Book Title: All the Good Men

Tagline: Good things come in forty-something firefighter packages…

Blurb:

Dahlia is sure the hackneyed platitude is true: After a certain age, all the good men are married or gay. She feels her thirty-eight years put her well past that ‘certain age.’ Her best friend and her sisters dare her to put her fate where her mouth is. The terms of the challenge? During the month of October, she has to end her five-year-long man fast and go on dates with men of their choosing. Oh, and she also has to go out with anyone else who asks.

As the date disasters pile up, the vindication almost makes the torturous evenings bearable for Dahlia. But a handsome new neighbor, Jackson Carmichael, moves in, changing the rules of the game. Retired after twenty-six years as a pro firefighter in Boston, he volunteers with the local fire department, coaches a youth hockey team, and appears for all the world to be the perfect man. He just might throw a wrench into Dahlia’s plan to die lonely and single…that is if she doesn’t scare him away first.

Excerpt (Adult)

Her fingers slid over the ripples of his abdomen. Caressing her cheek, he moved in and brushed his lips against hers. Dahlia relaxed against him.

One button at a time, she worked until the shirt fell open. Smooth, cotton fabric glided over his shoulders and fluttered to the floor. She grimaced at his undershirt; just another layer of clothes separating her from his fragrant skin. Pulling it over his chest, she was forced to break away from his embrace to liberate him from the garment. He seized the opportunity to strip her of her t-shirt as well.

Large hands skimmed along her collarbone and followed her bra strap to the swell of her breasts. He folded his arms around her again. Despite the heat that passed between them, his touch gave her goosebumps. His tongue traced the curve of her neck, making her shiver.

Slow, deliberate kisses worked up her throat, brushed past her ear, then captured her lips. A deft motion behind her unsnapped her bra. Shimmying free of it, her bare breasts grazed against his torso. More tremors of excitement darted through her.

Jackson scooped her up and carried her to the bed. Her ruffled comforter felt cool against her back. He leaned in and covered her mouth with his. The dim light filtering through the curtains, the whir of the ceiling fan, even the intrusive red light from her alarm clock on the bedside table—everything else faded away until she was aware only of his warmth, his scent, and the feel of his lips against hers. She lost herself in the rhythm of his heartbeat, her own pulse picking up speed.

A hand slid underneath her skirt and up the length of her thigh. She let out a long sigh as he settled his hand between her legs. Slow, gentle strokes over her silken panties created a throbbing ache she could hardly bear. It’d been so long since anyone had touched her much less so handsome and sensual a man.

Jackson slid down her abdomen and left a trail of kisses in his wake. Her stomach quivered with each light brush of his lips across her skin. Reaching the junction of her hips and legs, his tongue skipped along the crease of her inner thigh. She gave an involuntary gasp and twitched at the shock of sensation, but Jackson didn’t relent. With increased pressure he kissed and nibbled and laved, seeming to take great delight in her shudders and groans.

She grasped his shoulders and hooked a leg around him. He needed no more invitation. Peeling off the thin layer of silk that had kept him from tasting her, he buried his face in her thighs once more. This time his tongue meandered over her soft folds and he nuzzled her little patch of hair. He licked and sucked at the tight bud of nerves nestled there. Her hands clenched onto the bedspread, her pelvis arching upward of its own accord.

Buy-it-now link: http://moongypsypress.com/jacks.php

email: cindy@cindyjacks.com

website: http://cindyjacks.com

Today we’re sitting down with Jason Prescott, Erik Hale and Randy Richmond of Daze on End, an indy band out of Indianapolis that’s starting to make some waves on the Midwest music scene.

Interviewer: Guys—let’s start with how you all met each other. Have you been friends for a long time, or no?

Erik: Jason and I have been friends since we were kids. We kind of grew up together. When we put the band together we looked for a drummer and we finally found Randy on the Internet.

Interviewer: On the Internet?
Jason: Yeah, we put out an ad and he showed up and now we can’t get rid of him.
Randy: I eat all their food.
Jason: Not a bad drummer, though.
Randy: Thanks.
Interviewer: You guys aren’t signed with a label yet—are you working toward that or are you surfing the DIY wave that seems to be getting popular in the indy crowd?
Jason: We’re DIY right now. We might find a point in the future where a label would be a good thing.
Erik: Or we might make our own label.

Randy: We don’t need no stinkin’ labels.

Jason: It’s nice the way it is because we can do whatever kind of music we want—no pressure from a company just trying to make money.

Interviewer: How are things on the road? Do you guys get along?

Erik: Yeah, we get along fine.
Jason: It’s a small van. We’re guys. It smells bad.

Interviewer: How about romance? I hear a rumor there’s a lady in the picture?

Jason: No comment.
Erik: No comment.
Randy: I know nothing.
Interviewer: How about this book that’s just come out? Your manager Faith Talbot wrote it? I heard it pretty much answers all the questions we might have about romance on tour.

Jason: Read that, then, and don’t ask the questions.

Erik: Jason’s a little touchy. I don’t think he knew Faith was going to go into so much detail.
Randy: I’m not in the book much.

Jason: Cheer up, maybe you’ll get your own book later and then I can mock you.

Interviewer: Must have hit a sore spot, there. Anyway, if you want to find out what Jason is touchy about, and who Jason is touching—and apparently Erik, too—check out Beautiful Music: Daze on End, by Faith Talbot, now available at Changeling Press. And take a look at Daze on End’s blog for further news about the band.

Daze-on-end.blogspot.com

Faithtalbot.com

Buy link: http://changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1383
Book Summary

When Kayla gets an extra ticket to a rock concert from her assistant, she never dreams she’ll be hooking up with the far younger lead singer before the show. It’s a great one-night stand — until the bass player, Erik, calls her a few nights later. Jason is sick, and only Kayla can help him.

Jason and Erik of Daze on End have navigated a strange, energy-based sexual puzzle their whole lives. When Kayla enters their lives, some of the answers begin to fall into place as the three of them find themselves beginning an erotic journey that will change all their lives.

EXCERPT:

Eyes burning with something beyond desire, he reached for the buttons of her shirt, undid them, and peeled it open. His big hands cupped her breasts. His hands were beautiful, the fingers long and graceful, a musician’s hands. The calluses at the tips of his left-hand fingers moved roughly over the delicate material of her bra, then he popped open the catch between the mounds of her breasts. Pulling her to him, he pressed his own chest hard against hers, then shifted her body to close his mouth around one straining nipple.

She cried out, a soft sound that seemed to fill her mouth like water before it leapt free. Everything felt strange, as if a fine layer of… something… lay between them, over them, grew against the places where skin met skin. It almost felt like she could mold whatever it was against him, mound it between her hands and press it down into his body.

What was this? It was so strange, and yet it felt like she’d known it would happen. She arched back as his teeth tightened on her nipple, his other hand cupping the mound of the other breast. Reaching between them, she found his zipper and pulled it down, moved her hand inside to feel the ridge of hard flesh under the soft cotton of his briefs.

She wanted him inside her. Deep inside, so deep she couldn’t tell anymore where he ended and she began. Wanted him to thrust inside her until she could taste him at the back of her throat. Wanted to devour him with her body, her mouth, consume him with her hands.

Her clothes were in the way, and so were his. She fumbled with them, drawing back too fast so that a painful stab sliced into her nipple just before he realized what she was doing and loosened his teeth. “Sorry,” she heard him mumble, but she just shook her head. His hands slid up her sides, moving her shirt off her, then down her hips to shove her pants out of the way. She struggled with his jeans, his briefs. It was a strange, awkward, writhing dance, and suddenly his hips lifted and he was inside her.

She froze over him. She could feel every inch of him, hot and hard, and when she squeezed down he closed his eyes and tipped his head back. Then in a sudden, not-quite-expected move, he rolled her over, pinned her to the bed, and fucked her.

God. She spread her legs impossibly wide, pressed her heels against the bends of his knees as his hips pushed her thighs even farther apart. His mouth went to her neck, biting there, then biting her shoulder, her upper arms, her breasts. The thrusting was as strong and sure as he had been weak and broken when she’d come into the room. And the heat, the strange, soft something…

Power. It was power. What kind of power, she didn’t know. It felt like a current of water but not like water at all. She arched her back, feeling it flow between her breasts, down her body, over the curve of her neck. She could see nothing, but the tendrils pouring over her skin were unmistakable.

Jason’s thrusts had gone deep, hard and shallow, and she could feel his whole body hardening between her legs and within the curve of her arms. Her own body was spiraling in on itself, a deep, dangerous whirlpool of sensation gathering where his body joined hers.

