SOMETHING SPECIAL (The Three Graces Book Six)

Close up picture of an handsome young man in tuxedo ajusting his

Fashion latin man looking at camera with confidence

SOMETHING SPECIAL (THE THREE GRACES BOOK SIX) by Nia Farrell.  In a sequel to SOMETHING ELSE, Grace, J.T., and Nico honeymoon at a special BDSM resort.  Grace will finally experience her capture fantasy…except the warrior taking her won’t be Nico. 105 5×8 pages, 21,578 words.

Amazon buy link

ISBN-10: 0-9853145-0-8 Kindle

ISBN-13: 978-0-9853145-0-7 Kindle

Scheduled release date May 5, 2016


Grace Murphy, Anna James, and Rachel Givens aka Rae Simmons live in the fictional town of Posey, Minnesota.  They call themselves the Three Graces, because their first names mean just that.

Grace Murphy is the local psychic medium who saved herself for her soul mates, bisexual American Indian musician Nico White and Latino veteran J.T. Santiago.  Grace is submissive, Nico is a switch, and J.T. is the dominant in their MMF BDSM ménage.

Before they met, J.T. had never been with a man.  He’d never been serious enough about a woman to consider marriage.  But Grace and Nico came as a package deal, and he’s fallen in love with them both.  When morning sickness hits the house, the two men bend their knees and plans are made for a very special honeymoon.  They’re giving Grace the capture fantasy of her dreams at Replay, a BDSM theme resort where patrons come to play in the past….



Something Special is the continuation of Something Else (The Three Graces Book One) by Nia Farrell, released August 25, 2015, by Dark Hollows Press.  In Something Else, psychic medium Grace Murphy has been saving herself for the men of her dreams: Nicolas White, a bisexual American Indian musician, and J. T. Santiago, a Latino veteran with PTSD.  Something Special begins six weeks after Grace and Nico meet J.T.

Chapter One

I hear Grace retching through the closed bathroom door and rap a knuckle in warning.  “I’m coming in,” I growl, as sick of this shit as Nico, who’s gone on an emergency run for more crackers and clear soda.  We both agree, she needs to see a fucking doctor.

Our woman is on her knees by the commode, one hand fisting the length of her ginger hair, the other desperately clutching to the seat while she dry heaves over the edge.  Damn it, I hate to see her like this.  She’s had stomach issues off and on for the past three days.  She’s already lost weight and she’s too fucking pale.  The girl needs meat, not saltines and ginger ale, which is about all she’s able to keep down these days.

She spits into the bowl and starts to push herself up.  I grab her arms and help her stand.  I may tower more than a foot over her five feet two inches, but I feel helpless as fuck.  Surely there’s something they can do.  People die of food poisoning, influenza, and God knows what else that she may or may not have.  My brother Esteban was a medic in the service.  He says we should find out what the hell’s going on before Grace gets dehydrated and ends up in the hospital, hooked up to an IV.

“Chica,” I croon in her ear when I feel her tensing up, like she’s just waiting for me to scold her.  Of course, she is.  She’s goddamn psychic.  It’s nothing for her to slip inside my head and listen to my thoughts, although I’ve found ways to work that to my advantage.  I like rough sex in the bedroom and the playroom.  Most of the time Grace knows exactly what I want without even being asked.  She’ll take as much as I can give her and when she senses I need more, she lets Nico handle the rest.  The past couple of days, it’s been the two of us rather than three.

“Sorry,” she croaks, her throat raw from vomiting.  There are dark circles under her brilliant green eyes, and her faint freckles stand out more than normal from that pale Irish skin of hers.

“Hey, this isn’t about that,” I tell her, holding onto her with one hand and flipping a tap with the other.  Wetting a washcloth, I chuck a finger beneath her chin and lift her face for cleaning.  “It’s about you not getting any better.  If anything, you’re worse.  I don’t care what you say, we’re taking you to the doctor tomorrow.  No more excuses.”

Done, I drape the washcloth on the edge of the sink and run a glass of tap water.  “Rinse,” I order, making sure she swishes at least twice.  Stomach acids are hard on teeth enamel.

“Good girl.”

Those two words are ones she’s learned to crave.  She gives me that look, the one that says she’s willing to please.  Willing to play.  But I’m her Dominant.  Her needs come before mine.  Get her clean.  Make her comfortable.  Find her something she can hopefully keep down.  Maybe later she’ll feel well enough, Nico and I can rock her to sleep.

“Yes, Master.”

Swear to God, her voice just dropped an octave.  The low note hits below the belt and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it, not with Grace, anyhow.

“There is,” she says, eavesdropping again.  “You can mark me.”

I must admit, there are times when I love being wrong.

“You sure?”  Looking into those green glass eyes of hers, I see love shining in their depths.  Her mouth curves upward, soft and sweet perfection.

“Yes, Master.  I’m sure.  Fuck, I’ve got to change clothes anyway, otherwise I’m going to make the whole house smell skanky.”

Grace looks like a soap princess and swears like a sailor.  We’ve known each other six weeks, and she still manages to shock me.

