STITCH: Crime Family Values Book 1

Elegant vampire

STITCH: Crime Family Values Book 1

by Nia Farrell

Length: 54,123 words. Release Date March 8, 2018

 

Amazon e-book     Goodreads reviews  

When physical therapist Beth Shelton is kidnapped by a wounded man who mistakes her for a doctor, she finds herself in the middle of Godfather Four.

**********************

Physical therapist Bethany Shelton is supposed to be dead.  That was the plan when Matteo Visconti kidnapped her by mistake, thinking that she was a doctor. He survived the infection after she took the bullet from him, but he left it to his mob boss father and assassin brother to finish her.

Except they didn’t.  After a long, futile search for the man who shot him, Matteo learns that Beth survived and he’s a father.

Beth will do anything to stay alive and raise her son.  Matteo doesn’t hesitate to drag her down into his world.  He’ll make her want to stay despite the danger, despite the pain.  But when you marry into the mob, you don’t just get a crime family.  You get their enemies, too.

A full-length, standalone dark, dubious consent erotic Mafia romance, written for Ages 18+.

 

Excerpt 1:

His physical therapist was proving to be an enigma than begged solving.

Discomfited by his study of her, she stepped back and turned to leave.

“Stay,” he said.

“Broth,” she answered.  “We’ve got to start building you back up, and you need something for the pain.  I’ll be back as soon as I can.  I’ll see if I can find a bell or timer, something you can use that I’ll hear if I’m not in the room.  If I can find canned broth or bouillon, it shouldn’t take long.  Ten or fifteen minutes tops.”

She came back with another tray, loaded with two coffee mugs of broth, a sleeve of saltine crackers, all of the analgesics that they’d bought, and a digital timer that he could punch and sound an alarm a second later.  She had also brought another kitchen towel to use as a bib.  Looping it around his neck, she secured the ends with a small bag clip and picked up the first mug of broth.

“You strike me as a beef man but you’re getting chicken to start.  If you can keep down liquids, after an hour or so, we’ll try crackers, then pain meds.  Otherwise, they’re just going to eat your stomach before they come back up.”

As much as he’d love to argue with her, he knew that she was right.  He had to be wise about this.  That included governing his body’s reaction to her whenever she came near.  One whiff of her skin and all he could see was how she looked naked, unaware, and vulnerable, totally at his mercy.  He could have done anything that he wanted, but that would have made him no better than Reaper.

Even crime families had values.

He’d left her pretty much alone—although he’d felt one of her breasts, to see if they were natural or enhanced.  She was built like a swimmer or runner, with toned legs, a trim waist, and beautiful C-cup breasts.  Her nipples were a soft, rosy pink.  The nest of curls at the juncture of her thighs was two shades darker than the crowning glory of her long, brown hair. 

She had braided it to keep it from misbehaving.  He wanted to see the waist-length curls flowing down her naked back and teasing the dimples at the top of her shapely hips.  He wished that she would whisper his real name, the one that he could not tell her, just in case she decided to split.  He wanted her to offer him something far more satisfying than tepid water and warm broth.  He could only imagine what it would feel like to possess her, to drive his cock inside her until she shattered in his arms.

Maybe before this was all over…

He was dreaming, of course.  This could only end one way for her.  Beth Shelton would eventually have to be dealt with, which was too bad, really.

He needed her to survive, but he couldn’t afford to let her live.

 

Excerpt 2:

“I shouldn’t want you,” he grated, his breath still minty from when she’d helped him brush his teeth after supper.  “But I can’t stop thinking about you.  With the cashier.  With that mother at the checkout.  You, without a stitch, lying on the seat of my SUV, looking so peaceful.  So pure of heart.  I promised myself that I wasn’t going to touch you again.  You don’t know who I am.  What I’ve done.  What I’ll have to do as soon as I can go again.  There’s a monster out there who needs put down.  He takes women, shares them with his club, and kills them.  He raped my cousin.  I promised to avenge my family’s honor.  I failed once.  I won’t rest until he’s stopped.”

