SKIN
(Avenging Angels MC Book 7)
by Nia Farrell
Blue Boy aka Sean Callahan
When a biker from a rival club chases a beautiful woman into my arms, I gladly agree to play her fake boyfriend. By evening’s end, she’s willing to take me home and spend the night. Imagine my surprise when she’s up for some kinky roleplay. This woman is a mystery and the most perfect partner I’ve ever had, submissive by nature and willing to explore.
I should have known it was too good to be true.
This book contains adult situations, consensual kink, advanced BDSM, and adult roleplay, and ends with the couple going their separate ways. Their story concludes in Nobody’s Baby (A Devil’s Handmaidens MC Novel: Wolf Creek Chapter Book 1), a second-chance romance out 9 March 2023. Written for Ages 18+.
Excerpt 1:
“We need to talk first. See what you like. What you’re interested in, what’s a hard limit, and what you’re open to trying. Let’s sit down and we can discuss it.”
Blue slid a hand onto the small of her back and guided her to the far end of the room, settling her in one chair while he took the other. “Vanilla is always an option,” he began.
“Or fifty shades of filthy,” she purred, her dark eyes gleaming with anticipation.
She was already aroused, and Blue hadn’t touched her yet. Rumer Presley McKee promised to be a very responsive partner, but where they’d just met, he didn’t know how far she’d agree to go. Most women weren’t comfortable with bondage until they’d known a Dominant long enough to trust him implicitly.
“I have sex toys, including clit and nipple clamps, vibrators, dildos, anal plugs, anal beads, blindfolds, ball gags. Breakaway handcuffs if you want the experience of being bound with the ability to free yourself at any time. Where this is our first session, I’d suggest waiting on rope, duct tape, stainless cuffs, and hogties.”
So far, so good. Rumer seemed okay with everything he’d been saying.
“I have a whole wall devoted to impact play,” he continued. “Floggers, tawses, canes, whips. And there’s always sensory play. Feathers, vampire gloves, Wartenberg wheels, ice, fire, electric sex wands, needles, surgical staples for lacing ribbon corsets, fisting your hair—the list goes on. There’s a lot to consider,” he said softly. “I should have asked if you have any experience with BDSM before throwing it all out there. Have you ever done kink?”
She caught her lower lip between her teeth. “Do spankings count?”
“They do,” he assured her, happy to see that the memory wasn’t distressing. “Do you want to tell me about it? I don’t need to know names, just context. What brought it on and how it was done. More importantly, how you felt during and after discipline.”
“Well,” she began, “it was my junior year of college, and the professor had handed out assignments. Mine was so abstract I couldn’t wrap my head around what he wanted. Instead of asking for clarification, I gave it my best shot and turned in my work. He called me into his office after class.”
A junior in college would have made her twenty-one or pushing it. A legal adult and far from a minor if a predatory professor wanted to minimize risk.
Rumer shifted in her seat. Pressing her legs together, she rubbed her palms on her denim-clad thighs. “He took me to task. Scolded me for not coming to him when I was having problems. Communication is key, he stressed. Then he started talking about how back in the old days, teachers would discipline students with a birch rod or a paddle or their hand on a bare bottom, and he asked if I’d ever been spanked. I’d noticed his voice changed…, grew rougher and deeper when he was talking about it, but learning I’d never been spanked got him excited. Like, really excited,” she said meaningfully. “One thing led to another, and pretty soon, I was bent over his desk getting paddled.”
“And then what?” Blue asked, struggling to control his anger. Her professor had targeted her. Had inappropriately touched her in his office, on campus where rules of misconduct were supposed to protect her. The misuse of his authority was unethical if not criminal.
“He scolded me again for not talking to him and sent me on my way.”
What? Had he heard her right? Her professor had spanked her. Just spanked her. Nothing else had happened… unless he’d called her in again, the bastard.
“Without having sex?” he asked.
