NIA FARRELL BOOK SIGNING September 2

On Labor Day weekend, Nia Farrell will be signing books and giving away swag at the Books and Wine Author Event on Saturday, September 2, 2017, 10 AM – 4 PM, Chrisman Mill Winery in Nicholasville, Kentucky.  Attendees will have a chance to buy early copies of Keeper: Avenging Angels MC Book 2 (release date 9/8/17)!  If you don’t make it to her reading/question and answer session, just visit her table for conversation and goodies! 

Books and Bottles Author Event

AAMC2 Keeper full cover small

Books & Wine Authors

Keeper: Avenging Angels MC Book 2

Keeper: Avenging Angels MC Book 2 by Nia Farrell

Length 42,909 words.  Release date September 8, 2017

Amazon http://mybook.to/AAMC2  or https://www.amazon.com/dp/B074MPTK5Q/

Goodreads http://bit.ly/AAMC2GR or https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/35961855-keeper

Luke “Mad Dog” McLanahan and Isabella Castellari have a history. Kind of. He’s a member of the Avenging Angels MC and one of four brothers whom she thinks slept with her sister three years ago. Or did they? Nothing is as it seems. Isabella’s world is turned upside down when lies are exposed, truths revealed, and the man she’s been fantasizing about for three long years makes her an offer that she should refuse but can’t. 

When Mad Dog recognizes Isabella stranded on a rural country road, remembering her toxic sister, he almost doesn’t stop. Seeing her as an end to a means, he brings her back to the Avenging Angels MC clubhouse and quickly learns that she’s different—very different—than what he expected. She’s a curious innocent, and willing to submit to his domination. But there are complications.  A mob boss uncle, protective parents, a traitorous friend, and secrets that have been kept for far too long. Secrets that will either bind them together or tear them apart.

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

 

EXCERPT (885 words):

He couldn’t deny, it was a huge ego stroke to know that he was her first.  But she was also Isabella Fucking Castellari.  Never Miss Little Italy like her sister, but they shared the same blood ties to the fucking mob.

Of course, Isabella didn’t know that he knew about her crime family connection.  He’d been keeping too many fucking secrets for too fucking long.  Her sister Krissy and her Uncle Giovanni were just some of many.

Rather than open that can of worms, he chose a safer subject.

“So, tell me.”  Reaching, he smoothed her hair back from her face and traced the line of her jaw with two fingers.  “Before tonight, did you know that Anna was seeing Richie?”

She sighed softly.  “No.  I mean, I thought that she was seeing someone, but she always had an excuse.  Usually, it was homework, but then we graduated and she was still too busy.”

Fuck.

Mad Dog forced his voice to stay calm.  “How old are you, Isabella?”  Please tell me you’re not jail bait on top of a mob boss’s niece.

“I turned eighteen on March sixth.  Michelangelo’s birthday.  And the day the Alamo fell, if you’re into Texas history.  How old are you?”

“Thirty.”  Twelve years her senior.  He rubbed a hand across his face and blew out softly.  “Jesus, that sounds old.”

Reaching across, she caught his dog tags, weighed them in her hand, and said solemnly, “You’re not old.  You’re experienced.  And I’m hoping that you’ll teach me.”

He leveled a look at her.  He needed to be honest, at least in this.  “Clubhouse life isn’t for everyone,” he told her.  “We do things different here.  We’re all in the BDSM lifestyle as well as the club.  The men here Dominate.  The women submit.  Did you read Fifty Shades or watch the movies?”

Isabella nodded.

“Well, fuck that shit.  That’s not how things are done.  You want to learn?  We’ll get cleaned up and go downstairs.  The lounge is your classroom.  You’ll learn things there that they don’t teach in college.  Are you signed up to go anywhere this fall?”

“SIU,” she said.  “For photography and graphic design.”

He remembered the point-and-shoot he’d found in her purse.  “You a shutterbug?”

“You could say that.  I took my first picture when I was four.  Got my own camera when I was six.  I never leave home without one.”

“And the graphic design?”

“You know all those books on my reader? Someone does the covers.  Might as well be me.  Take the pictures, offer premades and customs.  It’s something that I think I’d enjoy and be good at.  I’ve already done one for my cousin.  She uses a pen name so that no one knows she writes erotica.  She tells people that she’s a ghost writer and can’t disclose anything.”

