Tag line: Two shifters must keep their fated mate safe when darkness threatens.
Blurb: When grad student Morgan Leviss chose sexual surrogacy for her thesis, she never expected to become one. Now she’s tasked with turning two reclusive men into social creatures. Zac Blackstone and Aiden Goldman are nothing like what she expects. Handsome and charming, they’re a puzzle she finds intriguing.
Zac and Aiden have known each other for over two hundred years. Part of a cadre of shifters, they’re on a mission to mate and procreate. Powerful warriors for centuries, they lack the social skills and sexual experience needed to attract a partner. When a beautiful redhead comes into their life to teach them, they discover new hope.
Bound by secrecy, the men can’t tell her who they really are. What they are. Increasingly drawn to Morgan, they begin to recognize her as their fated female. Convincing her that she’s theirs may be as hard as keeping her alive when danger appears from the shadows.
Morgan is the first in the Guarded HeartsSeries of standalone Erotic Paranormal Romance Ménage deftly penned as subtle Romantic Comedy with a heat level that’s off the charts. Written for Ages 18+.
First in the Guarded Hearts series of standalones (no previous reading required)
Cover Reveal September 1, 2019
Release Date October 19, 2019
EXCERPT (731 words):
Morgan was speechless. When scholarly, bespectacled Emmett had escorted her upstairs tonight, she never expected to be met at the door by two very naked and extremely well-endowed men.
Tonight’s session was supposed to be about discovery. Shedding clothes, honestly evaluating your body, discovering hidden strengths, discussing doubts, and finding ways to work through them.
These guys seemed to be doing just fine.
She picked her jaw up from the floor and forced her feet to move forward from where she’d been frozen in place, stunned by the sight of them. Zac might be older, but dear Lord, he was perfection, from the manscaped hair on his chest to the Adonis belt pointing the way to the promised land. Aiden could be a cover model, with his chest shaved and lightly oiled muscles gleaming in the glow of dozens of lit candles that were scattered around the room.
Jesus, take me now.
“Good evening, Morgan,” Aiden greeted her, his voice slightly roughened. “We have prepared ourselves for this evening as required for this session.”
They were both staring at her expectantly.
Leaving her coat and bag on her normal chair, she ran her palms nervously down her sides. “Yes.” She cleared her throat. “I can see that.”
They moved to stand beside the sofa. She sank into the recliner facing them. They looked so at ease with their nudity. As if it didn’t bother either of them that they were buck naked in front of each other. Morgan was having a hard time keeping her mind on track. An insidious little whisper in her head kept telling her to skip sessions. It was accompanied by images of sweating, thrusting bodies.
“Is something wrong?” Zac inquired when the silence stretched. “You seem… uncomfortable.”
Morgan blinked. “No. No. It’s just not how I planned it. I thought that we would talk first before you stripped. I wanted to discuss how you feel about your bodies and what you think are your individual strengths and weaknesses.”
“I don’t like my toes,” Zac said, squinting down at them. “They seem too…, I don’t know. Gnarly? Other than that, I am pleased with this vessel. It is that of a well-made, mature man who can handle whatever life brings him. Aiden tried to talk me into shaving my chest, but I read that some women find the tactile sensation of chest hair to be pleasing. What do you think about furbabies?”
Morgan forgot to breathe for a second. Furbabies? Was this leading into some Furries kink where everyone dressed up as cute animals? She couldn’t imagine either man dressed up in a bunny suit but she didn’t yet know their sexual tastes. After the spanking incident, anything was possible.
“I… um, like men with chest hair,” she admitted. “And you’re right. Some women do enjoy the sensation, especially against sensitive parts of their bodies. Your scruff…”
Zac arched a questioning brow.
Morgan felt her cheeks warm ten degrees. “Yes,” she croaked, wondering how in the hell she was going to talk herself out of this one. She’d been imagining how it would feel against her skin while she rode his mouth. “A soft beard can be very stimulating. An abrasive, prickly beard can hurt to the point of turning someone off, whether it’s kissing or oral stimulation.”
“Like cunnilingus?” Aiden asked.
“And fellatio,” she stated, her gaze caroming between the two of them. “When two men have a relationship with each other.”
“We wouldn’t know,” Zac told her. “We’ve never been with a woman to find out. Soon, though, we hope. We have been watching threesomes in porn to see how these things work.”
They wanted a threesome?
Oh. My. God.
Morgan’s thighs clenched together, her body reacting to the thought of having both of them between her legs. Christ. It was hard to not be aroused.
She had two naked virgins, eager for their first sexual experiences. This was supposed to be one on one when the time came, and they were already planning a threesome. Could she handle both of them? Should she even try?
Reality couldn’t be as good as the wet dreams she’d been having. Most mornings, she woke up needy and desperate and grateful for her roommate’s foresight to buy batteries ahead.
Includes IRRESISTIBLE – A RETELLING OF LEDA AND THE SWAN by Nia Farrell
Anthology Release Date September 13, 2019
WATCH THIS PAGE FOR UPDATES
IRRESISTIBLE – A RETELLING OF LEDA AND THE SWAN
by Nia Farrell
Length 17,522 words
Nia Farrell puts a fresh twist on an ancient legend in this erotic telling of Leda and the Swan. After years of barrenness, Leda, the Queen of Sparta, is visited by Zeus in the form of a swan. The god of the heavens promises to fulfill her heart’s desires if she will yield herself to him. Desperate to give her husband an heir, Leda agrees.
A month later, Leda is sick to the point of miscarrying. Divine intervention saves her, but she dreads the day that her husband King Tyndareus learns the truth. She’s actually pregnant with two sets of twins, one fathered by him and one by Zeus.
