The Three Graces Book One) told from Nico’s point of view and includes additional scenes.  Contains explicit sexual content, written for mature readers.  Ages 18+.

 

Excerpt:

The Pumphouse is hopping.  The line’s out the door, and the temperature is dropping now that the sun is behind City Hall.  When Grace shivers, I take her shawl, wrap it and my arms around her, and pull her back against me.  The top of her head fits under my chin.  Inhaling deeply, I smell the light fragrance of her shampoo and honeysuckle on her skin.

“Mmm,” she breathes, relaxing against me like we’ve known each other forever, not just eight hours or so.  “I’m going to have to apologize to Anna.  She tried to get us together before this, but the timing never worked out.  Between fairs on weekends, readings in the evenings, and my job at THE Bookstore, I haven’t had much time for myself.  Have I told you that I’m glad you came?”

“You can tell me again,” I assure her.  “I’m glad that you’re here, too, Grace.  At long fucking last,” I add pointedly, whispering in her ear.

Just when I think she can’t get any cuter, she giggles.

She turns her head to whisper back, “I thought you were going to say, ‘But I haven’t come.  Yet…’”  She falls silent, all traces of humor gone, the instant she feels me swelling against her back.  “Nico?”

I fight the urge to grind my hips into hers.  If she had any idea of how badly I want her, and how roughly I’d like to take her, she’d be freaking right now.

“Grace.  Sweetheart.  Don’t.  Move.  Otherwise, they’re going to get dinner and a show.”

We’ve already attracted attention as the only a male/female couple in line.  I see at least one former sexual partner in the queue, but David’s not interested in a mixed-gender ménage.  An all-male review is more his style, and the more, the merrier.

“Sorry.  Sir.”  The first word tells me that she understands.  The second lets me know what her psychic radar’s already picked up on me.  I’ve never discussed BDSM with Anna.  We keep things platonic between us and pour our passion into our music.

Good girl,” I tell Grace.  “I can see we’re going to get along just fine, but you do know we’re missing one, right?  If your dreams match mine, you know there are three of us.”

“Yes, Sir,” she whispers.  This time, when she trembles, it’s not from the cold.

“Have you met him?”

“No.”

“Me, neither.  Soon, though.  Don’t you think?  Now that we’ve met, surely he’s close.”

“I hope the hell so,” she breathes.  “I was starting to think I missed you guys, that I’ve been saving myself for nothing.”  She goes quiet for a moment.  “I don’t have any experience.  Will that bother you?”

“Ah, Grace.”  I bury my nose in her hair and nuzzle the top of her head.  “Once he gets here, we’ll give what you can take, and take what you can give.”

She’s shaking now.  I can smell her arousal.  If I slip my hand between us and cup her sex, I’m certain that she’s sopping wet, the crotch of her leggings soaked with her juices, imagining what it will be like to be taken by two men.

Or one man, while he takes me.

 

SEXCERPT:

I lean down to kiss her, claiming the lips that I’ve only dreamed about.  She melts into me, tasting, feeling, smelling the musk of our arousal.  Reaching up, she weaves the fingers of one hand in my hair and touches me with the other, learning, exploring, discovering what I have to offer.

She’s shy enough, she keeps things above my waist.  I slide a hand around to her low back, pull her tight against me, and let her feel just how much I want her.

J.T. strips, climbs on the bed, and sits against the center of the headboard.  The engorged length of his meaty nine-inch cock rises like a Shiva lingam stone, ready to be worshipped and adored.

He motions for Grace to join him and has her lie with her head between his spread knees and her arms raised.  He manacles her slim wrists with his large, callused hands.  His cock dips toward her face, pre-cum glistening in the slit.

Talk about sin on a stick.

I tear off the rest of my clothes.

“Fuck, girl,” he growls.  “Nico, look at her, man.  She’s fucking perfect.  I can’t believe you didn’t tap this already.  Six months, you held back.  Are you some kind of fucking saint?”