“She had you do a cover?  Like, with models?  Naked models?”

Isabella bit her lip and coiled a strand of hair around her finger.  “Well, it is erotica,” she said coyly.

He wasn’t smiling.  She was eighteen, for Christ’s sake.  What the hell was her cousin thinking?

“Just teasing!”  She traced his lips with the pad of her index finger.  He caught it between his teeth and refused to give it back until her eyes had gone smoky and her thoughts were disjointed.  “She, um…”  Isabella cleared her throat and tried again.  “She dressed up like a cheerleader.  The cover shows her chest and midriff.  You…um…you can’t see her face.”

“Paperback or just e-book?”

“Both.”  She smiled with quiet pride.  “I have a copy, if you’d like to see it.”

“I would.”  If they were going to try and make a go of this, he needed to know what she was doing.  What she had planned.  Then he’d expand her horizons where he could.

“And the graphic design—apart from the book covers.  Can you draw?”

“Yes.”

“Paint?”

Her brow scrunched.  “Yes?  Some?  That’s not my—”

“Sweet.  You could learn to tattoo.”

“Wait.  What?”  She looked at him, confused.  He’d gone too fast and lost her.  Now she was trying to get her bearings.

He shifted gears.  “How about a summer job?  You working anywhere?”

“No.  I’m taking two online classes. Getting some of the required subjects taken care of so that I can immerse myself in the good stuff come fall.”

“The club owns a tat shop.  Angel Ink.  Flynn will need to see what you can do, but if you pass muster and want a full- or part-time job, he can use the help.  Front desk scheduling, answering the phone, checking in deliveries.  Normal receptionist-office assistant stuff.  He can teach you on the side, if you want to learn.  Never hurts to learn another job skill, just in case the market for photography tanks, no one’s hiring graphic designers, and your cousin can’t afford what you’re worth.”

That last bit seemed to perk her up.  “How do you know what I’m worth?” she challenged.  “My professors might think that I suck.”

He begged to differ.  “As your teacher, I would say that your oral skills need developed, but the student shows promise.  Think you’re ready for your next lesson?”

Mad Dog caught her hand and wrapped her fingers around his half-hard shaft.  “Just a hint.  The correct answer is yes….”

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WELCOME TO REPLAY…

Replay Bookmark

Welcome to Replay, the ocean-side BDSM theme resort where patrons come to play in the past.  The settings are museum-quality, the handcrafted garments look like originals brought forward in time, and the staff members are selected for their unique talents and abilities.  Each scene that they bring to life is drawn from a page in history, but no one has to suffer through it—

Unless that’s what they want.

The books in the series so far (click on each title for buy links, the full blurb, a teaser slideshow, and an excerpt):

Replay Book 1: VIKING RAIDA curious virgin makes Replay resort’s Viking Dom an offer he can’t refuse.  Released July 1, 2016.  Length 20,051 words/99 pages.  Nominated Best Erotica, 2016 Summer Indie Book Awards.

Replay Book 2: TRIPLE PLAYA celibate sex addict meets a Scottish Dominant who’s determined to be the exception to her rules.  Released September 1, 2016.  Length 20,232 words / 100 pages.

Replay Book 3: HONOUR BOUNDA psychologist interested in BDSM experiences it first-hand with the owner of Replay resort.  Released November 1, 2016.  Length 19,946 words / 97 pages.

Replay Set 1—Viking Raid, Triple Play, Honour Bound.  Contains Books 1-3

Replay Book 4: HOOKED.  During pirate weekend, a curious librarian explores BDSM with a Dominant veteran amputee.  Released January 1, 2017.  Length 21,950 words/ 121 pages. 

Replay Book 5: NIGHT MUSIC.  In an updated version of Cyrano de Bergerac, bisexual Replay resort psychiatrist Sir Josef plays matchmaker with a blind concert pianist and her mentor and falls for them both.  A MMF ménage.  Released March 1, 2017.  Length 19,438 words / 104 pages.

Replay Book 6: HIGHLAND FLING.  During a special music weekend at Replay resort, a former ballerina must choose between two Dominants.  Released May 1, 2017.  Length 20,081 words.

