Keeper: The Avenging Angels MC Introduction

AAMC0.5 Keeper intro cover sm

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.

Pageflex Persona [document: PRS0000039_00006]

 

#FREE on Kindle Unlimited

KU/E-book buy link http://mybook.to/Punish

Paperback buy link http://mybook.to/Punishp

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Gift shop (It’s playtime at Pemberley) http://www.cafepress.com/prideandpunishment

Dare the Wind

DARE THE WIND (Touch the Wind Book 3)

by Erinn Ellender Quinn

Length 68,069 words

Release Date April 1, 2017

ASIN B06XJ7DFB8

 

Amazon e-book http://mybook.to/TW4 

Goodreads http://bit.ly/2nnZADR

 

BLURB: Irish sea captain Tristan O’Dea still feels the sting of rejection when he sails to Havre with a warning of danger to his commander Justin Vallé’s family and an offer of safe passage for his half-brother and sister and their mother, once Vallé’s late father’s favorite mistress.  Expecting to find Madame Visconti, Tristan is met at the door by an artist’s model wrapped in a sheet and looking like moral sin.

Living near poverty, Vallé’s widowed half-sister Jessenia Bougeureau has been forced to pose for a sculpture.  She is living at the mercy of an unscrupulous man who holds a portion of her mother’s property as collateral for loans that they cannot replay.  So far, she and her brother Nicolai have managed to keep their mother’s death a secret from him.  Captain O’Dea’s offer represents a chance at a new life, a new world for Jess, and safety for her brother until the danger posed to their family is past.

Jess is a harpist and a composer. She hasn’t written music since her husband died.  Watching the giant Irish sea captain, with his Celtic knotwork tattoos and sculpted body, during morning exercises, for the first time in years, she feels inspired.  Rescued by Tristan, free to choose, she’s about to make him an offer that he cannot refuse.

 

EXCERPT:

“Do you know what I am?” she asked him.

As ucht Dé.  For God’s sake, she was every man’s fantasy come to life and here alone with him.  He was captain of this ship and responsible for everyone aboard, including her and her swordsman brother.

“First and foremost, ye’re Justin Vallé’s sister, and I swore him an oath that I would take care of ye.”

That’s exactly what Jess was counting on.

“I am a muse,” she told him.  “It’s what I do.  I inspire, with my music, with my voice, with my body.  My husband was a poet, did you know that?  He made me look him in the eye while he took my maidenhead.  He committed it to memory and described it in glorious detail in his next book.  He invited the world into our bedroom.  Men and women everywhere wanted a taste of the passion he described.  I was ashamed, and angry.  I grew tired of constantly fending off advances.  I became a recluse for a time.  Bernard lived for his art, and went to salons filled with his adoring fans.  Some were single.  Some were married.  He died in a dual with but one of many cuckolded husbands.”

Jess closed her eyes and took a breath, and let it out softly, slowly, gathering herself.  When she opened her eyes and looked at him, the Irish giant nearly took her breath away.  She’d never felt such motion in his stillness, like a coil wound tight, ready to be unleashed.

What she did next was risky, but she needed to know.  “Tell me of the vicar’s daughter.”

O’Dea rubbed his jaw, as if wondering at the wisdom of answering.  “She married the Spaniard.”

“Tell me about the vicar’s daughter.”

The Captain blew out a harsh laugh and shook his head.  “And what would ye have me say?  That I offered for her, too?  That I made her faint when I kissed her?  That she landed half naked in my arms and for months, all I could see in my dreams were small, coral tipped breasts?”  By the time he finished, he was talking through clenched teeth and was close to tossing her out.

She pretended not to notice.

“Did you cry?” she asked.

He looked at her with some confusion, as if he was uncertain that he’d heard her correctly.  “What?”

She angled her head, studying him.  He did not like being caught off guard.  He did not like being off balance.  She would have to be careful with surprises.

“When you learned that she chose another, did you cry for her?”

“No,” he shifted, uncomfortable in his chair.  “No.  Not that it’s any of your business.”

“But it is,” she insisted.  “Anyone worth having is worth a tear or two.  If you did not cry, she was not meant for you.  She would not have made you happy.  I propose,” she said, “that we help each other.  You need to forget the Spaniard’s wife, and I need to remember what it is like to make love to a man of my choosing.  You promised to take care of me.  My question is, will you, or not?”