“Without having sex—or at least with me. Come to think of it, the boy waiting to see him was sitting funny the next day in class. Gay or bi, I could never tell with my professor, but he definitely had a spanking fetish.”
“Did he ever call you in again, or was it an isolated incident?”
“That was it,” she told him. “The next class, it was like it never happened. He was the serious teacher I knew, not the kinky professor I’d seen.”
He studied her face, trying to discern if she was disappointed or grateful, but her schooled features weren’t giving anything away.
“And how did you feel about it?” he wondered. “While he was doing it and after it was over?”
“I was shocked. Intrigued. Aroused. By the time he got done, I was hoping he’d pull down my panties and take me on his desk, but that didn’t happen. I went back to my student apartment, got my vibrator, and gave myself a massive O. And I got an A on my assignment after all that. I filed being spanked like a naughty schoolgirl under life experience and moved on.”
Excerpt (NSWF):
“Very clever, Miss McKee,” he began, shifting to the accented speech pattern he used as Sirius Blackheart, his airship pirate persona when he did steampunk cosplay. “But we must address two earlier incidents where you took liberties with my person without asking for or receiving permission. Grabbing my posterior whilst dancing. Fondling my front when I was giving you a tour of the property. You have been lewd and disrespectful, young lady, and it’s glaringly apparent that a lesson in decorum must be administered and proper behavior reinforced. You will approach my desk, drop your knickers to your knees, and bend yourself over it to await your punishment. Twenty-two strokes to begin with, one for every year of wisdom you should have gained but failed to demonstrate.”
It was odd how Sirius had slipped out before he could stop him. He wasn’t sure how Rumer would react to his use of antiquated language, but given the setting they were in, she seemed fine with it.
Rumer rose gracefully and approached his desk with trepidation. Halting when she reached its front, she unfastened her jeans, hooked her fingers in her waistbands, and pulled everything down to her knees, baring her perfectly toned alabaster ass. No tanning booth for this Southern miss. Her skin was almost as fair as magnolia blossoms.
And not a tattoo to be seen. A virgin canvas.
He wondered if her ass was virgin, too.
If so, he hoped she’d be willing to lose her anal virginity. Get her to that point, and he’d see how far she was willing to go. Mouth, pussy, ass—he’d love to claim them all.
If she wasn’t sure about anal or changed her mind, one word would stop things, whatever he was doing. His blue balls would complain, but nothing more would happen without her clear consent.
Bending over his desk, she rested her forearms on his custom steampunk-crafted leather blotter. Her position displayed that pert, spankable ass to perfection.
He crossed the floor, boot heels tapping on the hardwood floor until he hit the edge of the rug. Approaching her from behind, he made certain she heard each measured step, noting the dimpled skin of her arms and the shiver that racked her frame. Some of her waist-length curls shifted, sliding off her shoulders to pool on his blotter.
Lifting his hand, he ran the backs of his knuckles down her spine to where her tank top ended and her glorious skin began. Twisting his wrist, he spread his fingers and fondled her buttocks, admiring the tone, the tempting shape. Giving one cheek a squeeze, he drew back his hand and spanked it hard enough to make her squeak.
“That’s one,” he intoned, still in Sirius Blackheart mode. “I will not make you count this time. I want you to consider your actions and repent of your misdeeds whilst I see that you are properly punished.”
Pulling back his hand, he spanked the other cheek, leaving a matched set of reddened prints on her fair skin. “Two,” he counted. “Three….”
Remembering what she’d said about being stronger than she looked, he didn’t pull punches, building his strokes until she was taking everything a painslut like Star could handle. “Twenty-two,” he pronounced, shoving his hand in her crotch to feel her sodden folds. “You’re soaking wet,” he rumbled. “And I’m hard as oak for you. I should warn you, I’m pierced down there, a magic cross through my glans and a Jacob’s ladder underneath. Are you going to be a good girl and take my cock? Words,” he demanded. “Say yes, Sir, and I will nail this ass to my desk tonight and pound your cunny into tomorrow.”
Author Nia Farrell 