A divine swan. A god come down from the sky. Quadruplets who were born in eggs.
There are truths to be found in myth and legend if you open your mind to the possibilities.
Sizzling erotic sci-fi romance, written for Ages 18+.
The wounded swan landed on the bank with a thud to lie still and unmoving. Tears stung Leda’s eyes to see such a beautiful thing laid low. Injured, it was easy prey for hunters, animal or human. If it wasn’t already dead, the bird was doomed unless she could find a way to help it.
The swan’s head lifted and dropped. Relieved to see it, she released the breath that she’d been holding. It folded its wings against its body, adopting a protective pose. The blood on its back was plainly visible, but from this distance, she could not tell how deep its wounds went or what damage had been done.
She needed to be wise, though. This was a wild creature. The largest swan that she had ever seen was newly injured and in pain. If her intent to help was perceived as a threat, she could end up being hurt as well.
She started praying, silently chanting a hymn to Asclepius, petitioning the god of healing to guide her willing hands. When she walked out of the water, the swan turned its head and watched her approach with the same wariness that she was feeling.
“There, there,” she crooned, blanching when she saw how long the gashes looked. It’s a miracle that the bird wasn’t bleeding more. “Poor thing. I don’t know what I can do for you. We can try to find a place where you can stay until you’re strong enough to fly, but you’ll need to let me help you. Will you do that?”
To make herself less intimidating, Leda folded her legs and crawled to a spot that was well in sight but out of reach. Easing down to sit, she hummed and talked and crooned to the bird, doing everything in her power to show that she meant it no harm.
She wished that her harpist was here. Music could be profoundly soothing, instilling a sense of peace and promoting tranquility. Inspired, she started singing. Hymns to the gods and goddesses. Popular ballads. Children’s lullabies.
Miraculously, the swan began to move, drawn by the music. It inched closer … and closer yet, until its chest was by her upturned toes. Hoping to get a good look at its wounds, she slowly, carefully parted her legs. Before she had a chance to lean closer, the swan worked its way higher.
It didn’t stop until its breast was pressed against her chest and its head was on her shoulder with its bill buried in her hair.
She held herself perfectly still, wondering at what her efforts had wrought. The creature seemed unafraid. More than that, it seemed to take comfort from her presence, seeking shelter and finding it. The bird nestled itself against her body, initiating contact.
Tentatively lifting her hand, she petted its long, elegant neck.
The swan sighed.
Confused by what she’d thought that she heard, Leda froze.
If she had any doubts, the swan sighed again.
It pushed against her, digging in with its feet to force her back until she was flat on the ground with its full weight on her body.
She swore that she heard it groan.
Panic gripped her heart and clawed at her chest, sharp as an eagle’s talons.
The words echoed in her mind. She lay, unmoving, aware that she was part of some great mystery that had yet to be revealed, may the gods protect her from harm.
We will. I swear it.
More words, heard as clearly as if they had fallen from human lips.
The meaning was clear enough. She was in the presence of the divine—or so he wanted her to believe.
The swan stretched over her. Its weight pressed down on her, increasingly so. Its body lengthened. Its neck grew shorter. Feathers disappeared, replaced by warm skin and magnificently sculpted, decidedly masculine muscles. He kept his head to the side, denying her the sight of his face. A pair of perfectly chiseled lips skimmed her throat, sending a bolt of sexual energy like lightning to her core.
“Close your eyes to be safe,” he rasped against her ear, his voice thick with arousal. Flexing his hips, he let her feel the strength of his desire. “Know that your prayers have been heard. I am here to answer them.”
But who was he? What was he—this man with wings who had fallen from the sky?
“No man,” he answered, reading her mind. “But you know that, don’t you? I have told you what I am. Heaven-sent and wounded in your service. Even gods bleed, Queen of Sparta. Kiss away my hurt and I shall grant your heart’s desire.”
He was a god.
A deity come from Olympus in answer to her prayers. If she kissed away his hurt, her dearest wishes would be granted. Of late, she had asked for only two things—for her husband to return safely and for the gods to bless them with children.
Could she do this? Submit to a god to secure her husband’s throne?
After years of barrenness, she felt that she had no choice. Praying that Tyndareus would understand, she closed her eyes and submitted to the will of the gods.
He spread her legs and parted her folds with his crown. Surging upward, he wedged his length inside her like a forester’s maul, threatening to split her asunder with his girth.
Tears stung her eyes to feel him where no man save her husband had gone.
“Fear not, Queen of Sparta,” he crooned in her ear. “The mightiest of men must bow to the will of the gods.” Pulling back, he thrust again, driving deep enough to make her wince. “My priests will see that your husband does as well.”
Hips churning, he gathered speed until he was pounding into her, his rhythm as fierce as a war drum. “You are blessed among mortal women,” he swore. “My chosen vessel. I shall anoint thy womb and make it fruitful. Kiss me, mother of princes, and your husband shall have his heir.”
No matter what walk of life you are from, we are all perfectly imperfect beings of ourselves. We don’t need to be someone else’s image, we only need to be who we are.
Remember, you are the only person who can disappoint yourself. Others will try, but having the will and the want to stop the bullying where it starts is how you can beat a bully or end the violence.
The best way to stop violence and bullying is to think smarter and act brighter.
Proceeds from this anthology will go to National Domestic Violence Hotline.
Stand Your Ground includes
Independence Day by Nia Farrell and Damage Control by Ree L. Diehl.
by Nia Farrell
(historical novella that addresses domestic violence)
Length 23,077 words.