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.  Release date August 1, 2017.  Length 20,312 words.

 

Replay Sets

SPIN Author Spotlight–Nia Farrell

Self-published Indie Network

Author Nia Farrell 300dpiI have been such a huge fan of erotic author Nia Farrell, so imagine my excitement when she joined SPIN.  Let me tell you a little about her.

Author Nia Farrell is a founding member of the Wicked Pens and a multi-genre author who is published in nonfiction, poetry, music, articles, and children’s books, with one documentary screenplay under her literary belt. She had nine nominations in the 2016 Summer Indie Book Awards; her BDSM MMF ménage erotic historical As Wicked as You Want was voted #1 Erotica and #10 overall in The 50 Best Indie Books of 2016, and Pride and Punishment was voted Best Historical Romance in the 2017 Menages Romance Readers Favorites.

Nia is an old soul and a period reenactor who’s been into corsets for centuries, although she wears them more to Civil War events these days. She has been involved in the metaphysical community for…

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Replay Book 7: WING MEN

 

Replay Book 7: Wing Men

by Nia Farrell

Length: 20,312 words. Release date August 1, 2017.

 

Amazon e-book http://mybook.to/RB7 or https://www.amazon.com/dp/B073SFW94N

Goodreads http://bit.ly/RB7GR 

It’s World War I weekend at Replay resort, and vocalist Lara Eastman is one of the entertainers hired to help bring the past to life.  The offer comes at a time when she’s worried about how to pay her bills.  She accepts the job but declines getting vetted to play—something that she quickly regrets when she meets not one but two very attractive—and very Dominant—pilots.

Alexander Boulton is the resort owner’s cousin.  This weekend, the handsome Brit is flying a Sopwith Camel against his rival Dmitry Chezhekov, a Russian-born pilot who portrays a German flying ace.  On the ground, the red-haired singer comes under both men’s sights. 

Lara meets Alex first, but she’s equally attracted to Dmitry.  She rarely hooks up at events, but Alex and Dmitry will prove the exception to her rules.  The truth is, she wants them both.  Unwilling to settle for one when she can have it all, Lara proposes a threesome.

The men are fierce competitors.  Each is determined to bring her the ultimate in pleasure.  Only one thing is certain.  If they want her, they’ll have to learn to share.

Written for ages 18+.

 

Excerpt:

An air raid signal sounded.  German soldiers grabbed their guns and took their places behind the sandbag barriers.  The planes came in low, strafing the field.  Bursts of blank rounds sounded from the German rifles.  Puffs of dirt flew into the air from charges that had been laid earlier.  The way that they detonated, it looked like bullets from the planes were hitting the ground.

Meanwhile, the German pilots were scrambling, climbing in their fighters, strapping on goggles, and preparing to start their engines.  Five ground crew members each took hold of a propeller and gave it a spin.  The radial engines roared to life.  Freed of their wheel chocks, the planes headed for the runway.

Dmitry was the last to take off, but his Fokker’s superb climbing ability allowed him to quickly join the others.  They flew only far enough to turn and meet the British head on.

From her vantage point, Dmitry and Alex’s planes seemed to be on a collision course.  She held her breath and fisted her gloved hands, watching, hoping, trusting that nothing went wrong.  At the last minute, the Sopwith Camel pulled up, barely missing the Fokker.

More passes were made.  Planes were “disabled.”  Billowing trails of blue smoke, the downed German planes landed here.  The “crippled” British planes returned to their imaginary base.

Finally, only three were left.  Dmitry, Alex, and another British pilot engaged in a stunning display of aerial combat, with all the climbs, rolls, and maneuvers that you’d expect in a big-budget motion picture.  Eventually, Dmitry simulated being shot, leaving a trail of smoke as he landed.  The two British planes flew off, victorious after their successful raid.

Cheers broke out from the crowd.  When the applause had quieted, Sir Piers addressed the spectators who’d come out for the morning battle.

“Thank you,” he said.  “What an amazing display!  The pilots shall all return shortly and will be joining us.  Lunch will be served at eleven thirty, to our reenactors, patrons, staff members, and guests.  The next reenactment, scheduled this afternoon at one, will be a German attack on a French airfield.  The final battle today at five pm will be a different version of this scenario.  Meanwhile, the bar will soon be open in the casino tent, where games of chance, music, and conversation may be found for those who wish to stay the day.”