Anticipating his orgasm, and her own, she turned her head to one side.

Erik still sat on the other bed. Watching.

Her eyes met his in a moment of sudden, startling realization, and she came. Above her, inside her, Jason climaxed simultaneously.

And Erik sat, unmoving, and watched.

Don’t worry I’m not going to do massive spoilers. I can’t do that to my friends on the West Coast or in Australia who haven’t seen it yet. Normally I don’t really blog about TV shows. I just say this is what I’m watching and leave it at that. But this time I wanted to do something. I know people have been wondering why Chuck and not say Law and Order or Heroes? Honestly I don’t know. What I do know is that I’m grateful to NBC for keeping the show alive (Pleeeaaassse give us a whole 22 episodes season, pleeeeaaassseee).

To be honest I didn’t watch in the beginning. Too many freakin shows on at the same for me to watch. But I became curious after reading my friend Chris/Crystal Green’s Chuck recaps (her show recaps rock!) on her blog. Then I saw one episode and was hooked. I had to see them all. Chuck isn’t a show that many will get. It’s not as complicated as Lost or as flashy as 24. It didn’t get lost in its mythos like Heroes did. At the core of the show, at it’s heart, the show is about Chuck and those that Chuck loves. His family. He may not be an uber spy like Bryce Larkin (Dear God, Matt Boomer is gorgeous) nor is he as suave as James Bond. He does bumble and fumble but he means well. In his heart of hearts he is a good guy, a sweet guy. He may not be your first choice but he is the guy who will go over to your house with your fav ice cream and a playlist of all your favorite songs if you’ve had a hell of a day. He’s the guy who will be there for you no matter what.
Chuck is the type of guy who will do the right thing no matter how much it hurts him. He’s the guy who will sacrifice it all for those that he loves even if it means risking his life. He is all about family: Ellie, Awesome, Morgan, Sarah and Casey. Yes, even Big Mike and, um, well, Jeff and Lester. Yeah them too. And that’s what we love about him. He’s loyal to a fault, good hearted, well meaning and a sweetheart. And yeah he’ll dress up for Comic Con and drag you along but you’ll have a hell of time there. He’s a dork but he can laugh at himself and he can fix your computer, pretty snazzy, I know! LOL.

Chuck is neither hip nor the hot, happening, it show of the moment. It just is. Season 3 had its ups and downs and there were gripes but this finale shows us yet again why we love the show, the writers and actors. There was action, humor, moments that made our hearts melt and there was a pay off (those wicked, infuriating, clever, wonderful writers). Looking back I feel as if over the seasons it’s been a natural progression, very organic, never hurried. The writers took their time. Nothing felt crammed in or over the top to me. There didn’t seem to be a need to outdo last week. Although for a moment there, some episodes made me wonder if I was watching a season finale and they didn’t tell us. LOL.

I for one think 3 months or however long we’ll have to wait for the new season is too long. But it’s worth the wait. This TV show Chuck is a keeper. And I can’t wait to see where they take us. To me the finale didn’t feel like an ending, it felt like just the beginning of a new chapter. Sorta like Supernatural, a reboot of sorts. Okay enough of my blathering. I return you now to your regularly scheduled program whatever that may be.
I’m blogging at TRS Blue today. Stop by, leave a comment and be entered to win 5 Changeling Credits. Good luck! http://trsblue.blogspot.com/ (Warning Adult Content)

Oh and watch White Collar on USA Network (or whatever channel it airs on where you are). How can you resist those gorgeous blue eyes of Matt Boomer’s? Seriously, he’s just gorgeous. I said that already didn’t I? Am I drooling? Sorry. *blush*

Se

My Pick for this week: Roridgo y Gabriela- Orion

Se

One of the biggest problems I have is being too stubborn sometimes. To not admit defeat and keep trying even when I know there is no solution. When I’m sick I push, trying to write even if I feel like crap because I feel guilty for needing the rest and wanting to get the word count up regardless of how I feel. I don’t tell myself it’s okay to stop and rest. I don’t give myself permission to relax and rest or even take a break. Pushing past your limits can be exhilarating, you feel like you’ve beat something, accomplished something but if the price is your health it’s not good, not at all. Sometimes we do have to stop and give ourselves permission to say, “Okay, time to rest. You won’t do anyone any good if you keep pushing yourself.”

I tend to do this when I feel myself in the middle of the down episode. I’ll try to ignore the signs/triggers to push past it. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t. But in the end it doesn’t help because I need the downtime, even if I hate it. A break, a bit or rest, even taking an hour to play for a bit helps. The same can be said about the way I sometimes approach things. I take on too much, don’t depend on anyone and then have myself to blame when things blow up. It’s okay to lean on your friends. If they leave you because you needed them, they weren’t your friends. But if they want to help let them. It’s okay to put down the burden for a bit and not be strong. It’s okay to take a rest and it’s okay lean on someone else for a change let someone else take care of you.

It’s a hard lesson, one we forget. It’s okay to not be Atlas all the time, our health depends on it. It’s also okay to be scared and it’s okay to change, to grow. I’ve been reading this book called Dance of Anger by Harriet Lerner and it’s been very enlightening to say the least. I’ve been examining my own actions and interactions, understanding myself. With those examinations, pokes and prods comes some harsh truths but in the end I’ve learned to accept it, take what I know and grow from it. The one lesson I’ve learned, is, and say it with me, it’s okay. LOL

I finished HH3. I just sent it off to be read and looked over before I send it in officially. I managed to get it up to 34k+ in word count. Now I’ve got one spin off series I’m contemplating, one story set in a sci-fi world that I’d love to write and a new series that began to form when I started writing Van’s story. Van is from Sex and Chocolate: Chocolate Bliss. The writer’s block is over. It feels good writing again. *Big Grin*
Se

Met Her Match (A Hawkeye Story) by Sierra Cartwright
Genre: BDSM Erotic Contemporary
Series: : Hawkeye; Previous Book: Bend Me Over

Highly trained Mira Araceli can hold her own in the toughest parts of the world, but not, it seems, against her secret crush, Torin Carter. She’d fallen for her Hawkeye instructor years before, and to him, she’d been just another recruit; fresh, green, idealistic.

Torin, with his dark Irish good looks and fierce temper, doesn’t want a partner, any partner, and especially not Mira. But assignments are assignments, and he takes his responsibilities seriously. So when the beautifully submissive Mira crawls into his bedroom, a leather belt between her teeth, he calls on all his resolve to send her away.

Unsatisfied, Mira ups the stakes and finds another dom to play with at Dark Haven. Beyond furious, Torin storms into Master Xavier’s club and claims his rights to dominate Mira. For the first time in her life, she’s met her match.

Educating Evangeline by Belinda McBride
Genre: BDSM Shape-shifter Paranormal

This isn’t what she came here for!

Pursued by a group of mysterious hunters, Evangeline Jones was desperate for sanctuary when she ducked into the doorway of Dark Haven. Instead of safety, she discovers a decadent, sensual world that challenges her very outlook on life.

Harte Sommers is charmed by the little wolf with the pink streak in her ebony hair. As alpha of the Napa pack, he sometimes feels that he’s alone at the top. When he meets Eva, he knows he might not be able to keep his wild little wolf at his side, but his heart tells him that his lonely days might be at an end.

Simon Says: Mine by Cherise Sinclair
Genre: BDSM Erotic Contemporary
Related Title: Master of the Mountain

With an empty nest and divorce in hand, Rona decides it’s time to explore the fantasies that nourished her through a long, tedious marriage to a man whose idea of outrageous sex was leaving the lights on. At the top of her fantasy list is touring Dark Haven, the BDSM club, but she isn’t prepared for the effect of a powerful Dom. When Master Simon takes control and introduces her to toys and sensations she’s never felt before, she realizes he could fulfil every fantasy on her list all by himself. But she’s vowed to never get trapped in a relationship again.

One of the most popular Doms in Dark Haven, Master Simon has had his fill of eager, shallow, young subs. Rona is older, intelligent, independent…and sweetly submissive. After an evening of intense pleasure and despite her obvious attraction, she refuses to see him again. He needs a way to change her mind. She’s not the first sub he’s taken on a journey of exploration, but he’s beginning to think she might be the last.

Publisher’s Note: This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable: Anal play/intercourse, strong BDSM theme and elements to include exhibitionism and voyeurism.