Fearing for her life, Becca West escaped her abusive husband and has been living under an assumed name. When the new sheriff comes to town, he knows that she’s not really Molly Malone. Truly widowed, Becca vows to never again be at a man’s mercy. Sheriff Donovan insists that marrying him is her best—possibly her only—chance of keeping custody of her boy when Billy’s rich, ruthless grandfather discovers where they are. What will a mother do to protect her son?
Independence Day is an erotic romance set in 1868 California. The heroine was inspired by the gut-wrenching true-life story of Anna Glud, who served as a drummer boy under General Grant. The fictional story includes post-rape PTSD and adult themes and may contain triggers. Written for Ages 18+.
INDEPENDENCE DAY Excerpt 1
As apprehensive as Molly had been when Sheriff Donovan first arrived, she was soon thanking her stars that he had come to Walnut Creek. He was firm but fair, enforcing statutes that the last sheriff had been lax on and making improvements to their community. Billy adored him. The sheriff had quickly, disturbingly grown on her as well.
So far, she had done her best to ignore it.
At night was the hardest. When her father was dying and insisted on seeing her safely settled before he met his end, she had honored his wishes and wed the man he picked for her. At fifteen years of age, she felt that she had no choice.
Grayson was kind in the beginning. Her wedding night was more than she could have hoped for, given his true nature, with a gentle deflowering and hours of passionate lovemaking. Despite the brutality that Grayson had descended into once her father was gone, she could remember when their marital bed harbored more than forced entries and sleepless nights.
Her body yearned for that again.
She ached for Matthew Donovan.
She could not let him know how he affected her. She longed to touch the shadow of his beard-stippled face at the end of the day and sooth the tension from his brow. The worst was remembering what he looked like naked. Two weeks after he came, he’d failed to lock the bathing room door. She had gone in to clean it…only to find him climbing out of the tub, water clinging to the mat of crisp curls that spanned his chest, thinned below it, and narrowed to a tempting trail that led to his manhood.
His body had stirred at the sight of her, while she watched, mesmerized. He had snatched the towel and covered himself, breaking the spell and sending her flying out the door, her cheeks as red as chili peppers and the heart of her womanhood pulsing with new awareness. It was as if a fire had been sparked inside her. Unable to extinguish it, she now struggled to keep it banked. If she allowed it to flare to life, she feared that it would consume her.
But there was no help for it. Marriage would reduce her to the status of chattel. She refused to put herself at a man’s mercy ever again, and no affair was worth the risk. She would lose her reputation, her livelihood, her home, and possibly her son. Should she be judged an unfit mother, the court would take Billy away.
She was doomed to live each day with the knowledge of what Matthew Donovan looked like naked, and a keen awareness that he shared that most intimate memory.
Things had been awkward between them ever since.
INDEPENDENCE DAY Excerpt 2
His hazel eyes were as serious as she’d ever seen them. “We can have a second ceremony in the Church when things settle, but we’re making it legal now. As soon as supper’s done, we’re paying the justice of the peace a visit. The only way to ensure that Francis West won’t get custody of Billy is for you to take a husband who can pass close inspection. I’m not perfect, Becca, but my reputation is as good as any man’s and better than most. Mr. West can look for dirt in Indiana or Kansas or California, but he won’t find anything on me. I’ve kept my nose clean and chosen my friends well. Being a lawman, you live a life of risk. Under other circumstances, I’d give you plenty of time to think about that. Once we’re married in the Church, that’s it for either of us. There’ll be no backing out. No divorce. I’ll go off to work each day, and you’ll be here, not knowing if I’m coming home in my boots or in a box.”
She paled at his words and the bleak picture that he’d painted with them.
He shoved five fingers into his hair and sadly shook his head. “Unfortunately, that will be our reality,” he said. “I’ve always hesitated to saddle someone with it. I wouldn’t now, but it can’t be helped. It’s the only sure way to keep you and Billy safe. But if we do this, I want us to be clear. I plan to be your husband, in every way.”
She felt her cheeks warm. A marriage had to be consummated to be legal. If they married, they would share a bed.
His brow knit with worry when she said nothing. “Some women who’ve survived what you did would rather die than be touched by a man. I’m hoping that you’re not one of them.”
She remembered him naked and felt her whole body go flush. “I don’t think so,” she whispered, blood thrumming in her veins to pool in her loins. “How can I know?”
“Well,” he said, “why don’t we start with a kiss and see if you can stand me when it’s done?”
“All right,” she croaked, already wondering what he would taste like.
“Let’s get your chair turned.” Taking hold of the seat from behind, he pulled her away from the table and turned her ninety degrees, so that she sat beside it. He put an empty chair next to hers but in the opposite direction, forming a makeshift courting bench. Folding his long body, he sat down, facing her, with their right hips nearly flush.
He inhaled deeply and exhaled, forcing himself to relax. His hazel gaze snagged hers with the look of a man facing a challenge that he was hopeful he would win.
The sheriff grinned crookedly. “It’s been a while for me, too,” he confessed, “but I think I remember how it’s done.”
Raising his right arm, he held her face in his hand, brushing her cheek with the pad of his thumb, letting her become accustomed to his touch. After a long minute, he reached to cup her head. Leaning forward, he gently pulled her to him.
They met in the middle.
He angled his head for perfect alignment and brushed his lips against hers. His breath smelled of whiskey and lemon, from one of the hard candies that he bought at the mercantile and kept for a treat. When she didn’t shy away, he grew bolder, pressing his lips fully to hers and holding them there, inhaling her breaths and letting her inhale his.
