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 

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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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Keeper: The Avenging Angels MC Introduction

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Keeper: The Avenging Angels MC Introduction by Nia Farrell

A smoking hot short story.  Length 2,724 words.

Release Date June 1, 2017

Amazon buy link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B071S7P81W/

Goodreads https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/35158264-keeper

CoverReveals featured book June 3, 2017 https://coverreveals.blogspot.com/2017/06/keeper-by-nia-farrell.html   a6f88-coverrevealsbutton

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. 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.

What happens when MC meets erotic romance? Find out when you enter the newest world created by this award-winning author.

Written for ages 18+.

Excerpt:

Mad Dog grabbed her wrist and pulled her after him.  She went, helpless to do anything else.  In here, she needed his protection…even if it came at a price.

He opened a door and dragged her inside what looked to be his bedroom.  A small flat screen TV sat on a scarred maple chest of drawers.  The desk beside it held a printer and a laptop computer, its screen as black as Mad Dog’s soul.

Two interior doors led to what was likely a closet and what she hoped was a bathroom.  “Is there somewhere I can wash up?”

They both knew she was stalling for time.  He humored her anyway.  “On the left,” he said, smirking.  “Don’t get lost.”

As if she could.  It was the tiniest bathroom she’d ever seen.  The stool and sink were opposite each other, so close, she could nearly use them both.  The shower was better, spanning the other wall, roomy enough for a man Mad Dog’s size and likely big enough to share.

She used two squares of tissue to lower the seat so she could go, then did a surgical scrub on her hands.  Pulling up her knit top, she covered her fingers and twisted the door knob.

Mad Dog was looking at her e-reader.

 Shit.

He grinned like the very devil.  “Seems little sister has a thing for MC’s.  Who’d have guessed?”

“They’re just books,” she snapped, plucking the reader from his hand and sticking it back in her bag.  “Fiction.  Just because I read it doesn’t mean I want it in real life.”

“Krissy did,” he drawled.  “She wanted gang banged.  Trouble is, she hooked up with the wrong club.  She’s lucky we came along when we did.  You might not have seen her again.”

Isabella felt her legs start to buckle.  Mad Dog caught her and pulled her to sit beside him on the bed.

She stared up at him, remembering, wondering how she could have gotten it so wrong.

Krissy.  Prissy Krissy.  Too proud to admit where she’d been, she’d said nothing, just let them think she’d spent the night with Mad Dog and his brothers.

And now her best friend was banging one of them.

Isabella hoped it was only one.

“What about Anna?”

He tsked.  “Don’t give me that look.  I’m not my brother’s keeper.  Richie’s been seeing her for two months or so now.  They seem…fond of each other.”

“Fond?”  She barked a laugh.  “Is that what you call it?”

He angled his head.  “You don’t have to be fond of someone to give them a blow job.  You don’t even have to like them.”  He fastened his gaze on her mouth.  “You just have to be willing…and understand the rules.  Only one of us gets to bite, and it’s not you, Isabella.”

He reached for her breast, then, and she let him.  Three years of forbidden fantasies were suddenly within her grasp.  His was hard enough to bruise.

“My rules.  My way,” he growled, pinching her nipple and making her moan.  “I like it rough, little girl.  You have no idea.  I doubt that you can handle me, but if you want to try….”

Did she?

Isabella’s mouth went dry, and she wet her lips.  “How rough?”

Mad Dog caught her chin and pushed his thumb into her mouth.   “Rough,” he rumbled, his blue eyes darkening when she started sucking and teasing it with her tongue.  “Spanking.  Bondage.  My belt, if you beg me for it.  I like oral, and I like anal.  Say the word, and I’ll take you home.  If you stay, you’re gonna get ridden hard and put away wet.”

He pulled his thumb from her mouth and fisted her hair.  “Go or stay?”  He pulled downward, forcing her face up to meet his.