Stopped…as in dead.

Matteo was not the kind of man that most parents envision for their daughter.  He had no qualms about killing someone who deserved it.  He was willing to be judge, jury, and executioner if it meant that justice would be served when the legal system failed.

The intensity in his eyes was mesmerizing.  She wet her lips and swallowed hard.

“You should have run away as far and as fast as you could go.”

“You pointed a gun at me.”

“It was empty.  It’s still empty unless you found bullets and reloaded it.  But I needed help.  I’m just sorry it was you.”

He thrust himself against her hand.  Beth realized that her fingers were still wrapped around his girth, or as far as they could reach, anyway.

He had needed her, but the nature of his needs had taken a very carnal turn.  In another time, another place, she might have been seduced into having a one-night stand with a handsome, well-dressed man possessing an air of danger and an impressive cock.  But now…

If she fought him, she could hurt him.  If he didn’t take it easy, he could start bleeding internally again, and this time, she might not be able to stop it.

Would it really be so bad, to give herself to him just this once?  No right, no wrong.  Nothing but elemental need and what it took to assuage it.

“Matteo—”

“You were my angel of mercy,” he murmured, his voice grown rough with desire.  “Have mercy on me now.”

He cupped her head and urged her face down to his.  Rather than risk hurting him, she surrendered to her own rising passion.

They came together with opened mouths and parted lips.  Tongues thrust, twining around each other in a dance as old as humankind.  Forsaking her hold on his manhood, she unzipped her pants, hooked her fingers in the tops of her panties, and shoved everything down.  Kicking them aside, she climbed on the bed and straddled him, riding the ridge of his cock and stimulating his length while his mouth continued to consume hers.

He claimed one breast with his good hand, splaying his large fingers, rubbing and squeezing it.  Her hardened nipple prodded his palm.  Catching it between his fingers, he rolled and tugged on it, a pull that she felt all the way to her core.

She threw off her shirt, wanting to feel his mouth on her breasts.  Pushing them together, she offered herself to him, rising up to meet his mouth and welcoming the feel of his lips claiming one, then the other.  He took a nipple between his teeth and teased it with his tongue, licking, flicking, curling around it and sucking it inside.  He feasted on her flesh like a starving man, a desperate man, a wounded man with an uncertain future, seeking to make the most of the time that was left to him.

She didn’t want to think that he might die.  She wasn’t ready to accept that this might be the last act of his life.  The last time that he’d know the joy of a woman’s body and the comfort of her touch.  She gave it to him, all the while bargaining with God to do what He could to save him.  He might be a dangerous man, but he wasn’t a bad man.  Not really.  He was lonely and vulnerable and likely as scared as she was that things might not end well.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, seeking to reassure him when he pushed down the front of his sweatpants and freed his cock.  “It’s okay,” she said when he bent his knees and started to enter her, skin to skin, with nothing separating them.  She wasn’t about to raise the subject of condoms with a man who might be dying.

He claimed her in one desperate, searing thrust that took her breath away.

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Five for Five Giveway!

5 for 5 sm
From Nia Farrell aka Erinn Ellender Quinn aka Ree L. Diehl:
The three of me are giving away five copies of Replay Reunion 1: Naughty New Year, a standalone, sizzling short story set at readers’ favorite BDSM theme resort. There are five things to do for your chance to win:
 
1. Join our Facebook group The Fold https://www.facebook.com/groups/THEFOLD3
 
2. Follow Nia Farrell’s Amazon author page http://viewauthor.at/NiaFarrell
 
3. Follow Erinn Ellender Quinn’s Amazon author page http://viewauthor.at/EEQuinn
 
4. Follow Ree L. Diehl’s Amazon author page http://author.to/ReeLDiehl
 
5. Subscribe to our gorgeous monthly newsletter http://bit.ly/NiaErinnReeNews
 
Go to this post in THE FOLD and comment DONE. https://www.facebook.com/groups/THEFOLD3/permalink/1292927400812613/
 
Our newsletter goes out once a month, beautifully done and packed with goodies. Here’s a link to the last issue http://bit.ly/Dec2017News.