He pulled back his head and looked at her. Keeping her hands clasped tightly against her waist, she met his gaze, unflinching.
“Whiskey eyes,” he murmured. “I could drown in them, you know.”
Certain that they revealed the maelstrom that was wreaking havoc inside her, she was tempted to close them. It was all she could do to sit, trembling at his touch, bathed in the fire of his breath that threatened immolation.
She wondered, would she burn or rise like a phoenix from the ashes?
“Becca,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’m going to really kiss you now.”
Taking her head in both of his hands, he kissed her like a starving man. He consumed her, covering her mouth with his and feasting on it. His tongue came out, capricious at first, then deliberate, seeking her essence to claim for his own. After thoroughly tasting her lips, he urged them apart and delved inside.
She moaned from the feel of it, of him. Her curious fingers touched the faint shadow of his beard, delighting in their differences. Hard and soft. Masculine and feminine. Leashed power and burgeoning passion.
Sensing it, he groaned and pulled away. They stared at each other, motionless save for the rise and fall of their chests with each rapid breath. When the sheriff spoke, his voice was a delicious baritone rumble that echoed in her core.
“Well?” he managed. “What do you think?”
That she was mad to want him. Mad to marry him. She had vowed to never be at the mercy of a man.
She wished that he would kiss her again.
INDEPENDENCE DAY Excerpt 3
“I’m afraid that you’ll have to tell me what to do. Matthew, how do you want me? Where do you want me?”
He swallowed hard, his throat muscles working. Focused on him, she watched his Adam’s apple move above his cravat. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Tearing his gaze away from her lips, he looked towards her bed.
“Stand up and take off your dress for me.”
He offered his large, strong hands to help her off the floor. Staying close, she unbuttoned her cuffs and bodice, bent to catch the hem of her skirt, and pulled her dress over her head. Turning it right side out, she shook it straight and hung it back in her wardrobe.
Acutely aware of his gaze on her, watching, she untied the waist of her hoops and dropped them. They collapsed at her feet. Her two petticoats and corset cover were next to go, leaving her standing in her corset, shift, pantaloons, stockings, and shoes.
“Sit on the bed,” he rumbled, pushing himself to a stand. She watched, mesmerized, as he pulled off his frock coat and removed his vest. He reached for his belt buckle. She felt herself pale, remembering the bite of leather into her flesh. Noting her reaction, he tossed it aside. When he turned back, his lips were pressed tightly together and his brow was creased with concern.
“I’ll switch to suspenders,” he promised. “I never thought—”
“No!” she whispered. “Please. I need to get used to it, is all. I’ve managed with other things. I can do it with your belt, too, but it takes time. Just be patient with me, please.”
“You have my word, Becca. I’m a patient man. And in case you didn’t notice that day you came into the bathing room, I can control myself. Otherwise, I’d have pinned you against the door and taken you then and there.”
The husky timbre of his voice echoed in her core, triggering a primal response that left her swollen, wet, and aching with an emptiness that he would soon fill.
“You wanted me?”
He nodded slowly, his expression earnest. “I’ve wanted you since I first laid eyes on you again. Back in Jeffersonville, you were always a pretty thing, but you were young. Way too young. Next thing I knew, you were married. All I could do was watch from a distance and hope for the best. But when I walked into Harrell House and saw you again, all grown up…”
He pulled out his stickpin and untied his cravat. “I thought you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. I still do.”
She knew that she was passably pretty. The way he looked at her almost made her believe that she was more than merely easy on the eyes.
His hands went to the front of his pants. His nimble fingers worked the buttons to open his fly. Beneath the fabric of his shirt and drawers, she could see the bulge of his erect manhood, rising straight against his belly.
She was no authority, but to her eyes, he seemed very well-endowed. Very. He was large enough, he would have to prepare her to receive him.
The prospect was both tantalizing and terrifying.
The sheriff’s very life depended on being observant. Tonight, with all of his attention focused on her, he saw everything. The rapid lift and fall of her chest with every corset-constrained breath. The night breeze that lifted the curtain and sent gooseflesh rippling across her skin. The uncertainty on her face when she wondered just how large he was and thought of his possession.
“I’ll go slow,” he said. Dropping his gaze to her secrets, he looked determined to uncover them all. “We’ll fit. You’ll see.”
by Ree L. Diehl
Length 18, 365 words. A BBW/billionaire workplace romance (a contemporary novella with workplace bullying and body shaming).
Curvy Isabella DeLorean knows what it’s like to be the butt of jokes but she has brains, talent, beauty, an irrepressible sense of humor, and a plus-size body that matches her big heart. Tough as steel and built for comfort, this DeLorean would love nothing more than to take her new boss for a ride.
Nicholas Wentworth III is CEO of the Wentworth’s department store chain. His newest sales clerk is so popular with customers, Bella wins Employee of the Month and all the perks that come with it—a sizeable bonus, a premium parking space, and dinner with CEO. Bella’s hot Italian-American blood thinks that a boss with benefits might just be what she needs. She’s already dealing with vicious coworkers, a shady manager, and office gossip. Accepting the award from Nick puts an even bigger target on her back. Someone’s aware of their mutual attraction. Someone who’ll stop at nothing to keep her and Nick apart. With Bella’s life in peril, can Nick find her stalker before it’s too late?
Damage Control is Ree L. Diehl’s first novella, her first BBW, and first romantic mystery. It’s a sizzling addition to the Stand Your Ground anti-bullying anthology.
DAMAGE CONTROL Excerpt:
Bella put the credit card printout with the cash register receipt and handed them to Lola.
The bride-to-be tucked them in her billfold. “I’ll give these to Vito when I get home. Thanks for all your help, doll. You’re the best.”