“Stay…”

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Replay Book 6: Highland Fling

Replay Book 6: Highland Fling by Nia Farrell

Length 20,081 words / 108 pages

Release Date May 1, 2017

Amazon http://mybook.to/RB6 or https://www.amazon.com/dp/B06Y6BB1TM

Goodreads https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/34839948-replay-book-6

ASIN: B06Y6BB1TM

BLURB: Jannet MacDonald walked away from a career as a professional ballet dancer when her brother Micheil’s first wife was killed and his daughter severely injured.  Recognizing just how much she’s sacrificed, Micheil and his bride treat her to a special music weekend at Replay BDSM theme resort, where patrons play in the past.  A former friend from Juilliard will be performing Mozart on Saturday.  The next night is a Scottish céilidh, with music for the Celtic soul.  While she’s there, she plans to explore BDSM and learn what it takes to be a submissive.

Dominant Ian McGregor can’t believe it when he sees Jannet MacDonald waltzing in the Replay’s Versailles Room.  At her brother’s wedding, she let him think that she couldn’t dance.  She might have shut him down that night, but he hasn’t stopped thinking about her.  And now, she needs to pay the price for not telling him the truth.

Ian isn’t the only one she’s wronged.  Replay staff psychiatrist Sir Josef wants to punish Jannet, too.  When he was approving her for play, she detailed her history of eating disorders but failed to disclose her anxiety.  At the céilidh, Ian proposes that they decide the matter like men did back in the day…with swords.

Jannet hopes that Ian will win the challenge, even if it means being disciplined.  Once, he gave her the best sex of her life.  This time, she’ll have to earn it—the hard way.

Written for ages 18+.

EXCERPT:

Intending to rejoin the rest of those listening, Jannet turned and found her way blocked by a wall of velvet-clad muscle, dressed in period finery.  Ian McGregor caught her right hand in his left and stretched their arms out to the side.  Sliding his other hand around her waist, he pulled her closer to him than was necessary.  Or maybe it was.  There was no way that she could slip free, not without making a scene.

Then again, why would she, when she’d dreamt of being in his arms and she was finally here?

Sir Josef was an adequate partner.  Ian commanded the dance floor.  Commanded her.  He led her through increasingly difficult waltz steps, demanding her submission, bending her to his will.  Dipping her low, he pulled her upright and guided her through a sequence that had her craving more.

More dance.  More dominance.  More Ian McGregor.

She was so screwed.

“Thank you,” she managed when the music and their movements had stopped.

Lowering their arms, he released her hand and placed both of his on her waist.  Just the feel of him sent delicious shivers rippling through her.  And his smell…tantalizingly, utterly masculine and oh, so tempting.

“You,” he rumbled, “have been a bad girl.  Do you know what happens to bad girls?”

She did.  God, she did.  Her mind was alive with decadent possibilities.

“What, Sir?” she whispered, careful to keep her gaze on his clean-shaven chin.

In one swift move, he fisted her unpowdered hair and pulled back her ginger head, forcing her to meet his gaze.  “Spanking, to start.”  His hazel eyes narrowed slightly.  “Paddled.  Stripped.  Bound.  Flogged,” he said, “and fucked.  You’ve got the first five coming.  The last, you’ll have to earn.  What say you, eilidh?”

Eilidh.  Red doe.  Hearing the pet name in her native Scots Gaelic made her even wetter than she was.

“Yes, Sir,” she managed.  “Thank you, Sir.”

“Good girl.”  Bending down, he bit her ear, then whispered into it.  “When the music ends, your backside is mine.”

Oh, God.

Her body threatened to pool at his feet when he let her go.  Nodding, Ian headed over to talk to Sir Piers and his wife Eleanor, nearly five months along and clearly showing.  Somehow Jannet managed to make it to a chair and sink down onto it.  As much as she enjoyed hearing Aubrey Wolfe play, she couldn’t wait for the performance to end.

This close.  She was this close to learning what submission would entail.  What a Dominant would demand.

Just how much she could take.

She’d been nervous about submitting to a virtual stranger.  Sir Piers had a reputation for pairing partners, but still.  This was her first time here—or anywhere.  It was her first experience, and Ian appeared well-versed in the lifestyle.  He could have easily chosen another play partner, versed in protocol and trained to please.  She did not want to disappoint.

Forty-five minutes later, Aubrey finished and rose to a round of enthusiastic applause.  Sir Josef kissed her, then took Mr. Vashon by the neck and pulled him close for an equally passionate kiss.

Ah.

“Ready?”  A familiar baritone voice sounded behind her.

“Yes, Sir.”  She was, and so was everyone else.  The BDSM scene had begun before the last note ended.