While they had been watching the combat demonstration, a crew of workers had erected yet another tent, yellow striped with two massive center posts and a roof that would cover a one-ring circus.  She guessed that tables, chairs, and equipment were being carried in through a back opening.  The casino’s front door flaps were closed.

“I’m afraid that it is off limits to you, my dear,” Sir Piers said, “where you are not vetted.  Pity, but rules are rules where scenes are concerned.”

“I understand,” she assured him.  “But the day is lovely.  You’ve provided food, and shelter from the sun.  A place to sit and things to see.  I’m hoping to get a closer look at the planes, if they’ll let me.”

“I’m certain that can be arranged.”  He lowered his voice to a dramatic whisper.  “I know people.”

Lara laughed.  “I’m sure that you do.  Hopefully, he’ll be back soon.”

Sir Piers strained his ear, listening.  “I do believe that I hear a familiar stutter headed this way.  Alex should be here shortly.  I must leave soon to check on the situation at home.  With luck, I will not return alone.  We shall see.”

The German soldiers were already headed for the food tent.  The ground crews and pilots followed.  Lara sat in one of four folding chairs at a small round table in a shady corner of the space. With tea to drink and a scone to nibble on, she settled in to people watch.  It always fascinated her when costumed civilians and military reenactors intermingled.  And she loved listening to the reenactors who regaled each other with stories.  It truly was like stepping back in time.

Being a single female, sitting alone and therefore perceived as available, she halfway expected to be approached by the men, and possibly some of the women.  Introducing herself as a non-vetted performer worked like a charm.  Most of these people were here to play.

The only one who seemed to not mind that she couldn’t was Dmitry.  But then, she suspected that he looked upon her as a special challenge.  He took his time coming over, accepting accolades from the other reenactors and chatting with a few other guests.  Helping himself to a plate of late breakfast and a cup of coffee, he headed straight for her.

“I sit here, da?”

Lara managed to not smile.  “If that’s a question—May you sit here?—the answer is yes.  Yes, you may sit with me.”

Dmitry took the chair to her right.  His plate was heavy on protein and lower on carbs.  He spiked his coffee with a dash of whatever he was carrying in an antique silver flask.  Slipping it back inside his brown leather aviator’s jacket, he flashed an unrepentant grin.  “A touch,” he said.  “Safe to fly later.  Safe to sit now.  Tonight, I listen to you.  When done, maybe you listen to me.  We see.”

“Lara.”

Alex’s voice dashed the flame that Dmitry’s smoldering delivery had ignited inside her, but only for a moment.  Alex and Dmitry were rivals in the air, but were they willing to share?  She didn’t want to choose between them.  She wanted them both, if only for the weekend.

Which brought her to all of the obstacles that must be overcome.  She wasn’t vetted.  If the men could be talked into a threesome, it would be vanilla sex in Dmitry’s room at the resort, quiet kink at her bed and breakfast, or permission to use the St. Leger’s Dungeon for a full-blown session of kinky fuckery.

She knew what she wanted.

Lara wanted it all.

“Alex,” Lara chirped, hoping that she managed to sound relatively innocent.  So many naughty thoughts were in her head right now, her mind was doing a spin that would have earned her a nine point five at the Winter Olympics.  “Won’t you join us?”

Dmitry bristled, but she ignored it.  Better to find out now if there was hope for both men tonight.  They would have to agree on a number of things—first and foremost, could they play with her together, or would she need to keep them apart?

Alex looked at his plate, at Dmitry, at her.  “I believe that I shall.  Thank you.”  He took the chair to her left, sandwiching her between them.

Delicious.

Alex’s plate was a balance of protein and carbs.  He and Dmitry had both taken sausage links and scrambled eggs, but Alex had added hash browns, a biscuit with butter and jelly, and several pieces of fresh fruit.  Dmitry had opted for half a biscuit smothered in sausage gravy and no potatoes.

Dmitry seemed to be enjoying the Russian equivalent of Irish coffee.  Alex drank milk and nodded approvingly at her tea.