“Thank you, Lola. I wish you and Vito every joy.”
Glancing over, Bella saw Maria carrying Justinian on her hip. The way that he was gnawing on a finger, she wondered if a tooth was coming in.
She was so focused on her nephew that she didn’t see Ms. Cohen coming from the back with a spray bottle of perfume in her hand. “There,” she said, misting away. “Much better!”
For Ms. Cohen maybe, but not for Bella. One whiff and she felt her throat start to close. She stumbled to the chair just outside the lingerie display room, gasping for air.
“Someone get a doctor!” Maria yelled. Justinian burst into tears, wailing like a banshee. Lola called 911. “Bella, can you hear me? Do you have one of those shot things for allergies?”
Bella shook her head weakly. She had an inhaler if she started to wheeze. A runny nose and sinus headache were the norm. She’d never had a reaction this bad, with a fat tongue and dangerously constricted airways. Dear God, what if her throat swelled shut before help came? Not being able to breathe was the most frightening thing she’d ever experienced.
She felt dizzy. She couldn’t get enough air, and she was losing consciousness. Her eyelids closed, too heavy to keep open any longer.
“Hang in there, sweetie. Help is on the way. Stay with me, Bella. Stay with me. Come on, sweetheart. Stay with me.”
Strange, but Maria’s voice had changed to Mr. Wentworth’s.
Try as she might, she couldn’t force open her eyes. Couldn’t see him and couldn’t stay with him, as much as she wanted to. How ironic was it, to win a date with the man of her dreams and die before dinner?
“I agree. It is ironic.”
Bella stopped breathing again, but this time it wasn’t a medical emergency. She felt the sting of an IV in the back of her hand and heard the blip of monitors even before she opened her eyes and saw Nicholas Wentworth sitting by her hospital bed.
He looked exhausted.
She was pretty sure that she looked worse.
“Hi,” she croaked. “What are you doing here?”
He conjured a tired smile. “Checking on my Employee of the Month. Your mother tells me that you’re a fighter. She swears that you’ll be out of here in time for the presentation tomorrow night.”
Good lord. She’d lost a day? A day’s pay. No, two days. Yesterday and today and maybe tomorrow, depending on how soon they would let her go.
Bella burst into tears. “I’m s-sorry,” she keened. “It’s just—I can’t afford to miss work.”
“Workmen’s Comp,” he said, waving a dismissive hand. “Everything’s covered. Your pay. Your stay. This is a result of an incident while you were on the clock. Trust me when I say that everything will be taken care of. All you need to do is relax and recover. Lingerie will be waiting for you when the doctor releases you. Ms. Cohen, however, will not.”
Bracing his elbows on the arms of his chair, he clasped his hands and leaned toward her. “After your review yesterday morning, I started checking, comparing department profits and sales commissions paid. The figures showed a disturbing pattern. When I called Ms. Cohen to discuss my findings, I was told that she was busy with a medical emergency. Yours.”
He rubbed a hand across his face and smiled grimly. “Miss Chin—Qua—found your phone on the counter, still recording. She had me listen to it. Ms. Cohen was ready to let your sales go through another register. But what she did next was worse. Ms. Cohen knew that you had fragrance allergies. That’s why we put you in lingerie, in a part of the store farthest from the makeup and perfume counters. Yet she deliberately sprayed perfume without your permission, without bothering to ask if you were allergic to that brand. It was an unconscionable act, and I fired her. The search is on for a new lingerie department manager. HR recommends the one from our Charleston, South Carolina, location. Ms. Jackson—Evalynne—has an excellent record but she’s not fond of hurricanes and is looking to relocate.”
“Same job, new boss. I can handle it.” Truthfully, she was relieved to have a job to come back to, especially if it meant that she could catch a glimpse of Nicholas Wentworth III from time to time.
He smiled softly. “I’m certain you can.”
“I’m a DeLorean,” she quipped. “Tough as steel and built for comfort.”
It was one of her standing jokes when someone pointed out her weight. Bella groaned when she heard what had flown out of her mouth. “Forget I said that. Jesus, take me now.”
Mr. Wentworth chuckled. “Sorry, he’ll have to wait until I’m done with you. We have a presentation tomorrow night, and there’s still your Employee of the Month dinner with me. Your mother is looking forward to the first, and I,” he said, “am looking forward to the second.”
She looked for the signs, but he wasn’t joking.
She needed to make a major fashion statement. In her mind, she saw a basic black mermaid wrap with an asymmetrical draped bodice, crossing to one side and fastening at her waist.
“Two weeks,” she said. If they were going to do this, she wanted enough time to make the perfect dress.
“Good,” he said. “Good. You’ll be out of here and back to work. Speaking of which, I’d better get going. I have a conference call in an hour. I’m glad to see that you’re doing better, Miss DeLorean.”
That sounded so formal when she was sitting here with her ass hanging out of a hospital gown. “My family and friends call me Bella, Mr. Wentworth.”
Standing, he smoothed the creases from his suit pants and draped his matching jacket over his arm. “And my family and friends call me Nick. I’ll see you soon, Bella. Get some rest.”
She didn’t want to rest. She wanted to watch that fine specimen of manhood leave her hospital room and memorize how his bubble butt looked in motion. She wanted to bite it. Lick it. She wanted to bend over the bed and let the CEO of Wentworth’s own her every orifice.
God, what she wouldn’t give to have her vibrator right now.
Dominance. It flows through every single one of us, some more than others. In this collection of stories brought to you by eleven fabulous authors, you will see dominant men and women in their truest forms.