Grace’s eyes meet mine.  I’m standing, nude, at the foot of the bed, fisting myself, lusting at the sight of her being held by J.T.  Remembering the bondage on her browser history, I could easily get off just seeing her restrained and at his mercy.

I make a mental note to buy ropes.

Lots of ropes.

“Legs wide, baby girl.”  J.T. twists her nipple.  Grace gasps so hard, it wouldn’t surprise me if she had an orgasm.  She blushes and turns her head.

“No.”  J.T. orders her to look at me.  “You don’t take your eyes off him, understood?  Now spread those legs.  Nico, get in here.  Get between those white thighs of hers.  Can’t you see?  She’s ready for you, man.”

Grace watches me with parted lips and bedroom eyes, expectant, willing, hopeful.  I let mine drift south, past the creamy swell of her breasts, the dent of her navel, the jut of her hip bones, to the glistening folds below her mons.  Knowing that I’ll be the first man inside her makes me as hard as I’ve ever been.

I tap her clit with my cock and slide it lower, wetting the head with her juices.  Parting her swollen folds, I lock my gaze on hers and push my crown inside.

Her labored pants and the fear in her eyes tell me that she’s fighting panic.  Shallow breaths hiss between her clenched teeth and mine.  I dare to go deeper, dredging into her, tearing her tender flesh.

She grimaces and bites her lips.

I flex my hips and push deeper.

Her face contorts with pain.  “Dear.  God.  Bless it.”

At her words, I freeze, holding myself suspended above her on trembling arms.  Damn it, I hate that I’m hurting her when she feels so fucking perfect to me.  I want to make this good for both of us.

“You’re doing fine, baby girl.”  Shifting, J.T. keeps her wrists secured in one hand and reaches for her breasts with the other.  “Love these tits,” he growls.  “Fuck.  I could bite and suck these all night long.  Sometime soon, we’re going to put on a movie or find a game on T.V.   We’ll lay you out on the coffee table and munch on you for hours, me and Nico.  Neck, breasts, nipples, toes, pussy… until there’s not an inch of you we haven’t tasted.”

“Fuck.”  Grace looks like she’s on the verge of coming, turned on by J.T.’s dirty talk.

I let her have her moment, then pull her from whatever fantasy she’s entertaining.  “Grace.  Sweetheart, I need to move.”

Grace looks at me.  Emotions play across her face.  Discomfort.  Arousal.  Puzzlement.  Impatience.  Confusion.  Displeasure.

“Fuck me.  Fuck.  Me!” she orders, then bites my chest.

What the hell, Grace?

 “Christ!” I snap at her.  The little shit.  Doesn’t she know better than to bait me?

 Of course she does.  But we can’t have her topping from the bottom, can we?

I give her my best Dom look, the one that says, What the hell do you think you’re doing?  How dare you fuck with me?

J.T. chuckles when he sees it.  Grace goes still.  Holding her breath, she braces herself for what’s coming.  I lunge forward, pushing as deep as her body will let me.  She whimpers.  I ignore it.  Gathering myself, I slam into her until I’m seated to the root and my balls slap her taint.  I hold her tight against me, grinding my groin against hers, pressing her clit until pleasure begins to take the edge off the pain.

She’s.  So.  Fucking.  Tight.

I start to move.  I pump my hips, increasing the depth and strength of each stroke until I’m driving my full length in and out of her, and she’s moving with me, rising up to meet my thrusts.

J.T. watches us.  His hungry gaze is locked on where our bodies are joined.  His ears are strained, listening to my dark red flesh slap against her pale white skin.  Inhaling the scent of sex that fills the air, he moans and bites his lip.  He looks and sounds like a starving man who’s dying for more.

“On your knees,” he growls when he can’t stand it anymore.

I take hold of Grace’s hips, lift, and start pounding into her.  The change in angle lets me hit her G-spot and the first orgasm tears through her.  God, I love the feel of her tight pussy, milking my length.