“So, tell me,” she said, looking at Alex.  “This morning’s combat.  From down here, it looked like you two were going to take each other out.  When you’re sharing airspace, how close do you get before you pull away?”

He sliced an apologetic glance at Dmitry.  “Today, closer than I like.  The controls were slow to respond.  I’ll check it out before I take her up again.”

Lara took a breath and looked at Dmitry, too.  “You didn’t try to avoid him.  No evasive action that I saw, anyway.””

Dmitry shrugged as if it were no big deal.  “He was close.  I wait.  He move.”

“Well,” she said, glancing at each man, connecting them with her gaze, “I’ve seen you share airspace.  I was wondering if—hoping that?—I might tempt you to share more.  Just so you know, I’m not a trained submissive.  I’ve never done anything much beyond having my wrists tied, wearing a blindfold, and getting spanked.  Pretty vanilla, I know.  But I’m willing, if you are.  Except that not being vetted limits us to what we can do on Replay property.  I’m going to leave you two to figure it out.  Come tonight and hear me sing.  After the concert, you can tell me what you want to do.”

She left them sitting, speechless.  It was a temporary state, she was certain.  While she went to look at the airplanes, they were probably stabbing at their breakfasts and dueling with each other for supremacy.

There can be only one…

Maybe.

Maybe not.

Could two Doms be in control?  She thought so.  She hoped so.  One thing was certain.  If they wanted her, they’d have to learn to share.

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Wicked Lady

Wic

“Wicked Lady” by Nia Farrell

Length 5,147 words.  Release Date July 1, 2017

Amazon e-book http://mybook.to/WLady (ASIN B072KFNBGD)

Goodreads http://bit.ly/WLadyGR

Blurb:  In Restoration England, Catherine Fanshawe is a young widow without the means to run the estate that she has inherited.  Driven to desperation and inspired by her namesake (believed to have been a notorious female highwayman), Catherine decides that the Wicked Lady will ride once more.

Her target is Lord Leighton, James Devereaux, a scandalous bounder, handsome as sin, and rich as Croesus.  When she stops his carriage, she punishes his attempt to distract her by demanding more than money.

James resists, at first, until he realizes the masked highwayman is a woman.  When she leaves him bound to a tree and unsatisfied, he vows revenge.  Being a confidant of King Charles adds a world of privilege to his rank, and resources at his command.  He will not rest until he finds his Wicked Lady.  Whatever it takes, her crimes against him will not go unpunished, even if he must take the law into own hands.

Catherine doesn’t know it, but the tables are about to be turned.

A sizzling hot short story, written for ages 18+.

 

Excerpt:

Lady Donnelly did not protest when James took her arm and bade her accompany him to somewhere more private where they could…talk.

Both of them knew there would be little of that—at least in the near future.

Alone in his private chamber, he took an inordinate amount of pleasure in the way she trembled before him.  She should be frightened.  Her fate was in his hands.

“Nice mask,” James remarked.  “Much nicer than the plain one you wore in Hertfordshire.  Purchased with my coin, no doubt.  Take it off.”

Her hands shook as she did so, revealing a pert nose and smooth cheeks.  Her pale complexion contrasted sharply with her ebony hair and emerald eyes.  Framed with a thick brush of absurdly long lashes, they were stunning to behold.

“And the dress.”

She blinked, hard.  “What?”

James’s smile held no humor.  “You heard me.  The dress.  I know damned well it was purchased with my coin, too.  Be glad I do not choose to strip your brother, or make him privy to your shame.  Test me, and you will not be the only one who pays the price for treason.”

“Treason?!  But—”

“When you accost an officer of the King, you attack your sovereign.  Did you think that there would be no repercussion for your crimes against me?  Fortunately for you, Charles has agreed to let me handle this myself.  Now, I can order a hanging, but I have much more appealing uses for rope.  Your choice,” he said simply.  “Be taken, naked, to the Tower or submit freely to me.  Tell me, which is it to be?”

“I have no choice,” she whispered, her voice thick with unshed tears.  He’d remedy that soon enough.

“Nor did I,” he reminded her curtly.  “Your dress is still on.”

“I am sorry.  I need help, Sir.  Without a maid, I am afraid that I must beg your assistance.”