Buy Link:
http://www.loose-id.com/Doms-of-Dark-Haven.aspx

Excerpts:
An Excerpt from Sierra Cartwright’s Met Her Match (A Hawkeye Story)

Torin Carter snarled and pushed his way through the crowd.

Three weeks ago he’d been assigned a partner he didn’t want: Mira Araceli.

Despite the fact he didn’t want to be teamed with anyone, especially a female, Torin believed in rules, and he was inflexible in his adherence to them.

If Hawkeye, in his infinite wisdom, had decided Torin and the so-sexy-he-was-going-to combust Mira were stuck together, they were stuck together. And that meant he had to keep his legendary libido in check. He’d been doing okay, that was until Mira had shed her clothes and exposed her pretty little ass and freshly shaved pussy to him two nights ago.

He curled his right hand into a fist when he finally found her.

His partner was strapped over a spanking bench, her long, Victorian-style gown and a stupid number of layers of ruffled lace were tossed over her waist. Not only were her delectable, round butt cheeks completely exposed, but she was being flogged by Blake Miller. Thank God she had on a very modern thong; otherwise he would have had no control of his fraying temper.

Torin had nothing personal against the puny man — well, besides the fact he was wielding a leather flogger that was turning Mira’s butt pink.

He’d only seen Mira’s naked rear once. Because her body aroused him so much, it had taken him less than thirty seconds to jack off after he’d tossed her out of his bedroom.

Blake caught her full on with the flogger, and her hips swayed from side to side. Little vixen obviously loved getting spanked.

His momentary relief at actually finding her faded and became a torch of anger directed as much at Blake as at her.

Right now Torin Carter was a dangerous man.

“Only five more, pet,” Blake said. He drew back his arm again and soundly smacked Mira with the leather straps.

Mira rose up as much as the restraints allowed, and arched her back.

Even from a few feet away, Torin had heard the difference in the intensity of the stroke. Blake was taking Mira to more extreme pain levels. From her reaction, the blow had clearly stung as it was meant to.

Fury overcame reason.

Through the years, he’d played with dozens of women, most of them at this club. He’d enjoyed showing up and having a new woman kneel at his feet each time. But this was different. This was Mira.

Despite Dark Haven’s rules, despite the fact his partner was obviously a willing participant, Torin acted.

He grabbed the smaller man’s wrist. If Torin exerted a bit more downward pressure, the man would be on his knees. Still more and the bones in Miller’s wrist would snap. Part of Torin wished the other man would give him the excuse. “Playtime’s over, Blake.”

Mira obviously recognized the sound of his voice, and she froze, becoming silent and still. Smartest thing she’d done today. Today? Make that in the past three weeks.

Torin glanced at the gathering crowd. There were plenty of doms and subs captivated by the scene he was creating. Waiters and waitresses continued on their rounds, too highly trained to stop and gawk. A dungeon monitor stopped nearby, his arms folded across his chest.

Everyone but Torin was dressed for the evening’s Charles Dickens theme. In his fury, he’d stormed past Destiny at the door. Bad-mannered, ill-tempered bastard that he was, he’d ignored the club’s theme night and Destiny’s protests that he couldn’t come inside. He’d cut the receptionist, in her revealing and attractive purple formal wear, a quick don’t-fuck-with-me smile. She’d set her mouth in a frown that showed off her lip piercing perfectly.

Now, deep inside the caverns of Dark Haven, he realized he looked completely out of place. Instead of a fancy frock coat, he was wearing jeans, uncivilized boots, and a brown leather bomber jacket. Not that he cared.

His focus was totally on the immobile woman strapped to the spanking bench. “Move along, boys and girls,” he said to the doms and the couple of dommes who were still staring.

“Trouble?”

Xavier, legendary owner of San Francisco’s Dark Haven dungeon, calmly walked over; the crowd parted to let him through.

“Carter interrupted my scene.” Blake all but sputtered the words as he struggled to pull away.

After flicking a nonexistent speck of dirt from his elegant black frock coat, Xavier studied Torin. “By ‘Carter,’ you mean Master Torin?” Xavier asked, maintaining decorum. Despite the tension, no matter what kind of tension, Xavier never raised his voice. Trouble in the club was handled professionally, defused by the power of the man’s mystery and magnetism.

Torin struggled to maintain his own composure. He was accustomed to being in charge, alpha even in a pack of alphas. But here, Xavier was law. Torin met the more controlled man’s eyes.

Blake — Torin wasn’t one to extend the courtesy of addressing the man as Master Blake, no matter what Xavier insisted — had to tip back his head to look at them both.

“The woman Blake’s beating –”

“Sub,” Blake interrupted. “At Dark Haven, she’s a sub.”

“The woman,” Torin corrected, tightening his grip inexorably, “is my partner. As such, she is under my care and protection.” More than anyone, Xavier would understand what that meant.

“Fine job you’re doing of taking care of her,” Blake said.

Torin exerted a bit more pressure. The other man paled.

“No one, no one, but me touches her,” Torin said.

Mira struggled against her bonds and made tiny mewing sounds. Since she wasn’t shooting off her mouth, she was obviously gagged. At least that was one smart thing Blake had done. Gagging the unruly Ms. Araceli was a supremely good idea. Torin should have done it weeks ago.

With his left hand, Torin flipped the material of her dress back down, covering her ass. Even though she was wearing a scrap for panties, he could tell she was dripping with arousal. Dear God, he couldn’t wait to get her alone.

“Maybe we should ask the sub what she wants,” Blake said.

“Excellent idea,” Xavier said.

Torin disagreed. Asking her anything was a bad idea. God only knew what she’d say when that gag came out of her mouth.

He hoped, for both their sakes, that she was as intelligent as he believed. If not, trouble was already on slow boil.

Xavier waved over the young blond dungeon monitor.

With a nod to acknowledge the order, the man moved toward Mira.

Torin struggled against the instinctive caveman act. He wanted to be the one to detach her from the bondage. He wanted to toss her over his shoulder, drag her back to the safety and seclusion of the Hawkeye house where they were training together then he would soundly beat her himself.

She’d been asking for it since they’d become partners.

Torin realized it was partially his fault she was here in the first place. But damn it, he’d had no idea how serious she was about getting her desires met.

Having no choice at this point but to follow Dark Haven’s protocol, he watched as the dungeon monitor systematically unhooked the clips that held her firmly against the leather spanking bench.

“Master Torin, you can release Master Blake,” Xavier said. His tone brooked no disagreement.

Reluctantly Torin loosened his grip. “Drop the flogger,” he told Blake.

“I –”

“If you don’t,” he said with a quick smile, “you’re giving me a reason to break your wrist.”

Elegant, calm, in control, Xavier nodded toward another dungeon monitor. The man moved in and extended a hand toward Blake. The dom glared at Torin before turning over the flogger.

“Now release Master Blake,” Xavier said to Torin, his tone still not wavering.

Slowly Torin followed instructions.

Blake rubbed his bruised skin. Torin had a moment of regret that the man’s wrist was still functional.

The dungeon monitor helped Mira from the bench and held on to her arm for a few seconds, obviously giving her time to catch her bearings and get her circulation back. Torin scowled. He’d meant it when he said he didn’t want anyone touching her.

For a second she looked at Torin. Her brown eyes were wide, focused on him. She blinked, and then, seeming to recognize her error in staring at him, she dropped her gaze.

Jesus God.

What the hell had he been thinking in not making her submit?

The little sub had begged him to flog her. More than begged she’d also cajoled. And when that had failed, she’d, in her charming way, even demanded, trying to goad him.

He preferred to play with superbly trained subs he might or might not ever see again. He’d never had an exclusive relationship with a sub, had never collared a woman. In his line of work, being moved around the country or planet depending on Hawkeye’s needs, it had never seemed prudent. He’d never even been tempted.

He’d never played with a colleague either.

He had rules. Rules were rigid. They kept the world in order.

Still, two nights ago, she’d gone as far as to crawl into his bedroom completely naked, his leather belt held delicately in her mouth. He’d drawn on his adherence to rules — well, rules and the mental reserves developed from a lifetime of studying martial arts — to send her away and lock his door.

The dungeon monitor secured her hands behind her back and then exerted pressure on her shoulders so that she knelt before them.

“Take out the gag,” Xavier said.

Shit.

The dungeon monitor unbuckled the gag and slowly drew it away. She swallowed several times, and Torin couldn’t take his gaze off her. Mira was as lovely as she was determined.

Her long black hair was pinned back in Victorian fashion, and a few tendrils had escaped their confines. The strands curved alluringly across her cheeks and at her nape.