“Potty mouth.”  I temper my scold with a grin.

“Blame Anna.  I never swore until I met her.”

So I’ve heard.  Anna is Grace’s best friend and Nico’s songwriting partner.  Anna’s been mopey as all shit since the Thomason twins left to finish their Caged tour.  The four of them – Anna, Nico, Jackson, and Jacob – are working on an album.  Tonight was their weekly Wednesday music writing night.  Nico says that Anna was in tears by the time the guys got done Skyping with her in the playroom.  She told Nico that she’ll be turning in her notice at work tomorrow.  Two more weeks, and she’s out of here – at least until Jackson and Jacob are done touring.

We had a bet how long it would be before she hit the road and joined them.  I’m so looking forward to that blow job.  Nico’s mouth, and that deep throat of his.  He’s done a great job, helping Grace learn and hone her technique, but when it comes to giving head, I’ll be honest.  A man knows how to please another man.

Grace pauses for the briefest, telling moment, with her hands poised at my leather belt.

Fuck.  I don’t want her to think she sucks.

Still tuned into me, she hears a double entendre and giggles.  “I do suck,” she quips, a sultry smile in that husky voice of hers.  “Maybe not as good as Nico, but I don’t think you mind my smaller mouth.  I think you like it tight.  Like the scrape of my teeth.  Like coating my tonsils with spunk.  Like painting my tits.  Please, J.T.?  Make us both feel better and pour your love on these tender boobies of mine.”

“Ah, chica.  I love you, baby girl.”

Grace gets back to business, unfastening my buckle and pulling until the two ends come apart.  Hooking a finger in my waistband, she works the button free, fishes for the zipper pull, and slides it down, metal teeth snicking as she opens my jeans.  My half-hard cock bulges the front of my boxers.  Rather than pull it through the opening, she grabs the elastic top of my underwear and tugs until it’s below my balls, pushing them up as it presses on my taint.  Not exactly a cock ring, but it still feels pretty damn good.

“Grace,” I murmur, taking over.  As much as I love the feel of her touch, she needs rest, which means this needs to be quick and she’s still off her game.  I fondle my sac and stroke my length, with a twist and a pull on the end of each upward motion, while I watch Grace watching me.  So hot, so pretty, even in her illness.  She stares at me, squeezing her sensitive breast with one hand while she slides the other lower and buries it in her crotch.  I pick up the pace.  She bites back a moan and rubs her clit harder, panting through parted lips.  The sight of her pink tongue sneaking a swipe to moisten them is enough to tip me over the edge.

“Now, chica.”  She climaxes almost on command.  I grunt as I shoot my load on her chest, spraying ropes of cum across her breasts and hand.

“Fuck.”  I give one more jerk and wipe my fingers and dick on the hem of Grace’s shirt before helping her out of it.  I’m careful – or lucky – enough to avoid making too much of a mess.  A quick wipe down with the washcloth, and she’s good for the go.

I kiss her forehead and keep my face to hers, noses touching, holding her still when she tries to wriggle free and keep me from smelling the sourness of her breath.  “Sit tight, baby girl.  I’ll bring clothes.”  Smoothing her hair, I kiss the top of her head and fetch her a full change, her favorite pajama bottoms and the mismatched cotton T-shirt she pairs with them.  Thank fuck Grace has her own fashion sense.  Whimsical in private, New Age ethereal when she’s reading at psychic fairs, and hot damn she’s ours when Nico and I take her out on the town.

The master bedroom’s en-suite still smells like puke and sex when Nico makes it back.  Stopping by the bed where I sit with Grace, he tests the air but says nothing.  Son of a bitch looks every inch the stereotypically stoic American Indian male, from his copper skin and black silk hair to the impassive features schooled on his handsome face.  I cock an eyebrow to remind him of the pecking order in the bedroom and playroom.   I top Nico.  Nico tops Grace.  I’m Master.  He’s Sir.  Grace is our lovely, psychically gifted, and very sick submissive.

Frowning, Nico hands over the crackers and a room-temp can of clear, carbonated beverage.

I set down the box and pour the pop in the glass tumbler on the bedside table.  “Think you can drink, Grace?”

“I’ll try,” she promises, taking the glass from my hand and sipping carefully.  When a tiny swallow doesn’t send her stomach reeling, she dares to take another.  “Sgood,” she says.  “Thanks, guys.  Sorry to be such a bother.”

“It’s our job to take care of you,” I remind her, fingering the collar we just placed around her neck.  The custom BDSM piece is a modern take on the traditional Claddagh design, a heart, typically crowned, held between two hands.  In this case, the heart is a padlock with a keyhole.  The engraving on the back names her OURS.

Like we did with her first green leather play collar, Nico and I both have keys.

“Nico, I’m going to leave a voice mail at the clinic, see how soon we can get her in tomorrow.  I think they normally start taking patients at nine, but we won’t know how they’re booked until someone gets there in the morning.”

Grace starts to open her mouth.  She looks at me and thinks better of it.

Yep, some days, having my thoughts heard pays in spades.

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