James used his considerable experience to dispense with her dress and underpinnings, leaving her clad only in her shoes and stockings, corset and chemise.  He circled her, judging her attributes with a critical eye and finding himself well pleased.  She was healthy, at least, with a soft curve to her belly, enough hips to hold onto, and creamy breasts that swelled above her stays.  With her height a good foot shorter than his, it would make for some interesting dynamics when he took her to bed.

He went to sit upon it.  “You shall lie across my lap with your head here and your arse here.”  He pointed to each in turn.  “I am going to spank you, blister that bottom of yours. You will keep count, and thank me for each blow.  Lose track, and we begin again.  You are not to speak otherwise.  When you are allowed to do so, in private, you will call me Master.  Nod if you understand.”

Mortification stained her cheeks.  She jerked her head and wrung her hands.

“Good.  You are intelligent, if unwise.  We shall see how biddable you are.  Now come.”

She approached him with as much eagerness as a convict did a hanging tree.  Stopping by his knee, she bent over it, settled herself, and waited for him to begin.

James grabbed a handful of soft, fine linen and pulled up the back of her chemise, not stopping until the fabric was bunched above her waist and her bottom was bared.  And what a lovely bottom it was.  He palmed each cheek in turn, squeezing, molding, warming the tissue, preparing her for what was to come.  She stifled a moan and clenched her thighs.  He could smell her arousal.

His Wicked Lady was proving a lusty wench.

Smack!

“One,” she gasped.  “Thank you, Master.”

Smack!  A matching strike on the other side.

“Two.  Thank you, Master.”

He kept going, alternating sides, keeping his strikes on the fleshy globes of her buttocks.  The flesh pinkened, then reddened, as she counted the cost.  He did not stop until she had dissolved into tears, gulping breaths between her choked responses, and her nether lips were swollen and slick with dew.

James thrust two fingers into her breach, pumped his hand, and pulled it out, licking his fingers and tasting her essence.  Delicious.  She moaned, no doubt feeling the emptiness and aching to be filled.

Not yet.

He pushed her off his lap and let her crumple on the floor.  “Kneel,” he rumbled, reaching to open his breeches.  “I am going to fuck your mouth.  If you know what’s best, you shall keep your teeth away and your claws sheathed—and you shall swallow anything that I choose to give you.  Nod if you understand.”

The dark head bobbed.

“Have you done this before?  Taken a man in your mouth?”  He had discovered too little on her late husband to know his true measure as a man, let alone a sexual partner.  “You may answer me.”

She pushed herself up, keeping her eyes down, never raising her gaze above his chest.  “No, Master.”

For some reason, that pleased him, to learn he would be her first.  “I shall teach you,” he said, taking out his cock and stroking it fully erect.  “Show you how to give the greatest pleasure.  There are sensitive spots here, here, and here.”  He pointed to the base of his shaft, the whole of the crown, and the place underneath that could bring a man to his knees.  “The rim and the first few inches are the most sensitive.  You shall learn to take me down your throat—oh, yes, you shall do that, too.  Use your tongue to tempt and tease, the suction of your mouth to bring me to a satisfying end.  Swallow my seed, and I shall reward you.  Fail in any of this, and you shall suffer the consequences.  Now, begin.”

James fisted her hair and guided her to him, pushing his way between her lips and relishing the feel of her mouth and tongue.  He forged deeper, his glans rubbing against the ridges of her palate, pushing against the back of her throat.  She fought not to gag.

He drew back a little.  “Suck,” he ordered.  She obeyed, cheeks hollowing with her efforts.  He grabbed his sac and squeezed his testes, jacked his hips and deepened his strokes.  He fucked her face, pleased with her first efforts.  Feeling his balls draw up and his cock swell, he growled a warning.  “Get ready.  Here it comes.”

James exploded, pouring himself into the warmth of her mouth as she fought to swallow the volume.  When he had finished using her, he let go of her hair and let her sit back on her heels.  Her green eyes were tear-smacked, her nose red, and her lips swollen.

Beautiful.

Her eyes widened when he grabbed her biceps, hauled her to her feet, and tossed her onto the bed.  He stripped her, bound her, spread her wide and secured her wrists and ankles to the four corners of his world.  Here, in this room, he was king.  He was her sovereign.  Lady Donnelly was here to serve his will and be the receptacle for his lust.  His to do with as he pleased.  To discard or to keep.