“Your choice,” he said.  “Here in public, in a private playroom, or in your suite.”

“Playroom,” she answered.  She wasn’t ready for an audience, and it was a little too soon to invite Ian to her room.  If things didn’t work out, she would need neutral space, free of his scent and any physical reminders of what happened between them.

“Come.”

Rounding her chair, Ian held out his hand and helped her from it.  Maintaining his hold, he led her away from the scene that continued to unfold around them.  As much as she was tempted to ask, Jannet knew better than to beg him to stay.  There was always tomorrow, she reminded herself.  An outdoor venue with pipes, drums, and kilts seemed a perfect setting for a newcomer to observe the action and satisfy at least some of her curiosity.

It seemed like they walked forever, down the labyrinth of halls and up two flights of stairs.  Taking a key from his pocket, Ian unlocked the door to Room 7, twisted the handle, and swung the door open wide.  Jannet stood, rooted, feeling her stomach knot and her anxiety kick in.  It wasn’t too late.  She didn’t have to do this.

Ian pulled her into the room, shut the door, and pinned her against it with the hard length of his six feet three inch body.  Thrusting five fingers into her hair, he put his other hand over her throat and squeezed, ever so slightly.

Jannet raised her gaze, past those perfect lips, to meet his thick-lashed hooded eyes.  She watched, fascinated by the shift in them.  Any concern for her was vaporized by the flare of lust that threatened to consume them both.

“Fuck it,” he growled, and slammed his mouth down on hers.  

He claimed her with a hunger that had her craving more.  Lips crashed.  Bodies clashed, locked in a desperate duel that would only end when one of them was satisfied.

Ian fisted her hair and dragged his hand down her front, curving his calloused fingers over the swell of her breast and squeezing it, almost hard enough to bruise.  She moaned into his mouth, acutely aware of just how long it had been since she’d had anything inside her other than her fingers or her favorite toy.  Beneath her layers of petticoats and panniers, she was soaking wet.

Her corset and gown were cut low enough, it didn’t take much for him to free one breast.  Breaking off their kiss, he traced the side of her neck with his tongue, then fastened his mouth over her nipple and feasted on it like a starving man.  She speared her fingers into his thick brown hair.  He caught her wrists and pinned them above her head with his left hand.  His other hand dove south, wrestling with her skirt and layers of underpinnings until he’d managed to shove them above her waist….

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WRITING ROMANCE LINES #forehead

Every Tuesday, author R. B. O’Brien picks a word and we write a line or pull a quote that incorporates the word.  Today’s prompt was forehead.  The line I chose is from a passage in Pride and Punishment – An Erotic Retelling of Jane Austen’s Beloved Classic.  

EXCERPT:

Plucking up my coat, I turn it right side out and put it on.  On the surface, it looks the same but it smells of us, the sweat of our joining, and I wonder who will notice.

I kiss her forehead and whisper, “You are welcome.”

She draws back her head, thinking far too much for one so young.  “Let me thank you…again…and again…,” I remind her.

Miss Elizabeth blushes hotly.  When she meets my gaze, hers is soft and earnest and brave.  She makes herself naked, baring her soul in a gesture more intimate than anything we just shared.  “In the name of all my family, for that generous compassion which induced you to take so much trouble, and bear so many mortifications, for the sake of discovering them.”

“If you will thank me, let it be for yourself alone,” I tell her, forbidding thoughts of her parents to intrude upon the two of us.  “That the wish of giving happiness to you might add force to the other inducements which led me on, I shall not attempt to deny.  But your family owe me nothing.  Much as I respect them, I believe I thought only of you.”

I cannot help myself.  I look at her, from head to toe and back again, remembering the feel of her moving beneath me, those full, plump lips wrapped around my cock.  Technically, she remains a virgin.  I am acutely aware that she has made no commitment to me.

“You are too generous to trifle with me,” I say.  “If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once.  My affections and wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence me on this subject forever.”

“Master,” she whispers.  A single, heartfelt word that thrills my very soul.  “My sentiments have undergone so material a change since then, as to make me receive your present assurances with gratitude—and pleasure,” she adds meaningfully, her blush deepening at the gleam in my eyes when I imagine her naked and kneeling.

God help me, I want her again.

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