Her gown was cut fairly low, in a way he was pretty damn sure would have been scandalous when Queen Victoria had sat on the British throne. The style of Mira’s dress emphasized the alluring swell of her breasts. Her exposed skin had a lovely olive tone that spoke of her Spanish heritage.

On her knees, her head bowed, she was exquisite. And he was nearly undone.

“You are…?” Xavier asked, looking at Mira.

“Mira Araceli, Sir.”

“My Liege,” Torin corrected. “You will address Master Xavier as ‘my Liege.’”

She looked up at him, then instantly back down. In front of everyone, he’d corrected her, and he knew she hadn’t missed the fact he was establishing even more firmly his dominance over her.

“Yes, Sir,” she said without a hint of her customary defiance.

“Now answer Master Xavier’s question.”

“My name’s Mira Araceli, my Liege,” she said softly, more softly than he’d ever heard her speak.

The complete contradiction to the Mira Araceli he knew stunned him. Even when she’d crawled into his bedroom, she’d taken the lead, and that’s what he expected from her. Hawkeye didn’t waste his time hiring women, or men, who weren’t leaders, who weren’t resourceful. In addition to providing personal security services to the rich and famous, Hawkeye, Inc. employees operated in the world’s most hostile environments.

Mira had passed the Hawkeye screening process, and Torin had taken the time to read her personnel file along with every report she’d written. She’d been in the Middle East, and she and her client had been the only survivors of a gun battle. She knew how to remain levelheaded in stressful situations; she knew how to handle herself. So this…

And why the hell hadn’t he recognized her true submissive nature?

He’d thought she was likely a masochist. That wouldn’t have shocked him. In their line of work, raw, nasty, gritty hook-ups were common, a way to celebrate being alive, a way to remind themselves they were still human.

Most of the personal security agents he knew were adrenaline junkies. Some drove too fast or burned through the gears on a crotch rocket; others signed up for extended tours and crawled through jungles or endured a mouthful of one-hundred-ten-degree sand. A handful he knew enjoyed sadomasochism; it was another way to fuel the fire.

He’d heard that the infamous Ms. Inamorata, Hawkeye’s right-hand woman, even dabbled in the world of BDSM. He wasn’t sure he believed the rumor, and even if it were true, he had no idea which side she would be on. The woman was tough enough to chew nails. He could picture her as a domme with tall, spiky stiletto heels. He couldn’t see her as a sub, but then again he’d never pictured Mira as a sub either.

Xavier spoke, cutting into Torin’s thoughts. “I take it, Ms. Araceli, that you were willingly engaged in a scene with Master Blake?”

Torin snapped his back teeth together. Dark Haven might be Xavier’s club, but Mira was Torin’s partner. “Xavier –”

She interrupted Torin’s protest, saying, “Yes, my Liege.”

Fuck a goat, the woman had just given Torin another reason to punish her.

She continued either not recognizing or, more likely, ignoring Torin’s clenched jaw.

“My Liege, I approached Master Blake when I arrived. He made certain to ask if I was alone.”

“Goddamn it!”

Xavier raised a hand to silence him. “Master Torin states you’re under his protection.”

Even on the best of days, Torin didn’t keep his temper under tight control. As it was, he figured he had another, oh, forty-five seconds of patience left. A minute, tops.

“Ms. Araceli?” Xavier prompted.

“Well…”

“A yes or no will suffice, Ms. Araceli.”

© Sierra Cartwright, May 2010
All Rights Reserved

An Excerpt from Belinda McBride’s Educating Evangeline

DARK HAVEN.

The sign was small and subtle just over the door of an inconspicuous building. After blocks of running, Eva had merged into a large group of men and women who wore Victorian attire like hers. It didn’t look like a private party, so she followed them inside the club, praying she’d find her haven from the hunters who were just blocks away.

The group moved quickly inside, clearly accustomed to the place.

“Do you have a membership?”

She blinked, looking down at the cute…and scantily dressed receptionist. Eva cleared her throat. “Uh…no…” The girl’s breasts were clearly visible through the Goth-inspired Victorian outfit that she was barely wearing. The girl smiled, and a diamond winked like a brilliant beauty mark over the side of her upper lip.

Gotta love San Francisco.

“That’s okay. Is this your first time at Dark Haven?”

Eva nodded, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face with a gloved hand.

“No problem, then. Membership is five dollars, plus tonight’s entry fee. Just fill out the paperwork. By the way, my name’s Destiny.”

Somehow she doubted that was really the receptionist’s name, but heck, her name wasn’t her own either. She paid and then scribbled a false name and address on the form, grateful that they weren’t checking IDs.

Eva looked around the dark little reception area. The place was clearly a club, most likely a dance club. Music reverberated through the walls. She heard muffled laughter, and the occasional woman’s squeal punctuated the air. A bulletin board on the wall held flyers for alternate-lifestyle events in the area. Eva’s stomach sank. Was she in a sex club? She looked back at Destiny.

“Restrooms and lockers are to the right. If you have any questions, look for a staff member; the DMs have bandannas on their left arms.”

Eva decided to skip the ladies’ room. There was no doubt that the people following her would venture into the club soon enough. She didn’t need to get cornered in a toilet. Hesitantly she stepped through the curtains and into the main room of the club.

Immediately she was assailed by the pungent mix of sweat, alcohol, perfume, and sex. Lots of sex. Adrenaline and the bite of fear saturated the air.

Her skin prickled; phantom hackles rose in panic. She blinked, trying to focus on the room and the myriad of possible dangers within. A woman’s scream carried faintly from downstairs, and Eva’s wolf growled. Blindly she turned to run, to escape. She found herself surrounded by people moving into the club and nearly staggered to the floor. A hand steadied her elbow; another patted her rump. She jumped away, barely hearing their laughter.

Run! The wolf whirled and spun in panic.

Just yards away, a woman was lying prone over a man’s lap. Her skirts and petticoats were pulled up, leaving her bottom bare. With a crack, he slapped her ass bare handed. A strangled cry left Eva’s throat. Against another wall, a naked man was suspended from chains that dangled from the ceiling. A collar circled his throat, and a complicated ring held his penis upright.

She whimpered.

Bodies in ruffles and frills and frock coats milled around tables. Some danced, and some leaned together in intimate conversation. The civilized behavior was a paper-thin veneer over the raw lust that drenched the atmosphere.

Too much. The sensory overload was too much. She tried to make a run for the door and slammed into a broad expanse of velvet and silk and man and the most wonderful fragrance in the world. He was sandalwood and vanilla and something she couldn’t define.

Eva screamed, and her scream was echoed by that of the woman who was being spanked.

She screamed again.

Hands gripped her upper arms, and she began to struggle; her feet were caught up in the long, trailing skirts of her dress. A booted toe connected with a shin.

“Damn! Take it easy, sweetheart!”

“Sorry! Stop! I need to go!” She twisted in his grip.

Strong hands lifted her clear off the floor. “Sweetie, look up at me. Now!”

His voice was deep and compelling, and it cut through her panic. She shook her head, doing her best to bring herself back under control. For a moment — just a moment — she rested her forehead on his chest, inhaling deeply. The yummy scent of the man helped distract her from the surrounding chaos. Eva’s entire body reacted to that fragrance. To her great humiliation, she was growing aroused and wet. She blinked hard and looked up into his face. His beautiful face.

“Now that I have your attention, can I help you?” His nostrils flared. He leaned a bit closer, his face coming dangerously close to her throat. She whined in panic. And then she bared her throat in surrender.

What the fuck did she do that for?

“You’re scared witless. Follow me.” He lowered her to the ground and turned away, clearly expecting to be obeyed.

On trembling legs, Eva followed the stranger until they reached a little room that opened into one of the walls. As soon as the door closed, the music muted, and the scents faded to a tolerable level. She panted, fighting down the panic that still played at the edges of her consciousness. Gazing around, she gulped. The room was the exact duplicate of a police interrogation room.

She knew; she’d seen the inside of those a time or two.

“This is a bondage club.” He looked serious, but she could see he was stifling a smile. It was there in a dimple that flashed in his cheek.

“Thank you. I think I just figured that out,” she said wryly. Good God. Of all the doors she could have ducked into, she’d chosen a bondage club’s.

The man gave her space, taking a seat on a battered table that dominated the center of the room. She couldn’t miss the chains and shackles that were conveniently anchored to the floor.

“It’s all for play here. Adult play, but still, everyone’s here because they want to be.”