Highland Desire

 

Highland Desire by Nia Farrell writing as Erinn Ellender Quinn

Length: 7,632 words.  Release Date December 20, 2017

Amazon e-book         Smashwords FREE BOOK 

 

In 1602 Scotland, a young widow traveling alone with her three-year-old daughter finds herself indebted to her clan’s enemy after he saves her child.

A steamy historical Highland romance novelette, written for Ages 18+.

Excerpt:

“Ye look better,” he murmured, sounding as if the mere act of speaking was all that he could manage.

 

“As do ye,” she replied.  If she were judging by looks alone, she would have deemed him fit for travel.  But his voice betrayed his weakness. They would be here at least one night, possibly two.

The last time she was on Rannoch Moor, she was a frightened fifteen-year-old, headed for a marriage that her stepfather had arranged.  Now, she was a woman grown and had a choice—to stay with Niall or go.  Wounded though he was, she still felt safer with him than alone.  Too, she owed him her daughter’s life.  Saving his seemed the least that she could do.

She gathered berries and wood sorrel, shaved more meat, and made tea.  Eventually, she helped him up when the water she’d been pushing in him demanded to be let out.  Judging the hour, she gathered bits of wood and dried dung, anything that would burn to help ward off the chill of night.  They spend it hunkered by the fire, trying to stay warm, with her child tethered to her so she could not wander off. 

In the morning, Muirgheal steeped more sorrel and shaved meat for him, and fed Phee and herself.  Niall was quiet.  She wished that he would speak.  Even if he was not up for conversation, he could at least tell her exactly where he lived.  She prayed that it was close.  Hopefully, it was within a day’s ride.  Surely he would not range far from his home to hunt, but with men, one never knew.

By the time the three of them finished breaking their fast, Niall deemed himself ready to try riding.

Muirgheal said nothing.  She nodded, keeping her doubts to herself.  Willpower alone might get him in the saddle and keep him there.  But he would be seated alone this time.  He could barely handle himself.  There was no way that he could handle Phee and her.

She tied their bags behind his saddle.  At least that much of her burden would be lighter.  The two of them walked beside him, or she walked and Phee rode her hip.  They traveled until they entered Gleann Dubh—the Black Glen, which lay west of Loch Rannoch, about eleven miles east of where they had been on Rannoch Moor.  It was almost as pretty a place as where she was born.  The stone cottage they finally reached looked cozy and well-made.

Approaching it, Muirgheal noted a small garden out back.  The door in the side of a hill marked where a root cellar had been dug into it.  The barn behind the house had a paddock.  From beyond the barn, she thought she heard the laugh of a stream as it tumbled over rocks and rills.

The trip had taken most of Niall’s strength.  “Ye need to rest,” she said.  “I’ll take care of yer horse if ye will tell me what ye want.”

There was a long, awkward pause.

He had to clear his throat to answer her.

She listened to his words, but more than that, she searched his eyes, wishing to rewind the clock and read again what she thought they were saying.

Tell me what ye want.

He wanted her.

She had begun to suspect it, the way that he tried, so very hard, to not look at her.  He was a quiet one, except for the occasional tune he hummed or sang before a bullet had nearly felled him.  He didn’t feel the need to fill the air with idle chatter, and in that, they were alike.  She would rather listen to his breath and to his heartbeat and know that when he did say something, his words had weight and meaning.

Niall rode the horse into the barn and managed to dismount.  While Phee jumped on a rick of straw, Muirgheal helped him with the saddle and pad.  He took off the bridle and turned the stallion out into the paddock to graze on lush, green grass.