Power was intoxicating.  More so, when he could see her fear and smell her arousal.  He thrust two fingers into her slit and pumped until she climaxed.

Shedding his clothes, he climbed onto the end of the bed and crawled up her body, dragging his chest on her front, letting his thatch of hair abrade that incredible skin of hers, sensitizing her breasts, and teasing her nipples into tight, hard buds.  He took one in his teeth and plucked it, making her body arch and writhe beneath him.

Taking himself in hand, he parted her folds and found her opening, notched his head, and thrust inside, a primal claiming that tore a cry from her throat from the sheer force of it.  He pulled back and thrust again, just as hard, just as deep, hips flexing, finding his rhythm and maintaining it.  She was as perfect as he remembered.  Tight.  Wet.  Responsive to his touch and willing to do anything he wished.

Nothing was sacrosanct.  Everything was within his grasp.  The only limits were his imagination and the whim of mercy that would eventually surface, when she reached her breaking point, if not before.

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Find Her: Avenging Angels MC Book 1

 

Find Her—Avenging Angels MC Book 1 by Nia Farrell

Length 40,627 words. Release date June 8, 2017

Amazon http://mybook.to/AAMC1. ASIN B071WCFFKQ

Goodreads http://bit.ly/AAMC1GR 

Cover Reveals http://bit.ly/AAMC1CR 

a6f88-coverrevealsbutton

 

Blurb: Rose McLanahan is the princess of the Avenging Angels MC, daughter of its president and sister to four of its members, including Vice President Luke “Mad Dog” McLanahan.  But Rose has a secret.  She wants out of the clubhouse—and getting her CPA is her chance to have the normal life that she dreams about.

Michael O’Flaherty is a computer whiz, security systems expert, and an associate of the Avenging Angels MC.  He’s Mad Dog’s best friend, as well as his brother in arms.  Their days in Marine RECON are put to use when Michael is called in to find the niece of the local mob boss.  Krissy Castellari has been kidnapped by a rival club, the Blackwater Demons MC.  Michael discovers where she’s being held, but she’s not alone.  The Demons have Rose McLanahan, too.

Mad Dog and Michael join forces to extract the girls, but Rose is still in danger, having been promised to the son of the Demon’s president Reaper.  Mad Dog is tasked with returning Krissy to her family, and Michael agrees to take Rose away until it’s safe for her to return.  War has been declared.  Blood will be spilled.  Alone in the Angels’ safehouse, the Dominant Michael and submissive Rose will finally discover each other.

Welcome to the Avenging Angels MC, full of Alpha males, Dominant bikers, and the submissive women who love them.  Written for ages 18+.

EXCERPT:

She’d noticed before all this that he was an attractive man.  She’d have to be blind not to, with that dark Irish coloring of his, thick black hair, a sinful brush of lashes framing his brilliant blue eyes, and the short scruff of beard that he wore that was so irresistible on men.  Trouble was, she was totally off his radar, like he had mental blinders that kept him from noticing her.  She had remained on the periphery of his vision, always out of focus…

Until now.

And he didn’t like it.  It was unsettling.  Disturbing.  Something that he couldn’t control, and his Dominant nature found that unacceptable.  Well, too bad.  He wasn’t her Sir—not yet, anyway.  He was just going to have to deal with it.

She didn’t tell him that she’d seen the movie before.  It had been a while, so she couldn’t remember everything that happened.  Let him think it was her first time.  It would serve him right for shutting her out.

“Oh, wow,” she breathed, watching the opening sequence.  “She must not be wearing lipstick, or she’d ruin that page she just pulled out of the typewriter.  And then she’d get spanked for it.  Maybe she wants spanked for it.  No, she needs her other hand free for the coffee.  Ah, I see.  Interesting office wear.  After this movie, do you think businesses started addressing spreader bars in their dress code?”

Michael rubbed his face and said nothing.

“She’s leaving home.  Just graduated and her dad’s sending her off into the world alone.  No, someone’s picking her up.  A wedding?  And that’s her gay best friend.  She doesn’t like the older guy hugging her.  What’s that stuff?  Wait.  She’s a cutter?  No shit.  But she stops herself.  Good girl.”