Eva bit her lip and glanced away from him. He was tall. Of course, everyone was tall compared to Eva, but this man would be tall next to most people. His wide shoulders were clad in a precisely tailored Victorian suit in dark coffee brown. His lush, wavy hair was the same color. A waistcoat of gold and green brocade winked out at her. The colors of the waistcoat matched his hazel eyes. He was handsome enough to immediately put her defenses up. His cheekbones were sculpted; his nose, straight and slender. His lips were just short of being full and were beautifully shaped.

In Eva’s experience, the pretty men were usually pretty damn worthless.

But the way he smelled…

“I know what the club is all about. I don’t have a problem with what goes on here.” Eva had plenty of knowledge about the scene; it was the surroundings that gave her problems. The place crushed the breath from her body. She shivered in delayed reaction. She wasn’t shivering because of the presence of this much-too-handsome man. Hell, maybe she was.

“Why don’t you tell me what you’re doing here at Dark Haven? You’re dressed for tonight’s theme. Did someone pull a prank on you?”

She faltered, glancing away. How to explain her situation? She opted for the truth. He probably wouldn’t believe it anyway.

“I was being followed. They were waiting for me outside where I work. I saw some people coming in here, so I followed them.”

His casual posture suddenly looked alert. “Followed? Who was following you?”

He didn’t ask why. There were many reasons a woman would be followed in the city, and none of them were good.

“I don’t know. Some men. Maybe three. I managed to shake them for a few minutes.”

She gathered her courage, deciding to trust him.

“One was following me by scent.”

“Shit.” He’d gone white. “Abraxas is in San Francisco.”

“I didn’t know that’s what they’re called. But I thought I’d lost them a few years ago. I thought I was safe here.” Tears prickled her eyes, but she would not have welcomed his comfort. He was too strange, too male. She breathed deeply, calling up her female pride.

“Now I’ve led them to you.”

“You’ve led them to my pack. Several of us are here tonight. Patrice wanted to come for the Dickens thing.” He looked at her speculatively. “They won’t be looking for us, so their tracker won’t fixate on anything but you.”

Eva took a breath. “I should go, then. I know this city. I can lose them down in Chinatown.”

“No, we can hide you here. Right under their noses.” His eyes took on an eerie glow. Immediately Eva stifled an impulse to retreat. As a general rule, she never let others decide her actions or dictate to her. But this man was an alpha; her wolf could sense it. He’d switched from Good Samaritan to predator right before her eyes. She’d rarely encountered other shifters in her life, and she’d never met an alpha before. He was a complication she didn’t need right now.

“How?” She swallowed. Her voice was just a whisper. He was examining her, his bright gaze lingering on her stocking-clad legs and then moving up her body. She should take offense at his rude behavior. Instead she felt wobbly — weak.

“Remove the cloak.”

She raised her chin at the command. He held her gaze, backing her down, and she looked away.

Eva reached up and untied the bow at her throat. The heavy velvet cloak slipped to the floor and puddled around her feet in a crimson pool. She stood impatiently as he evaluated her.

“There. If they get a look at you now, they won’t recognize you at all.” His gaze now wandered her figure. “Corsets are generally worn under the dress.” He was hiding his smile again, and that seductive fragrance filled the air. Eva shifted, mortified at the arousal that pulled low at her belly. She’d never reacted to a man before — not like this.

“I worked at a corset booth at the Dickens Faire today. This is how we display the merchandise. The corsets…” Eva trailed off; her voice was thick and husky. When she peeked up at the alpha, he was staring at her with frightening intensity. She didn’t glance down, aware of how the snug lingerie pushed up her ample breasts so that they strained against the pink silk of her blouse. Her deep purple skirts flared out from beneath the lacy pink edge of the corset. Her stockings were held up by frilly lace garter belts that attached to the corset. Her clothing had seemed fun and silly when she’d put it on. Now she wanted to strip, to bare her skin for the alpha.

He straightened, approached her, and then walked slowly around her in a circle. He reached out and stroked a strand of hair that curled next to her cheek.

She growled at his presumption. He ignored her anger.

“It’s your scent that’s going to be the problem. And there’s one obvious solution to that tonight.” He came to a halt in front of her, just inches away. Eva had to look up to see his face.

“And what’s that?”

He looked at her intently, as though evaluating her worth. “Do you want me to help you?”

His voice had dropped to a whisper, and behind his eyes, the wolf was rising fast and hard. Her wolf reacted, causing the hair on her arms to stand up. She clenched her hands, fighting off the urge to flee — or to roll on the floor at his feet. She glanced at the door, wondering if she could make it before he caught her. She looked up at him again.

“What does your help consist of?”

He stared at her steadily. “Do you want my help? They could be here in the next minute. Think fast.”

“Yes! I want help… But what do you want in return?”

For a painfully long moment he didn’t answer.

“If I help you, I will keep you hidden from these people. Plus, I will teach you things that your alpha would have taught you if you had one.” He reached out and clasped her chin between a thumb and finger. “I’ll bet you can’t even identify them by scent, can you?”

She glared but had to be honest. “No.”

“How did you know they were stalking you?” His index finger was stroking her skin slowly.

“I don’t know. I just did. Sixth sense, maybe.”

“No such thing among our kind.”

He let go of her chin and ran a finger over her cheek. She did her best not to flinch away.

“I will help you. I will teach you, but you must obey me without question. Do you understand?”

“In here? In the club?”

There was a light knock on the door. Neither looked in its direction. His thumb dragged over her lower lip, coming away with the sparkle of her lip gloss. He carried his thumb to his mouth and tasted the sweet gloss. She shivered and felt a tug of arousal at her belly. Her nipples went hard, and he was gazing at them, which made her skin go hot. She knew exactly what he wanted from her. Her body was intrigued, but was she willing? Would her wolf submit?

Her gaze boldly dropped to his groin, but his formal coat was buttoned closed. It didn’t matter; she’d suddenly identified that delicious fragrance. It was his arousal. She didn’t fool herself. It wasn’t her; it was the situation that had him excited. He probably went hot with arousal the moment he walked in the door of a place like Dark Haven. Now he was getting off on her fear and the possibility of her surrender to him. He was a dom, and she was fresh meat.

“I’m not into this stuff. I don’t like pain. Being helpless… Let’s just say it taps into my fight-or-flight response. That could make me shift.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t let that happen. And we won’t do anything that you don’t want to do. Those are the rules.”

It seemed to Eva that he was making up his own rules as he went along.

The door opened and then settled closed again.

“That was a dungeon monitor. They make sure that nothing gets out of control. They’re very responsible here.”

“How will my posing as your sub tonight protect me?”

“You won’t be posing. And it will help you because your scent will be lost in here. They might know that you’re in the building, but they won’t be able to pick you out. Plus, as I mentioned, I’ll teach you.”

“What? What will you teach me?”

He stepped back, drawing out of her space. Immediately she felt cold.

“I’ll teach you survival skills. I’ll teach you not only to hide, but to use all your senses. If you’re very good, I’ll teach you to hunt.

“Tonight? All that in one night?” She forced a skeptical smile.

“If you behave. If you do everything I tell you to do.” He was back at the table, leaning casually against it. All the sexual pressure had receded like an invisible wave. He wasn’t going to coax her anymore. She had to push back a smile. He’d come on like a tidal wave and was now pulling back, denying her of his presence. He was flirting.

“If you want, you can meet a couple of members of my pack later. I can put you in touch with others like us. You won’t have to be alone anymore.”

“How do you know I’m alone?”

He grinned, causing her heart to stutter. “I know a lone wolf when I see one.” He paused, letting her think about that. “I like lone wolves. They’re always tougher at the core than those of us who’ve been raised in a pack. Always willing to take a risk. And when they find their place in a pack, they place a higher value on it.”

She wasn’t ready, not yet. Not for a pack, but especially not for him. Her heart pounded. If she said yes, her entire life would be altered this night. If she said yes… Her gaze dropped to the shackles. How could she submit? It went against every fiber of her being! Desperately, she changed the subject.

“Who are they?”

“Abraxas?”

She nodded. The name was familiar. It was probably the name she’d heard her mother speak of all those years ago.

“On the surface, they’re a legitimate international company that deals primarily in medical research. Unfortunately they actually exist to do research on us and on others who are different. From what I’ve heard from the new Truckee alpha, they’re trying to bioengineer soldiers with various paranormal skills. They’ve got hidden labs all over the world.”