The inside of the house was cooler than outside, thanks to the thickness of the stone walls and windows that faced east.  It was a typical one-room Highland cottage, with a bed downstairs and a sleeping loft above.  Niall lived here with his ghosts, in the framed silhouette of a woman on the wall, the abandoned spinning wheel near the hearth, and the empty cradle in the corner.

“Nap!” Phee gave it a push and giggled, wanting to lie in it.

“Nay, lassie.  Ye willnae fit.”  Even if she did, her climbing in the cradle might violate his sacred space, and Niall was already hurting.

“Sit,” she insisted when Niall stopped beside a pair of wooden buckets.  “Tell me where tae fill them, and I shall.”

“The burn,” he said, pointing in the direction of the barn.

Taking a bucket in each hand, Muirgheal ordered Phee to come and set out to find water.  The burn was close by.  In the summer heat, the spring-fed water was blessedly cold and clear.  She walked to a point above where the horse drank and brought the wooden pails back full.

Setting them by the door, she found Niall asleep on the floor by the hearth, choosing to lie there rather than dirty his sheets or climb to the sleeping loft.  To let him rest, she took Phee with her and visited the root cellar, taking stock of what was there in crocks, baskets, bottles, and kegs.  Niall clearly needed more variety in his diet.  There was dried meat aplenty but little in the way of vegetables, and his garden was too small to meet more than the moment’s need.

Next year, she thought, then stopped herself.  So close to home, she was.  So near to her mother, her family, her friends.  Try as she might to picture herself on the far side of the pass, she could as easily see herself here, sewing by the hearth, mending stockings and making clothes for her growing little girl who was more comfortable with Niall than she’d ever been with the man who wished only for a son.

Did she want to stay?  Dare she ask?  And if she did, would he let her?  She knew next to nothing about the man who lived here.  How did he earn his living?  Was he wealthy?  Was he happy?  If he wasn’t, could she be the one to ease his sadness and make him so?

She’d only known him three days, and already she could envision a future with him.  In her heart, she was willing to risk it.  Whatever happened now, he would be the one to decide.

 

Replay Book 9: Gladiator

 

Replay Book 9: Gladiator by Nia Farrell

Length 23,793 words. Release date February 1, 2018.

MMFMM BDSM Erotic Romance, interracial, international

Amazon e-book            Goodreads reviews

Greek-born Leda Giannopoulis is a wardrobe assistant at Replay BDSM theme resort where patrons roleplay in the past.  Work interferes with participating in scenes, but it doesn’t stop her from fantasizing about being kidnapped.  She never expected to be taken, let alone by the international, interracial cadre of four gladiators who live and train at Replay’s new Roman villa. 

Sir Djiman is a bisexual Ethiopian personal trainer.  Sir Marcus is an Italian photographer.  German-born Lukas Arik Haas is a fitness model and aspiring author.  Sir Antony, the bisexual Spanish swordmaster and leader of the group, warns her that life with them will be very demanding.  Leda will be submitting to four Dominants with very different personalities.  Two of them already seem at odds with each other.  Leda hopes to be the tie that will bind them, but her kidnapping fantasy might prove to be the very thing that tears them apart. 

This book deals with subjects that include bullying and unsolved murder and may contain triggers.  An interracial, multicultural MMFMM BDSM ménage a cinco, written for Ages 18+. 

EXCERPT: 

“Does it turn you on, to imagine being taken against your will?”

“Yes.”

“And what about this?” 

Quick as a ninja, Lukas shot up from the chaise, grabbed her forearms, and threw Leda onto it, following her down and pinning her in place with his body.  He pulled her wrists above her head and manacled them in one hand.  Thrusting his other five fingers under her skirt, he felt just how turned on she was.  Her pussy lips were swollen.  The crotch of her panties was sopping wet.

She moaned when he pressed against her clit.

God damn if that wasn’t one of the sexiest things he’d ever heard.