A second orgasm comes hard on the heels of the first.  J.T. releases her hands and shifts positions.  Easing to one side of Grace, he fists her hair and brings her face to where he wants it, with her mouth at his cock.  “Take it,” he orders, tightening his hold.  Grace runs her small pink tongue around the rim and opens wide.  J.T. rocks his hips and begins fucking her face.  Soon we’re thrusting to the same rhythm, above and below.  Grace’s moans vibrate her throat.  J.T. pinches her nipple, robbing her of breath.  So.  Damn.  Good.  Jesus, now that I have her, I can’t get enough.

J.T. sticks with the game plan.  Me, vaginal.  Him, oral.  He’s going to want to do more, but he’s patient enough to wait.  Not six months, thank fuck, but he’s an ex-Navy SEAL and a former MMA fighter.  He’s conditioned and disciplined.

And a little bit in denial.

I see the way he looks at me, watching my cock, admiring the sheen of sweat and the play of muscles as I make love to the woman between us.  J.T. may not be openly bi, but he didn’t say no when we talked about sex.  Seeing that huge cock of his stretching out Grace’s jaws makes me hotter than hell.  I imagine the taste and the feel of it in my mouth, against my tongue, coming down my throat.  I wonder what it will feel like, shoved up my ass, when he finally cuts loose on me.

 

What the hell, Grace?

 

“Christ!” I snap at her.  The little shit.  Doesn’t she know better than to bait me?

 

Of course she does.  But we can’t have her topping from the bottom, can we?

 

I give her my best Dom look, the one that says, What the hell do you think you’re doing?  How dare you fuck with me?

 

J.T. chuckles when he sees it.  Grace goes still.  Holding her breath, she braces herself for what’s coming.  I lunge forward, pushing as deep as her body will let me.  She whimpers.  I ignore it.  Gathering myself, I slam into her until I’m seated to the root and my balls slap her taint.  I hold her tight against me, grinding my groin against hers, pressing her clit until pleasure begins to take the edge off the pain.

 

She’s.  So.  Fucking.  Tight.

 

I start to move.  I pump my hips, increasing the depth and strength of each stroke until I’m driving my full length in and out of her, and she’s moving with me, rising up to meet my thrusts.

 

J.T. watches us.  His hungry gaze is locked on where our bodies are joined.  His ears are strained, listening to my dark red flesh slap against her pale white skin.  Inhaling the scent of sex that fills the air, he moans and bites his lip.  He looks and sounds like a starving man who’s dying for more.

 

“On your knees,” he growls when he can’t stand it anymore.

 

I take hold of Grace’s hips, lift, and start pounding into her.  The change in angle lets me hit her G-spot and the first orgasm tears through her.  God, I love the feel of her tight pussy, milking my length.

 

A second orgasm comes hard on the heels of the first.  J.T. releases her hands and shifts positions.  Easing to one side of Grace, he fists her hair and brings her face to where he wants it, with her mouth at his cock.  “Take it,” he orders, tightening his hold.  Grace runs her small pink tongue around the rim and opens wide.  J.T. rocks his hips and begins fucking her face.  Soon we’re thrusting to the same rhythm, above and below.  Grace’s moans vibrate her throat.  J.T. pinches her nipple, robbing her of breath.  So.  Damn.  Good.  Jesus, now that I have her, I can’t get enough.

 

J.T. sticks with the game plan.  Me, vaginal.  Him, oral.  He’s going to want to do more, but he’s patient enough to wait.  Not six months, thank fuck, but he’s an ex-Navy SEAL and a former MMA fighter.  He’s conditioned and disciplined.

 

And a little bit in denial.

 

I see the way he looks at me, watching my cock, admiring the sheen of sweat and the play of muscles as I make love to the woman between us.  J.T. may not be openly bi, but he didn’t say no when we talked about sex.  Seeing that huge cock of his stretching out Grace’s jaws makes me hotter than hell.  I imagine the taste and the feel of it in my mouth, against my tongue, coming down my throat.  I wonder what it will feel like, shoved up my ass, when he finally cuts loose on me.