Eva looked away from the alpha, not willing for him to see the impact that information had on her. Those people had taken her mother. God only knew what they’d done to her and what they planned to do to Eva once they caught her. If they caught her. She clenched her hands, anger trumping any grief that she felt. All those years ago, she’d been a helpless kid. She’d sworn vengeance for her mother but known that it was a vengeance she’d probably never see. Now she had a name… Abraxas.

“How long have you been able to shift?” His voice was soft but firm.

Eva blinked quickly, gaining control of her emotions. “A couple of years. I lived up in the park, and one night I woke up trapped in my sleeping bag. I remember being surprised that I could see so well in the darkness.”

“That means you’re sexually mature. They want females of childbearing age.”

That meant they would never stop hunting her. As long as she was alone, she was a target. She needed every tool, every weapon that this alpha could give her. It would be worth any price that she had to pay.

Eva looked at the stranger, and oddly, he didn’t seem unfamiliar anymore. His scent was embedded in her brain. She knew every plane of his face. If she let her imagination run free, she could picture the hard brown body under the suit. His wolf was dark brown; its eyes, molten gold. Her fingers tickled with the feel of his fur under her hand. He would be swift…

“What’s your name?” If she was going to submit to a stranger, she should at least know that much about him.

“Harte Sommers.” He reached out and offered his hand. She had to move to him to shake it. He was certainly a manipulative bastard! Yet his hand was warm and strong, and he didn’t let go.

“Evangeline Jones. Call me Eva.”

“Jones?” He quirked a brow, smiling slightly.

No, that wasn’t her real last name. She’d left it behind when her mother had been taken. There were plenty of Joneses listed in the phone book. Details like that slowed down the hunters.

She looked down at where their hands joined; his skin was the warm brown of someone with genetics other than Anglo. Her skin was the lily-white of Ireland and Scotland. Someday she hoped she could find her missing family and learn exactly who she really was. For now, she was Eva Jones.

She looked at Harte, awaiting his instructions. Her jaw was so tight it ached. Submission went against her nature; Eva had no illusions about that. But for tonight, she would bend.

She saw a flare of triumph in his eyes, and the stirrings of hunger laced his scent. Again her body responded to his. He already knew her answer. He pulled her to stand in front of him. They were so close she could feel heat rising from his body.

“Yes or no, Eva?”

Back to that. Could she really submit to this man? Granted, he was an alpha, but hell, Eva had always had issues with authority. While she’d never returned to school once her mother had disappeared, she’d attained an education of sorts, haunting libraries and slipping into the shadows in university lecture halls. For years she’d studied kendo under a noted fight-master. Unlike the other students, she’d never called the man “sensei,” in spite of her great respect for him.

If this man wanted her to call him “Master,” could she do it?

“Yes.”

That was all she needed to say. The rest would follow. If he truly could teach her to survive on her own, then it would be worth the humiliation.

“Tonight you will begin to learn two sets of rules. The first are the rules of this world, the behavior of a submissive toward her dominant.”

Eva nodded. She hadn’t lived in San Francisco without learning about the alternate lifestyles that flourished here.

“The second set of rules is more important to you — to us. It is the protocol of the wolf pack. Much of that is already imprinted on your genes.” She glanced at him and then glanced away.

“See? You avoid holding my gaze because I’m dominant to you, as you will be dominant to some. Your head is turned away slightly. Doing so opens your throat to me. Do you understand what that means?”

She fought the impulse to back away. “It means I’m offering my throat — my jugular.”

“Would you do that if your wolf didn’t trust me?”

The floor nearly opened under her feet at that revelation. Her heart raced, and the hairs on her neck rose. “If the wolf didn’t trust you, I’d not give you my throat. I’d never look away.”

He nodded in approval. “Back to the rules out there. While you are my submissive, you will keep your eyes cast down. Don’t speak unless you are spoken to. If you wish to speak to me, call me ‘Master.’”

Her jaw tightened.

“That one doesn’t work for you?”

Wordlessly, she shook her head.

“Sir, then.”

Sir. That, she could do. She did it in the store all the time. Eva nodded, keeping her gaze averted. It seemed he was willing to be flexible.

“When I introduce you to other dominants, you will formally address them as ‘Master’ or ‘Mistress.’ Save for my pack and a few select others, I won’t introduce you to submissives.”

He folded his arms. The dark frock coat pulled tightly across his arms and shoulders. Once again she was unable to hold his gaze.

“You aren’t a complete stranger to this world, are you? You’ve been curious enough to do a little research.”

Her cheeks flushed in embarrassment. “I make corsets for a living. I have to know a little about fetish.”

“Good. That will make things easier.” He reached out and ran his thumb over her bottom lip again and then slipped it inside her mouth. Eva froze, feeling the tip of his digit hook over her bottom teeth. Confused as to how to react, she remained perfectly still. Using his thumb as a hook, he pulled her closer.

“Now, Eva, we begin your education. The first thing you will do is remove your clothing.” He smiled, seeing rebellion cross her expression. He slipped his thumb from her mouth and stood back, a wicked smile on his face.

“All of it. But leave the corset and thong. Stockings and boots too. I like those.”

She took a deep breath and reluctantly began to disrobe. She growled softly the entire time.

© Belinda McBride, May 2010
All Rights Reserved

An Excerpt from Cherise Sinclair’s Simon Says: Mine

Someone should lock me up in the psych unit. Rona McGregor sucked in a breath of cool night air. Visiting a BDSM club held third place on her fantasy list, but she’d decided to take it out of order. Just this once. With an eager smile and her heart pounding, she lifted her ankle-length skirt and shoved open the door to the notorious San Francisco club named Dark Haven.

She hadn’t done anything remotely adventurous in the last twenty years, but her time for insanity had finally arrived. Her children were in college. No husband anymore — thank you, God. She’d lost weight — she glanced down at her very full bodice — well, some weight. But truly, she didn’t look too bad for a woman on the downslide to forty.

Rather than the den of sin Rona had expected, the small entry was dismally bland. A handful of people, also dressed in nineteenth-century clothing, stood in line to give their entrance fees to the woman behind the desk. A few minutes later Rona reached the front.

The perky young woman beamed at her. “Hi. Welcome to Dark Haven’s Victorian night. Members sign in here.” The receptionist’s purple gown matched the streaks in her spiked hair. She’d apparently ripped out the bodice, leaving only pink netting over her breasts.

Rona suppressed a snort of laughter. Maybe the place wasn’t all that bland. After her years as a nurse, bare breasts didn’t unsettle her, but she’d never seen any quite so vividly displayed before. “I’m not a member.”

“No problem. Oh, hey, I love your outfit. Major authentic. Did you go to the Dickens Faire at the Cow Palace today?”

Rona nodded. “That’s where I found out about this theme night.” And it had seemed like a sign from heaven. There she’d been, already in the perfect attire. “Since I haven’t been in a place like this before, is there anything I should know?”

“Nah. Here’s a membership form and release. Fill it out and give me twenty bucks to get in and five more for the membership, and you’re good to go.” The receptionist pushed a clipboard of papers across the desk. “If you hurry, you’ll catch Master Simon giving an erotic flogging demo.”

“Master Simon?” A young woman in the line squealed. “Oh God, he’s so hot!” She waved her hand in front of her face so vigorously that Rona almost offered the lace fan clipped to her waistband.

Rona filled out the forms and eyed the others signing in. Satisfaction eased her nerves at the sight of the costumes: an evening gown over wide hoops, a tea gown like hers, two maid outfits with aprons. Any other night she’d be clueless as to what to wear to a BDSM club, but tonight she fit right in. How could she have resisted?

Then she noticed one lady wearing only a chemise. Another woman removed her coat, revealing a pristine white apron — and nothing else. A small worm of unease squirmed in Rona’s stomach. She gave the receptionist the paperwork and asked, “Am I a little overdressed?”

“Hell no.” The girl put the money away and handed over a membership card. “Dommes wear that much, and lots of subs start off dressed. Makes it more interesting when you have to strip, right?”

Strip. In a bar? Me? She’d only planned on watching. The thought of actually participating sent a shiver of excitement up her spine. “Right.”

Rona tucked the card into her reticule, smoothed her gown, then opened the door to the inner sanctum and stepped into the nineteenth century. Her startled breath of air was redolent with perfumes, leather, sweat, and sex. As the passionate sound of Grieg’s Piano Concerto in A Minor surrounded her, she moved into the dimly lit room crowded with men in frock coats and women in bell-like gowns. How fun.