That voice of hers was like an aphrodisiac.  Normally, he’d have her give him fellatio to take the edge off and fuck her longer.  But if hard and fast got her off, he had no problem with that.

He slammed his mouth down on hers.  Forcing her lips apart, he shoved his tongue inside to duel with hers, claiming her orifice above as thoroughly as he planned to claim those below.  She whimpered into his mouth.  He groaned, relishing the sound.

She tasted of citrus and spice and smelled like heaven, with the soft scent of peaches rising from her skin.  Her body writhed beneath his, grinding against him in silent invitation.

Hooking his fingers in her panties, he ripped them off of her and tossed them aside.  He managed to work the buttons of his Victorian-inspired steampunk pants open and freed his erection.  It thumped against her belly.  She twisted towards him, wanting more.

He gave it to her.  Prying her legs apart with his knees, he wedged himself between her creamy thighs and sank his length inside her in one long, hard, meaty thrust that had her begging for more.  Once he knew what she could handle, he cut loose, driving into her with the precision of a well-oiled machine, his body slamming into hers, again, and again, and again.

 

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The She-Wolf on the Twentieth Floor (Unbillable Hours #1)

The She-Wolf on the Twentieth Floor (Unbillable Hours #1)

by Ree L. Diehl

Length 9,273 words. Release date January 15, 2018.

Amazon e-book http://mybook.to/UH1 or https://www.amazon.com/dp/B077MMX88X  

Goodreads http://bit.ly/SheWolfGR or https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/36633540-the-she-wolf-on-the-twentieth-floor

 

A neglected mistress teases the wrong window washer and gets a whole lot more than she bargained for.

Randy Jackson is usually pushing a pencil, managing the family window-washing business.  When his twin’s wife goes into labor, Randy must take his place on the crew. Andy doesn’t trust anyone else with the she-wolf on the twentieth floor.

Sure enough, she starts dancing for him in a blatant invitation.  His twin might be immune to her charms, but come quitting time, he plans to make the she-wolf howl.  If he’s lucky, his friend-with-benefits will join them.

Welcome to the Unbillable Hours Series, where the best things happen off the clock.  The She-Wolf on the Twentieth Floor is an erotic romantic comedy HEA ménage and the debut novelette for Ree L. Diehl.                                                     

Romantic Comedy Erotica, written for ages 18+.

 

Excerpt:

Her greeting for Jerry died on her lips.

She had looked up, expecting to see silver hair perfectly groomed in a hundred-dollar haircut.  Instead, she saw a thick thatch of tawny hair pulled back in a ponytail.  It was him.  Wash.  Her window washer.  The man she envisioned every time her toys came out and a session of self-gratification ensued.

He didn’t wait for an invitation.  He stepped inside, a coil of rope in his hand and clear intent on his face.  Pushing the door shut with his foot, he swept her with his gaze and eyed her speculatively.  Blue was supposed to be a cool color, but the heat in his eyes was searing.

She stepped away rather than risk getting burned.

“Just so you know,” he began, his voice as sexy as his rugged good looks, “you teased the wrong twin.  I’m Randy.”

Her gaze dropped to the impressive package shaping the front of his pants.  “So I see.”

“Well,” he drawled, “that, too.  I can’t say it was a self-fulfilling prophecy, but it turns out, I’m aptly named.  My brother Andy is currently at the hospital, helping his wife breathe through contractions.  I’m usually pushing pencils, but he didn’t trust any of our crew with you.  It just goes to show how little he knows about me, for all that we’re twins.”

He sauntered to where she stood, smelling of sweat and sun and pure, male lust.

She wet her lips.

Randy tapped the rope against his thigh.  Desire made his nostrils flare.  He breathed deeply, taking in her scent.  “Unless you want your neighbors across the way to watch me fuck you against that pristine window, you need to either show me the door or lock it and lead the way to your bedroom.  By way of full disclosure, you can expect things to start with a spanking.”