Masters. Mistresses. Dominants. Whatever your kink is, we’ve got something for everyone. Take a dive inside to satisfy your darkest, dominant desires.
Dominated by Desire includes Slow Burn by Nia Farrell. Length 22,103 words.
A publicist is tasked with turning a debut novelist from geek to gorgeous.
The rights to Reuben James’s debut novel Slow Burn, a dark BDSM thriller, just sold for $1.5 million. His editor wants him cut, dressed, groomed, and coached and has given publicist Brooke Cavanaugh six month to do take him from geek to gorgeous. The trouble is, the twenty-five-year-old boy-genius-turned-author isn’t just new to publishing. He’s a natural Dominant with no BDSM experience, and he’s never been with a woman.
To be fully prepared for interviews, Reuben knows that he needs BDSM experience. He yearns to get his cherry popped, and he wants to find a submissive. Brooke deems his “to-do” list feasible. Willing to take one for the team, she offers to help Reuben develop his Dominant skills, but turning him into a media dream proves to be her nightmare when she finds herself falling for the younger man.
Take an inexperienced geek. Add one seasoned divorcee. Throw them together in a haunted house, toss in a playroom, and watch the heat rise.
“I’ve been thinking about what you’ve been tasked to accomplish,” he said smoothly. “Prepare me for the book tour and the interviews that I’ll be doing. I know my strengths and I know where I’m weakest. I’m intelligent and articulate but I’m inexperienced in the lifestyle that I write about. I want to change that. Now that you’re here, I’m hoping that you’ll help me.”
Brooke sat perfectly still, warning herself to not jump to conclusions. Her imagination was running wild. She needed to rein it in. Hear his thoughts before she said something that she shouldn’t.
Keep things professional, Brooke.
“If I can honestly answer and say that I’ve done at least some of the kinks in Slow Burn, I’ll have the credibility that I’m lacking now. And please, don’t point out that Agatha Christie never murdered anyone to write her stories. We both know how brutal the press can be.”
Brooke felt her face flush pink. She shifted in her seat and crossed her legs, pressing her thighs together to ease the sudden ache between them. Holy shit. The thought of him… of them… together…, doing the things that she’d dreamed of…
Stop right there.
She realized that they were treading dangerous ground. She was his personal assistant. He needed a research assistant for kink. If he wasn’t a Long Branch author, she’d be the first to volunteer. But he was, and she couldn’t.
Not without putting her job—her career—in jeopardy.
Or would she?
She was already assigned to him. Surely she could justify helping him research kink—
Assuming that’s what he was asking.
Maybe she was jumping the gun. Maybe her imagination was taking her far from where he intended. She wet her lips and swallowed before responding. “What do you want from me, Sir?”
He nodded his approval at the honorific. “I’ve been making connections online with people in the lifestyle who live in the St. Louis area. Most of them are on the Missouri side of the river. There are a couple of clubs, but I’d rather start with a private party. Would you be willing to pose as my submissive?”
Her cheeks reddened.
“Or help me find one?”
Brooke’s breath seized in her chest like an engine with a snapped timing chain. What the fuck?! She wanted to rewind, go back to where he asked her to pose as his submissive. Why would she pimp for him when she was more than willing to take one for the team?
Excerpt 2 (1,173 words, NSFW):
The transformation to a playroom had already begun. A massive, modern four-poster bed dominated one wall. The black metal uprights sported rings for bondage. The mattress was covered in a fitted black leather sheet. A bench traversed the foot of the bed. The only other piece of furniture was an antique prie-dieu with a rosary draped over the devotional’s red velvet top and a paddle propped against its side. The bottom cushion’s matching fabric was worn thin from kneeling.
“Now I’m curious. Are you Catholic?” she asked.
“No. Just kinky.” He cracked a grin, looking at once sheepish and unapologetically naughty. He reminded her of a parochial student caught studying graffiti on a public restroom wall. “It seemed the right height for…”
His words trailed off. She waited until she was certain that he wasn’t going to finish his thoughts.
“For what? Punishment?”
“Discipline. Fellatio. Coitus….”
Paddling. Blowjobs. Fucking. She angled her head, trying to envision it. “I don’t know,” she said slowly. He’d made her wonder, though. Setting her things on the bed, she crossed the room to where the devotional stood. Curiosity made her kneel on the cushion.
She heard footsteps and looked to find him beside her. Her nose was nearly even with his navel.
Well, I’ll be damned.
The height wasn’t perfect for a blowjob, but it could be done. As for fucking…
Rising to her feet, she stepped onto the kneeler and braced her hands on the padded top.
“I was right,” he rumbled, moving behind her. His voice sounded rougher than normal.
“You were,” she breathed, gasping when he narrowed the distance between them. He stopped close enough for her to feel the heat of his body without actually touching her.
And she wanted him to touch her, dammit. They’d spent hours talking, getting to know each other. She liked him. Really liked him. Remembering the last picture that his personal trainer had sent to her, she could envision him covered in sweat, locked in the throes of passion.
Slowly, deliberately, she backed into him, not stopping until her ass was pressed against the hard column of flesh behind his fly.
“Such a naughty girl,” he said, slapping her ass with his hand. “Teasing me.” He teased her back, rubbing his erection on her seam. “I think you need to be spanked.”
She did need a spanking. She’d been dating vanilla for too damn long.
“I do,” Brooke whispered. “I do need a spanking, Sir. I shouldn’t be so forward, but you have no idea what you do to me. I’m buying batteries in bulk,” she confessed. “If I’ve ever seemed in a hurry to wrap up a conversation, it’s so I could finish what you started. Sometimes, I take the edge off before your call so I don’t squirm in my seat while we’re talking.”