She walked forward slowly, trying not to gawk. Dark wood tables and chairs dotted the center of the long room. A small dance floor took up one corner in the far back; a shiny metal bar with two bartenders behind it occupied the other. All fairly normal. Where’d they hide the kinky stuff that her erotic romance novels had promised?

Then a man strolled past wearing nothing except a terrifying harness strapped to his cock and balls. Rona’s mouth dropped. Crom, but she could almost feel her nonexistent male equipment shrivel up in horror.

Shaking her head, she started toward the bar, then noticed the right and left wall each held a small stage.

One platform stood empty. On the other… Rona took an involuntary step back, bumped into someone, and muttered an apology without looking away from the stage where — surely that’s illegal — a man was whipping a woman chained to a post.

BDSM. Remember, Rona? She’d read about whips and chains and stuff — but seeing it? Whoa.

She pressed a hand to her hammering heart and squashed the impulse to go and snatch the whip from him. As if she could anyway. He stood a good six feet tall with a mature man’s solid build; she had a feeling that if someone were to punch him, he’d just absorb it. In keeping with the night’s theme, he wore a green silk vest over an old-fashioned white shirt. The rolled-up sleeves displayed thickly muscled forearms.

In contrast, his victim was completely naked, her dusky skin glowing dark red from the effects of the whip — No, it was called a flogger, right? The multiple strands stroked up and down her back so evenly that Rona could time her breathing to the rhythm. Mesmerized, she moved closer — threading her way through the tables and chairs scattered around the stage — and chose a table near the front.

Flogging. The word sounded brutal, but this…this was almost beautiful. The man swung the flogger in a figure-eight pattern, hitting one side of the woman, then the other. Rona leaned forward, setting her elbows on the table. He never struck over the brunette’s spine or flanks, obviously avoiding her kidneys with appallingly impressive skill.

He slowed and paused for a moment before whispering the strands across the woman’s back and legs. The woman had her side to the audience, and Rona could see her flushed face and glazed eyes. She was panting from the pain or… The victim’s bottom tilted outward, swaying in a way that implied arousal, not pain.

Arousal.

A grin flashed over the man’s tanned face. He stroked the woman’s inner thighs with the leather strands, up and down, each time moving closer to the Vbetween her legs. She moaned and wiggled.

Rona inhaled slowly, trying to damp the excitement sizzling through her veins.

The man started the flogging again, down the woman’s back, bottom, and thighs. Suddenly, he altered the pattern and flicked the lashes between her legs, right onto her pussy. The woman gasped.

So did Rona. She’d been so immersed, it felt as if the whip had hit her…there. Her insides melted into a puddle of liquid heat. The receptionist had had it right — this was an erotic flogging. Whew.

The music changed, beginning the dramatic conclusion of the movement, and even the murmured conversations died. Rona could almost smell the arousal in the room, and her hands clenched. So violent…so exciting.

He was flogging the woman’s thighs now, the blows gradually moving upward, even harder than before. And again he slapped the strands lightly between her legs. The woman’s squeak turned into a low moan. Then her back, down her thighs, and up slowly. The third time he hit her pussy, the woman shriek and climaxed, writhing in her chains.

A trickle of sweat ran down the hollow at the base of Rona’s spine, and her ragged breathing fought against the tight corset. How could something like this — a whipping — make her so hot?

The crowd cheered as the man released his victim. Although victim couldn’t be the right word, not with that satisfied expression on her face. Rona blinked in surprise when a younger man jumped onto the stage and took the woman into his arms. After a very tongue-laden kiss, the couple stopped long enough for the two men to shake hands and for the woman to kiss the back of the flogger’s hand.

He’d whipped a woman who wasn’t his?

Rona swallowed. Her fantasy of a lover tying her down, maybe even spanking her, seemed pallid next to the reality of what had just occurred.

Across the room, a man and woman began to set up equipment on the empty platform. As the music changed to Nine Inch Nails, the crowd divided: some to the other stage, some to the dance floor. Left alone, the man who’d done the flogging wiped down the post and packed his weapon into a leather bag. Hefting the bag over his shoulder, he strode toward the stage steps and halted at the edge, stopped by a small covey of — Rona snorted — groupies? Did BDSM have groupies?

Shaking her head in bemusement, she turned to look for a waitress. Maybe she should add “Try out a hot dom” to her list. She grinned. Her ex had always ridiculed her five-year goal plans — as if disorganization were better. He’d have had heart failure if he’d seen her fantasy list.

No waitress in sight. She returned her attention to the stage and sighed in disappointment. Empty, like many of the chairs around her. Most of the people had moved to the other side.

A thump drew her attention to the table next to hers, and she gaped like a moron. The man from the stage stood there with his leather bag at his feet. On the table lay a black frock coat and old-fashioned cuff links that he must have removed before starting his demonstration.

She watched as he rolled down the sleeves of his shirt. His dark eyes looked almost black, and his deeply tanned face was lean and hard. With the lines of pain and laughter around his mouth and eyes, and silver glinting in his neatly trimmed black hair, he must have been around forty. And yet when he moved, muscles rippled and strained the shoulders of his white shirt.

Not only a hunk, but older than her. Yet she didn’t even consider flirting. Not with this one. He was too…too intimidating. Not like a young, buff underwear model, all gorgeous and everything, but in a far-more-dangerous way.

Of course he’s dangerous — he has a flogger, and he knows how to use it.

All her minuscule experience with BDSM came from reading erotic romances. She’d always wanted to try a few things, but Mark had laughed at her and refused to do anything to liven up their sex life. Not that they’d even had a sex life the last few years.

Her horizons had definitely expanded since the divorce, but not enough for her to jump into seriously kinky stuff. She’d simply planned to watch and note some ideas to add to her fantasy list, but certainly not to make a pass at a really, really experienced BDSM practitioner.

No matter how gorgeous he looked.

Don’t drool. She tried to casually lean back but slouching in a corset was impossible. Stymied, she turned her gaze to the other stage, where a woman costumed as a schoolmarm wrapped ropes around a young man wearing only breeches. Rona managed to keep her attention there for, oh, a good minute, before returning to the man.

She frowned. He was trying to get a cuff link into his shirt and failing miserably. For some reason, the fingers of his left hand didn’t bend. His frustrated growl switched him in her mind from a hunk to someone who needed her.

She walked over, pushed his hand to one side, and fastened the heavy silver link. “There.” With a smile, she patted his arm comfortingly. “Now –”

She looked up into intent, powerful eyes, and every cell in her body went into a meltdown. He kept her pinned with those dark eyes, studying her as if he could see through to her soul.

He moved closer, forcing her to tilt her head back to look up at him. When her breath stuck in her chest, his lips curved into a faint smile. “You didn’t even think before coming to my rescue, did you?” he asked, and his voice was as dark and smooth as everything else about him.

She should apologize. “I-I’m –”

“Be silent.”

Her throat just plain shut down completely, and the laugh lines around his eyes crinkled slightly. “Submissive,” he murmured. “But no submissive would shove a master’s hands away and take over. You’re new?”

He didn’t wait for an answer but ran a finger down her cheek, her neck, across the tops of her pushed-up breasts.

His touch burned through her, leaving an aching need. The trembling inside her stomach worked outward until her legs wobbled. “Please,” she whispered.

He tilted his head. “Please what, pet?”

“Please don’t tease me.” Feeling like an idiot — a very confused, aroused idiot — she dropped her gaze and tried to take a step back.

His hand closed around her upper arm, firmly enough that she knew she’d go nowhere.

“Look at me.” A finger under her chin raised her face. His lips curved into a faint smile. “Very new, I see.”

“Yes.” Her next effort to move back met the same results — none.

“A submissive need not call any dom but her own ‘Sir,’ but if she approaches a dom on her own and then reacts like this” — his finger left her chin to stroke over her trembling lips — “then she had best address that dom as ‘Sir.’”

Acutely aware of the warmth of his finger still on her lips, she felt as if she were drowning in molten air.

He paused, then prompted, “Say, ‘Yes, Sir.’”

Oh. “Yes, Sir.” She’d used the phrase before, teasingly with the hospital doctors, sarcastically with idiots, but now it reverberated through her like the sound of a bass drum.

“Very good.”

A woman wearing only a corset, fishnet stockings, and high heels suddenly dropped to her knees beside the table. “Master Simon. Can I serve you in any way?”

He turned.

Freed from his gaze, Rona tried to retreat, but his hand, hard and ruthless, tightened. The feeling of being controlled swamped her senses.

