SOMETHING DIFFERENT: THE THREE GRACES BOOK TWO
by Nia Farrell
Length 20,190 words. Expanded second edition release date July 8, 2018.
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.
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—”
“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.
“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.