She hoped that he would do his own audiobooks. His voice was perfect for it. Low. Slightly rumbly. That evocative soft Texas drawl became panty-melting when it was supercharged with the passion of his writing. He sounded hot as fuck when he shared scenes from his current work in progress. Feeding the Fire promised to be every bit as good as Slow Burn. Just as sensual and full of suspense. Another killer with a penchant for kink.
He smacked her ass again. “With me,” he growled, “or you’ll be adding to your count. Twenty to start, then we’ll see.”
Jesus. Was this the same guy that just confessed to being a twenty-five-year-old virgin? The Dominant-wannabe without any real BDSM experience? The way he sounded, the way he was acting, she’d never have guessed it.
“Take off your slacks, Brooke. I want to see my marks on you.”
Oh, God. They were really going to do this.
Brooke unhooked her waistband, opened the zipper, and pushed down her pants. They fell to mid-calf, effectively hobbling her feet.
He pulled up the hem of her blouse. Taking a step back, he looked at his handprint on her bottom—or the part that was exposed anyway. Most of the heat was under her panties. She’d thought about shucking them, too, but he hadn’t told her to take them off and she wasn’t sure that she wanted to add to the count.
He had probably never spanked anyone. She didn’t know how hard or how easy he’d go with her.
“Count,” he ordered, sounding all Domly, “and thank me.”
S-Double H-I-T. Good God Almighty, the man had a firm hand.
“One, Sir,” she bleated, still feeling the sting of his palm on her ass. “Thank you, Sir.”
He spanked her other cheek, making a matched set of marks.
“Two, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”
“Three, Sir. Thank you, Sir.” If he kept this up, she was going to feel it for days.
The blows kept coming, raining down on her sorry ass until he’d thoroughly blistered her bottom. She tried not to moan, but near the end, she could feel the start of a delicious disconnect. The pain transmuted into pleasure. She found herself arching back to meet his hand.
On the count of twenty, he squeezed her cheeks, making her whimper. She felt him push two fingers along her crotch and press against her panties.
“You’re wet,” he murmured, his voice full of awe. Regardless of the scenes that he’d written, he sounded surprised that he’d made her that way.
“Yes, Sir. I can’t help it.”
“You didn’t come, did you?”
“Why not?” he asked. New to this, he was naturally curious.
“I don’t know.”
“Was it because I hadn’t given you permission?”
She nearly smiled at that. “I haven’t been trained in orgasm control. If you’d kept going and hit me just right, I probably would have climaxed. My clit’s really sensitive.”
“Do you squirt?”
This, with his fingers sliding farther along her seam until he was pressing against her clitoris.
“Yes. Not often, but I have before. It usually takes my magic wand and my nipples being clamped or tormented to get me off that hard.”
“Hmm.” He pulled back his hand and slid his fingers up to press against her backdoor. “What about anal?”
“It’s been part of either the best or the worst sex of my life, depending on my partner. Here’s the thing. Just because a woman’s soaking wet, that doesn’t mean her ass is ready to receive. Anal takes preparation. Most men don’t want to bother.”
“I’m not most men,” he reminded her, pressing against her pucker. He pulled his hand away and stepped back, breaking contact and leaving her aching and needy.
“Jesus,” he breathed. “I could almost come right now, just from seeing you like this.”
She looked over her shoulder at him and was singed by the heat in his eyes.
“Tell me, Brooke. What do you want?”
She wanted to come. She wanted him to tie her to his bed and fuck her like an animal. But a good submissive wouldn’t tell him that.
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. Winner, Favorite Leading Lady, 2017 Our Book Stars Awards
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. An MMF ménage. Released March 1, 2017. Length 19,438 words / 104 pages. A 2018 Golden Flogger Finalist for Best BDSM Book of the Year (Ménage Category)
Deidra of Ravenhill is a daughter of light, a healer whose energy can be tapped by the one who marks her. Mordred, the bastard son of Owain ap Coel, is determined to be that man. He’s captured the castle, killed her family, and forced her to train as a comforter, preparing her for his ultimate possession.
While Mordred is gone, having the brand made to claim her, Deidra manages to escape the castle. She nearly dies in the forest but is saved from falling into a poacher’s pit by Thorne, a dark lord, one of the race of giant shifters that she’s been taught to fear since childhood.
With dark moons due to rise on the most dangerous night of the year, Thorne must become a centaur for them to escape the monsters that roam with the god of chaos. He carries her to the safety of his brother’s hunting lodge, but is she truly out of danger? From Mordred, perhaps, but there are two dark lords who want her—if she’s willing to share…
This story is out of this world—literally—with twin moons, magical healers, ruthless warlords, and a pair centaur shifters that will have you looking at horses in a whole new light. Granted, intimacies only take place while they’re in human form. If that’s a major disappointment, you might want to pass on this book. The coming prequel is dark and dirty. If you don’t want to miss it or the two planned sequels in the Dark Moons Saga, follow my Amazon author page at http://viewauthor.at/NiaFarrell.
Written for Terran readers Ages 18+.
She could only hide her nature for so long. If they wanted her, they would take her. If they took her, they would know.
It did not make her decision any easier, but revealing herself sooner rather than later might work to her advantage. Oddly, she could thank Mordred for the training that he had ordered her to undertake these past weeks while his custom mark was being made. The lessons were meant to prepare her for his possession. She never dreamed that she would use them to try to tempt a man, yet she now found herself preparing to seduce two. And not just men. They were another race altogether. Dark lords. Manbeasts. Centaurs who would split her asunder if they chose to take her in that form.