Her heart raced as if she’d received an injection of Adrenalin, but with his attention diverted, she managed to pull in a steadying breath. I’m a mature woman, an administrator, smart and professional. Why do I feel like a cornered mouse? And it turned her on like someone had opened a hormone faucet.

She glanced down at the kneeling woman and winced. Not only willing to give Master Simon anything he wanted, but also blonde, slender, gorgeous. And young.

Rona was none of those. Escape. Definitely time to escape.

“Thank you, no,” Simon told the kneeling sub, waving her off politely but firmly. Another youngster. He smothered a sigh. The enthusiastic, young ones seemed so very undeveloped. He preferred women, yet the interesting, older subs were usually involved, or they had emotional problems. He hadn’t met a well-balanced submissive in quite some time.

I’m lonely. Divorced for several years, his son in college, his house empty, he’d recently grown aware of how much he’d like someone to embrace at night, to talk with in the evenings, to share everything from a new dessert to the day’s victories and disasters. He could find a willing body all too easily, but not an open heart, an interesting mind, and an independent spirit.

But this one… Simon turned his attention to the submissive who’d dared to help him without asking. Not young, probably somewhere in her thirties. Her face had lines that said she’d seen sorrow. Had laughed. Her full breasts, pushed high and taut, displayed the silver striations that showed some baby had been held against her heart and nourished. The way she’d briskly brushed away his hands from the cuff told him she was used to being in charge. The melting look in her eyes when he’d touched her said she was submissive.

Very appealing. And oddly familiar. Had she visited the club before?

But she kept trying to retreat. Why? Of course, a dom might make an inexperienced sub nervous, but she’d shown definite interest before…before the interruption. His eyes narrowed. The kneeling sub had been young and pretty. Was this confident woman uncertain of her appeal?

She tugged at her arm again and actually frowned at him.

“I don’t believe we finished our conversation,” Simon said.

Her gaze lifted. In the dim bar, her eyes appeared blue or green. Her hair, a streaky color between blonde and brown, had been pulled back into an ugly Victorian bun. That would be the first thing he’d fix.

He held out his free hand. “My name is Simon.”

As wary as a treed cat, she still managed to say politely, “It’s nice to meet you, Simon.”

That lovely, low voice would deepen after she came a few times. His fingers closed over hers, and he kept his other hand wrapped around her arm. Now he had her securely trapped, and the knowledge appeared in her eyes. Her breath quickened, her tongue flicked over her lips, and she swayed, almost imperceptibly, toward him. Yes, the feeling of being controlled aroused her.

Now, wouldn’t she look lovely in ropes? “And you are…?” he prompted.

“Rona.”

“Scottish? Yes, it suits you.” He looked down into her eyes, enjoying the slight tremble of her fingers in his. “Is this your first time in a BDSM club, Rona?”

“Yes.”

“And how long have you been here?”

“Not even an hour.”

“Not even.” The phrasing implied she felt off balance. And he’d definitely pushed — was still pushing, which wasn’t appropriate or honorable to do to a sweet newbie. When he opened his hands and released her, the sense of loss surprised him. I want to keep this one.

But the choices, always, belonged to the submissive — unless and until she freely gave over those choices to him. “Do you want a guide, or would you rather explore on your own?”

She hesitated. “Um. Well…”

She didn’t want a guide. Despite her obvious attraction to him, she’d prefer to see the place on her own. He almost laughed at his annoyance. Getting too accustomed to adulation, was he? This woman might tremble, but she wouldn’t throw herself at anyone’s feet, and that only increased his interest.

“All right.” He ran a finger down her cheek, marking her as his in the indefinable way of dominance. “I will see you later, then.”

© Cherise Sinclair, May 2010
All Rights Reserved

I’ve been doing this for the past I think two weeks on FB and a few loops so I decided to post today’s pick here.

Joga by Bjork

What’s your pick to start the week off?

Se

How is your Spring going? Mine has been up and down so far. April was really bad month for me. I got writer’s block and am just now coming out of it. I only have a bit more to go before finishing the latest Hades Helmet after that I want to do Alex’s (first mentioned in Strange Hollow: Seducing a Wallflower) story. I do have inspiration *Grin* This was posted on FB by an author. As soon as I heard it I got an image and just knew it had to do with Alex. I’d been trying to figure out what to do for him. I knew who his heroine was but not how to tell their story.

What do you think? Good song for inspiration? As for Hades Helmet I have to say I love what I’ve put into it. It took me to such an unexpected place. I really wanted to explore Diego this time around. I didn’t expect finding more stories in this one. I have about two more stories after this one to tell about the Hades Helmet crew, Jason’s story and Tigress’ after that maybe more if possible.

Another series has presented itself to me. Something quite different, fun, exciting an darker. I know the characters, well some of them. I’m very excited about this new world to explore.

I’ve subbed two stories to my editor, waiting to hear back on it. One is my BAN (Big Ass Novel) and the other is an older story. Other than that I’m just trying to get back on the writing wagon. It’s a slow process but I was able to do 2k the other day so there is hope.

On the other hand, next month is June and you know what that means, Birthday Bash! This time the theme will be 30 Days of contests and right in the middle of it all is another fantastic week to spotlight the fabulous Cougar Challenge series. *Grin* As I get more info I’ll post about the bash and the week. I’m also considering more theme weeks: Sci-Fi, Cyberpunk, Menage week, another Australian Heat Week maybe even a Geek Week. Not sure what that would entail but I’ll come up with something. LOL.

I’m also contemplating  a new look for my website to coincide with the Birthday Bash. I know, I know. Again? But not too much of a change that much I know.

Okay, must go work on HH3. Have a Great Weekend.

Se

Coyote Home by Rhian Cahill

Coming home was never going to be easy for Rowan Wilder, but after six years she didn’t think it would be this hard. First she can’t control her inner coyote, then she has to deal with her mate and the madman out to get them both. Determined to take her rightful place in the pack, Rowan must face each hurdle and succeed. To fail could mean losing her life.
Quinn MacClellan is more than ready for the return of his mate and he’ll do anything to keep her safe and by his side. He couldn’t protect her years ago, but things are different now and he won’t let anything or anyone separate them again. Together they’ll confront all obstacles and ensure the future they both deserve.

Buy link - http://www.jasminejade.com/p-8347-coyote-home.aspx

Excerpt:-

Her lungs burned with each choppy breath. Her legs screamed in pain and the stitch in her side threatened to double her over but she kept running. Every second counted. The house was in sight now, so close, just across the clearing. Pounding feet and paws echoed behind her and she fought the urge to turn around. She couldn’t waste the time. Getting to the house and Brogan could be their only hope.
Flesh and bone collided behind her. Rowan glanced over her shoulder and stumbled at the vision of human and animals rolling in the snow. The blows, grunts and snarls a strange musical note on the air. A yowl of pain and her insides went cold.
“Quinn!”
Forced to turn away and continue went against everything her coyote wanted to do. Her mate was in trouble and she needed to help him. But her human side knew the best way to do that was get to the house. Get Brogan and a gun. Her legs pumped harder, her chest ached and her eyes filled with tears she refused to let free.
Brogan came through the door, rifle in hand, he raced to meet her. He grabbed her arm, shoved her behind his back and braced the gun on his shoulder. The loud boom ricocheted around them. Aimed into the air, the shot was meant as a warning but it did no good. Three bodies, one human, two coyote, continued to wrestle. Brogan fired again.
Nothing happened. Among the rustling and tearing of cloth Rowan could hear the groans and yelps of pain as teeth and fists found their mark. Firing over their heads wouldn’t do it, these animals were in a frenzy and they wouldn’t stop unless someone or something stopped them. She yanked the weapon from Brogan’s hands. Before he could turn around and stop her, she lined up the sight and fired. No thought. No breath.
One shot.

Bio:-

Years of slavery to four young aliens and their sire failed to squash the love of writing or reading hiding behind the facade of a boring stay-at-home mum. Escaping from the mother-ship with vivid imagination intact, Rhian uses her superpowers for good.
Okay, so that’s not quite how it happened. Married to her very own hero for over 20 years and raising a family of four kept writing on the back burner but with more time to spend on the things she loves most, Mr. Muse and Rhian have taken over.
Writing a multiple of genres keeps life interesting and busy. Rhian can be found in numerous places online where her love of talking is well satisfied. An Aussie, who’s spent years living overseas, Rhian and family are now happily residing back in their native land of down under.

Website:- www.rhiancahill.com
Blog:- www.rhiancahill.wordpress.com