She kept it up, getting some of it right, telling some of it wrong.  Michael didn’t seem to appreciate that she thought the spanking scene was fucking hot, or like listening to the extended argument she had with herself, whether or not there was penetration.  “He’s probably just dry humping her,” she decided.  “He seems the type, to deny a girl her pleasure.”

“She’s being punished,” Michael growled.  “She hasn’t earned his cock or an orgasm.”

Rose was feeling reckless after her second beer.  “And what the hell does it take to earn a fucking cock?  The woman has done whatever he asked, from dumpster diving to crawling.  I’d say she’s more than earned it.”

“When she’s not being punished, yeah.  I suppose you’re right.  But not now.  Anything else waits.”

She drained her bottle and pointed it at him like an accusing finger.  “You know, women get tired of waiting, same as men.  He’ll be lucky if she stays.  A woman with that kind of devotion who gets kicks from his kink?  We’re a rare breed, Michael, but then, I guess you know that, right?  No steady girlfriend.  No permanent sub.  Still banging that housesitter of yours?  Heidi?  Brunhilde?”

“Gretchen,” he snapped, glowering.  “Her name is Gretchen, and that’s none of your fucking business.  How much have you had to drink?”

She stopped to think.  “Dos,” she deliberately slurred and held up two fingers and a thumb.  “See?  You’re not the only one who knows a foreign language.  Yo hablo español.”

Michael tsked and shook his head.  “Well, that’s two too many, princess.  No more today, if that’s all the better you can handle it.”

Rose sat up straight.  “I can handle it,” she argued, pinning Michael with her gaze.  “I can handle a lot of things.”  Keeping her eyes on him, she wagged a finger at the movie they were watching.  “I bet I could handle his kink.  I bet I could handle your kink.”

Michael crossed his arms and smirked at her.  “Oh, really?  You think you can handle me?  Little girl, you have no idea.”

Rose cringed.  “Don’t call me that!  I’m not a little girl.  I’m fucking nineteen years old, Crash!  When are you gonna stop treating me like a child and see that I’m all grown up?”

“When you stop fucking acting like one.”

Michael leveled that look—the one that commanded respect, demanded obedience, while every fiber of her being was daring her to disobey.

Clutching her empty bottle to her chest, she gave him her own incredulous look and shook her head in disbelief.  “You,” she grated, “are so fucking clueless.  You have no idea.  None!”  She rolled her eyes and barked a harsh laugh.  “You know what?  It doesn’t matter.  Screw this.  Screw you!”

Rose shot out of her seat and started walking.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Michael said, his voice filled with displeasure.

“The kitchen,” she snapped, refusing to look at him.  “I’m going to throw away my trash.”

“That will wait until I goddamn say so,” he said tightly, rising from his seat and stalking towards her.  “Fucking lot of nerve you’ve got, after everything I’ve done for you.  You think you can disrespect me like that and fucking walk away?  Think again, little girl.  You tease me, you rouse the beast.  You say you can handle kink.  Let’s start with a spanking.  See how hot you think it is when it’s your ass on fire.”

Rose shivered.  Michael took the beer bottle from her fingers and tossed it on the sofa.  He eyed the rounded end, then her.  “Bend over it.  Now!”

 Oh, God.

She draped herself over the end of the sofa, putting her hands on the seat cushion, bracing herself on straightened arms, preparing herself for what was coming.  When nothing came, she looked over her shoulder to find Michael staring at her ass.  Her T-shirt had ridden up, and her yoga pants had no panty lines.

Before she could chicken out, she reached behind her, hooked her thumbs in her waistband, and slid her pants to the middle of her thighs.  Reaching, she put her palms on the sofa cushion and waited for him to begin.

He stepped closer.  Covering one ass cheek with his large, capable hand, he tested it, mapping the contours, flexing his fingers, feeling the tone of her muscles, and judging resiliency.

The first spank smarted.  She grimaced but otherwise did not react.  The second blow fell hard enough to make her breath catch in her chest.  More strikes, on both sides, quicker, harder, working up to the flurry of them that they had watched.

By the time they finished, Rose was a sobbing mess and Michael had a raging hard on.

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