Just that fast, her pussy was gushing.

“Well,” she breathed, “when you put it that way….”

Brushing past him, Lauren flipped the lock, reset the alarm, and headed for her bedroom.  Hers, not Jerry’s.  Booted footsteps followed.

Randy tossed the rope on her pillows and sat on the end of the bed.  Meeting her gaze, he patted his thigh.  “Lose the clothes and assume the position, sweetheart.  Head to my left, ass to my right.”

Lauren felt anticipation course through her veins and pool in her belly, swelling her pussy lips and making her even wetter.

“Yes, Sir.”

Light sparked in his appreciative gaze.  “Are you going to be a good girl for me?” he asked.

“Maybe,” she hedged.  “I don’t know that one spanking will be enough.  I may need more.  I’ve been a bad girl.  A very, very bad girl.  Fucking a married man.  Teasing a married man.  About to let a total stranger fuck me.”

She dropped her gaze to his naked ring finger.  “Are you married?”

He cocked his head.  “Does it matter?”

“No,” she said.  “I just like to know where I stand.”

“I’m more interested in where you’re going to kneel when you suck my cock.  But I digress.  Spanking first.  I won’t tell you again.  Strip—what’s your name?”

“Lauren.”

“Like Bacall?”

She shook her head and reached for the hem of her shirt.  “Ralph.  My mother swore that she couldn’t resist a man who wore Polo.  One of them played it.  She would never tell me his name, but I heard that he could ride like nobody’s business.”

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Replay Reunion 1: Naughty New Year

REPLAY REUNION 1: NAUGHTY NEW YEAR

by Nia Farrell

Length 6,154 words. Release date January 1, 2018.

Amazon e-book http://mybook.to/RR1NNY  or https://www.amazon.com/dp/B077MMRBVP

Goodreads http://bit.ly/RR1NNYGR  or https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/36631578-replay-reunion-1

The cast of Replay BDSM theme resort reunites for a very special New Year celebration, held in the latest expansion where future Steampunk weekends will be held.  Sir Piers built the Steamroom complex for his wife Eleanor.  Its design was inspired by the books that she enjoys as an adult and a board game that she loved in her youth.

It’s a rare evening out for Replay’s owner and his wife.  Time away from their daughter Adrienne creates problems for Eleanor, who’s still breastfeeding.  But Sir Piers is more than her husband.  He’s her Dominant.  When the pain becomes acute, he whisks her into the conservatory and gives her the relief that she needs.

It’s a brand New Year, and a very different Replay.  Written for ages 18+.

 

Excerpt:

The moon was nearly full tonight, and the sky was clear.  The ambient lighting in the conservatory made it harder to see the stars, but it enhanced the inner beauty of the space.  The stained concrete floor mimicked flagstones but the illusion of texture was far easier to clean.  Potted trees and plants formed a maze of pathways.  A mix of wicker, wood, and metal furniture was scattered throughout.

Piers had built the entire Steamroom complex just for her, inspired by the books she enjoyed as an adult and the game that she had loved when she was younger.

It was the first time that she had been included on a project from the initial concept to the completed design.  She’d thought that cutting back her hours of counseling at the community resource center would allow more time with Adrienne.  Instead, she’d found herself working with Piers and loving every minute of it.

The man was a visionary.  A genius, really.  And so very humble, considering his gifts.  He’d taken a dream and turned it into reality.  Every weekend, he made fantasies come true.

If she could be certain that she wouldn’t add to any guilt or embarrassment that Ashley might be feeling, she’d slide from her chair, crawl over to her husband, and show her appreciation.  Later, she promised herself.  Their first obligation was to others.  And denying herself now would only heighten her pleasure later.

She finished her snails and sipped at her wine, watching Piers eat.  For so large a man, he was incredibly graceful.  He had nearly finished when the orchestra began playing the song that they’d first danced to, dressed as the White Queen and King in Lewis Carroll’s Wonderland.