The thought made her tremble, but she had to risk it. She’d made her choice when she’d climbed on Thorne’s back and wrapped her arms around his waist, breathing in his heady male scent as he galloped through the forest at breakneck speed, carrying her to safety.
Casting a glance about the room, Deidra spied a ewer of water on a sideboard. Untying the length of linen from her hair, she unpinned her knot and loosened her locks, finger-combing them into some semblance of order. Thirstier than she’d been in her life, she could not resist stealing a few sips of water before wetting the cloth and scrubbing her face, neck, and hands. She moistened it again, as needed, cleaning her fingernails, one by one, as best she could. Helpless to do more without the proper tools, she turned her attention to her poor legs and was tending the worst of her scratches when the brothers came back.
Immediately she dropped to her knees, with head bowed and her hands locked behind her, presenting herself as she had been trained, except that she was still dressed. One of them—Thorne, she thought—whistled softly.
“Well, well,” he murmured. “What have we here? Speak, femina.”
“Sires, this girl was born Deidra of Ravenhill. Her father Fallyn is—was—lord there, until Mordred, bastard of Owain ap Coel, captured it. He plans to take what no man has had and mark this girl as his. Please, my lords, this girl would rather die than suffer his touch. No amount of training will change that.”
Expletives blistered the air as Ragan cursed her father’s murderer. “We have heard of this Mordred. I take it, you were being made ready for him?”
“Aye, milord. For him, and, he threatened, for his friends. Becoming a comforter requires much preparation. Advanced training allows one girl to satisfy multiple partners,” she added meaningfully. She’d only just begun that phase when she managed to escape, thanks to the floral bouquet she’d been allowed to pick for her room. The natural sedative from one plant had rendered her guard unconscious, long enough for her to access the hidden passage.
She had never seen such motion in stillness, yet both men remained exactly where they were.
“He will come,” Thorne grated, clenching his fists, his chest heaving with each hot breath. “He will want her.”
“Perhaps not,” she whispered. “Mordred wants what no man has had. If that changes…”
The words remained unspoken, hovering in the air between them, the silence thickening with each passing second. Now or never, she told herself. Inhaling, she drew her thoughts inward, tapped into her core, and focused on her heart center, drawing the energy there first, then feeling the luminescence spread throughout her body until her skin glowed softly and her fingertips were limned in light. “Please.” Breaking protocol, rejecting the objectification of this girl and reclaiming the birthright of her true self, she boldly met their gazes and pleaded, “Help me, Thorne, Ragan! I beg you!”
When they did not punish or correct her, she exhaled softly. As the tension drained from her body, she glowed even brighter.
Thorne hooked a bent finger under her chin and lifted her radiant face, his gaze locking with hers, truly seeing her for the first time, from her amethyst eyes to the thick, shining waves of white-gold hair. With her head tilted back, it pooled in her clasped hands and spilled over to brush her hips.
His thumb traced her lower lip. She looked at his mouth. So very serious. And his blue eyes. Deep and mysterious, indeed. With his humor hidden for the moment, the look on his face was riveting.
Thorne blew out softly. “Deidra, do you know what you are asking? You know what we are.”
“Aye,” she said. “But I also know that Mordred would rob me of light. Eventually, he would drain me. He cares nothing for my needs. He lusts for power and covets mine. He was waiting to mark me, hoping that, with training, I would be more open to him. If I shielded myself when he set his seal upon me, he would never draw more, at any other time, than at that moment.”
Deidra looked from Thorne to Ragan. “I do not know what stories you have heard, but the words I speak are the truth, I swear by the goddess. I am a child of Sola, a daughter of light. It is our nature to help and to heal, but what we give must be renewed, by bathing in the rays of Sola or by drinking spring water charged with her light. Marking,” she said, “is best done over the heart center, when a willing woman, radiant with Sola’s lifeforce, is at the peak of power and of passion. My light has waned with the stress of the day, but I swear, I will give it freely, to you and your brother, if you will safekeep me from all others.”
Ragan studied her, considering. “You would share your light? And our bed?”
Deidra nodded. Better their slave than Mordred’s.T
Ragan left them briefly, returning with a jar of ointment. He treated the scratches on her legs, then dipped two fingers into the jar and pulled out a generous portion. Part went between her legs, adding to the moisture already pooling. The rest, he spread on the tip of his erection. Getting her first real look at it, she understood why.
Thorne was huge, but Ragan was gigantic, easily ten inches long with a girth to match. If not for her training, she was certain she would have swooned.
Deidra bit her lower lip and watched his preparations. “Hands above your head,” Ragan ordered. She thought Thorne might bind them, but he caught her wrists instead and held them firmly in his grasp.
“Relax as best you can, love,” Thorne murmured, kissing her forehead. “Just close your eyes and think of me.”
Ragan growled and cast a black look at his brother. “Shut the fuck up, Thorne. Don’t listen to him, Deidra—except for the relaxing part.”
She smiled, struggling not to giggle. Here she was, pinned by one man to a bed of another she’d met not three hours past, who was about to take her virginity, and he and his brother were bickering like schoolboys. She caught her lower lip between her teeth, looked at Ragan, and promptly burst out laughing.
“I’m sorry,” she blurted. “But you two…”
“Yes. Quite a pair, are we not?” Rather than be offended, Ragan seemed glad to see her so at ease with them. “For better or worse, we are yours, little dove. Now relax. That’s it. That’s right. Perfect. Just breathe. Breathe. And keep your eyes on me, dove. Once we get past the pain, I swear to you, I shall make you fly.”