“I am sorry.”  He sighed.  “I expected us to be finished inside and ready to dance, if we were not already.”

“Oh, no!  Don’t be sorry.  It’s fine, Piers.  Really.  This whole night.  This place.  The food.  The wine.  The music.  Everything is perfect—or will be, if we can get Ashley’s stomach settled.  Maybe some clear soda, or crackers.  I went through boxes of saltines and graham crackers with Adrienne.”

“Indeed.”  At least he was able to smile about it now.  At the time, he’d been extremely concerned, and rightly so.  “Hopefully, next time will be better.”

“Hopefully,” she agreed.  “With Adrienne, the only thing easy was the delivery.  Two hours, and there she was.”

Piers dropped his gaze.  “The doctor said that your hips were made for birthing babies.”

He put his napkin on the table.  Rose.  Stalked over to her like a large jungle cat, took hold of her chair, and turned it to face him.  Kneeling, he slid his hands down her thighs and spread her legs, opening her, letting him smell the musk of her arousal. 

“So responsive,” he crooned, cupping her sex and feeling how wet he’d made her.  “But these are in the way of enjoying my dessert.  Knickers off, princess.”

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A Wicked Christmas 1869

A Wicked Christmas 1869.jpg

A WICKED CHRISTMAS 1869

by Nia Farrell

Release Date December 1, 2017.  Length: 6,442 words.

Amazon e-book http://mybook.to/WC1869 or https://www.amazon.com/dp/B076VNB7DN

Goodreads http://bit.ly/WC1869GR or https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/36481530-a-wicked-christmas-1869

 

In this sizzling short story, Elena Davenport Wainwright gets ready to celebrate her second Christmas with her husbands Edward Wainwright and Daniel O’Flaherty.  Suffering from “soldier’s heart” (PTSD) from her service in the Civil War, Elena looks to the Dominant Edward for shelter from the storms of life.  But on the anniversary of her kidnapping, it’s the Master who needs reassurance.

Although written as a standalone, your enjoyment will be enhanced if you have read As Wicked as You Want, named one of The 50 Best Indie Books of 2016, voted #1 erotica and #10 overall.

Historical MMF ménage erotic romance, a short story written for Ages 18+.

 

Excerpt:

Edward had been quiet at supper.  Introspective, rather than troubled or morose.  Indeed, he was not given to nostalgia, nor to the dark nights of the soul that had plagued me since the war.  Daniel understood what it meant to have “soldier’s heart.”  He had one, too, although to a much lesser degree.  Mine was crippling.  The first time Edward witnessed it, he had served as my anchor, offering safe harbor when Fourth of July gunfire had triggered an episode that left me puddled on the floor.

Then, and now, he provided shelter from every storm.  Tonight, though, he was in need of reassurance.

Disregarding the ache in my thigh, I knelt between his and Daniel’s feet and rested my cheek against the fine wool covering Edward’s muscled thigh, welcoming the feel of his hand upon my head.  My hair had grown out considerably since I’d met him.  It pleased him to free it from its net and pins, winnow his fingers through my ebony locks, arrange them over my shoulders, and smooth my hair with his hand.

I sighed, content with my station.

“My boy,” Edward rumbled after a time.  Even before he used his pet name for Daniel, I could feel the shift in his energy.  Whatever had made him quiet before had given way to burgeoning passion.  The proof of it was straining his seams and testing the buttons of his pants.  “Lock the door.”

Not that the servants would bother us.  His staff had been with him long enough to understand the way of things.  A closed door meant that we wished for privacy.  Only an emergency that demanded the master’s attention was cause enough for their interruption.

No sooner had Daniel turned the key than Edward had his fly open and his erection in hand.  Fisting himself, he watched watching Daniel’s approach with keen interest, his deviant’s mind alive with possibilities.

What he would ask of us was anyone’s guess.

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