Tag Archives: Erotic Romance

“A man would have to be dead to not be affected by you.” FREE READ

26 Oct

by Elizabeth SaFleur

In the #MeToo era I’ve often wondered if the alpha male in romance will fall by the wayside, like Jackson Reese, my domineering corporate boardroom hero who loves earning a woman’s submission. [[Dramatic pause.]] Nah. Below is a free read, Jackson, where an alpha male rules. Enjoy!

Jackson Reese doesn’t have time for romantic complications—but Dana makes him an offer he can’t refuse.

Jackson Reese enjoys his freedom, and his normal evening date is a tumbler of scotch. When his colleague, Dana Moore, reveals her nights are emptier than Jackson’s morning liquor bottles, he changes his plans. He knows a submissive in need when he encounters one, and her need runs deeper than he could have imagined.

Warnings: Adult, erotic content (18+ only), NSFW, D/s situation. I also cannot be responsible for the desire to have your garters snapped after reading this little ditty.


Jackson

Jackson Reese cracked the stack of papers in his hands on the conference table, aligning the edges to perfection. Today was a good day. This afternoon his negotiating skills won his environmental law firm a new client—the largest biofuels manufacturing plant in the country.

His opponent, a man in a cheap gray suit, stood and extended his hand. “Pleasure to do business, Mr. Reese.”

“Yes.” He returned his handshake, heartily. His manners would not be undone, even if the man’s weakness provided him with a too-easy victory for his taste. Jackson enjoyed a good fight, and Gray Suit provided none. He reminded himself to take the win, regardless.

The man turned to his colleague, Dana Moore, a tall brunette in an equally concrete-colored suit that did nothing for her pale skin. He never understood why women in Washington felt they had to dress like men.

“A copy of the signed agreement will be sent over later today,” Jackson said.

“Really, Jackson. It’s seven p.m. Don’t you ever stop working?” Dana’s mouth quirked up into a smirk.

“Not really. Sharon will show you out.” His legal secretary held open the conference room door. She knew to hustle them from the premises as quickly as possible. Once negotiations were over, his tolerance for small talk vanished. Besides, he had a date with a bottle of Scotch.

“Buy you a drink?” Gray Suit asked.

“Another time.” He widened the door opening.

“Dana, this way.” The man’s harsh tone toward the woman unnerved him.

After he let the door swing click shut, blessed silence washed away his budding headache. He ran through the meeting in his mind again, replaying his win like a meditation.

Dana’s face kept interrupting his reflection. Why was she even at the meeting? Gray Suit interrupted her whenever she opened her mouth. He rarely ran into sexism these days. It jarred his nerves when he did. Dana was annoying, but she wasn’t stupid. He’d learned that from running into her—repeatedly.

Lately, she showed up at too many places he frequented—charity events, the Kennedy Center, even in line at Starbucks one day. But as the wife of an Ohio state Senator—and a trophy lobbyist of the firm that he’d just secured as a client—he had to be polite.

At least she hadn’t breached his private space, Club Accendos, his secret weekend retreat. Dana Moore tied to a St. Andrews Cross. Now there’s a vision.

He walked to the wall of windows overlooking Pennsylvania Avenue. The September sky has turned purple, and the string of red taillights on the road below signaled rush hour was far from over. Traffic would be bad tonight. Perhaps he’d head over to Accendos and not wait for the weekend. Surely someone would be interested in a little pick-up play—his favorite anecdote to a night otherwise spent alone.

He scratched his five o’clock shadow and engaged in his evening ritual—mentally running through his plans for tomorrow. The day would be filled with back-to-back meetings.

“You drive a hard bargain, Jackson Reese.” Dana’s voice broke through his thoughts and the sacred silence.

He turned and caught a whiff of her Chanel perfume. “Something else I can help you with Mrs. Moore?”

“I’m afraid our negotiations left me a little . . . unsatisfied.”

“Oh?” Here we go. He knew where her teasing was headed. Whenever he ran into Dana, she’d press her cheek against his face in an oh-so-Washington-acceptable, non-kiss. She’d breathe on his neck as if the heat would warm him to attraction. He wondered what flirtatious gesture she’d graduate to tonight.

“Where’s your colleague?”

“With any luck half way down Constitution in a taxi cab. You haven’t answered my texts.” She stood before him before he could move away.

“I don’t look at my phone during meetings. It’s rude.”

“Ah. I knew your silence wasn’t a ‘no.’”

He grasped her hands before they could connect with his chest. “Excuse me. Paperwork awaits.” He placed her hands against her sides.

Before he could sidestep her, she grabbed his crotch. He tensed and chose to stand stock still. “That’s not the best way to get my attention,” he said.

“Oh? What is?” She gently cupped his balls.

He looked down at her hand and peeled her fingers from the front of his trousers. “Tell me, where is your husband, Mrs. Moore?” He emphasized her married title in case she’d forgotten her status.

She pulled her hand away from his grip. “Who cares?” Her smile faded into pure boredom, a look demonstrated by too many Washington wives.

She sat back on the conference room table and crossed her arms. “Tell me, Mister Reese. I’m too forward for you? You only like submissive women, weak, who melt at your feet?

“If you’ll excuse me, Mrs. Moore—”

“Don’t call me that. It’s my title. It’s not who I am.”

“That’s a shame. Perhaps you should take on a new title.”

A feline smile stretched across her face. “That’s what I’m trying to do right now.”

“No, you’re trying to fill up your night because you have nothing else to do.”

The sides of her mouth dropped to a flat line. “I have plenty of places I could go.”

He stepped aside and gestured to the door. “Good, because I don’t get involved with married women.”

She lifted her chin and stood. “And if I was single?”

“I would see you as a beautiful, successful woman.”

“You should run for office. Only you could make a compliment sound like a dismissal.”

“I’m a Washington attorney.”

“And a handsome, successful man.” Her hand landed on his chest, stopping his advance toward the door. “I won’t blackmail you if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“The thought never occurred.” Oh, yes, it did. Washington lived off traded favors. He, however, made it a point to never owe anyone anything.

She took a deep breath and steeled her voice. “I know all about you Jackson Reese. You like to make women . . . do things.”

“I don’t make anyone do anything.” He caught her wrists before she could connect with any part of his body again.

Her voice hitched and she smiled. “So strong, Jackson.” She twisted her hands from his grip. “You don’t like to be touched unless you initiate the advance? Isn’t that the game?” She chuffed and stepped back. “Perhaps you’re not man enough for me.” She lifted her chin, a move he particularly hated in women.

She turned slowly. Too slowly. She wanted him to stop her? Too bad.

“Reverse psychology doesn’t work on me, Mrs. Moore,” he said to her back.

She turned sharply. “I told you not to call me that.”

“I do not get involved with married women.”

“I’m not asking for involvement.”

“I don’t have casual sex, either.”

“God, Jackson you sound like a 1950s housewife.” She lowered her voice. “Not at all like the Dominant I expected given your status at Accen—”

“Excuse me?”

She smiled. “Oh, yes, I know all about you and your secret little boy’s club. Come now.” She stepped forward, her hand connecting to his chest—again. “Show me what you got.”

He couldn’t help himself. He laughed.

A muscle twitched in her cheek. “You don’t think you can dominate me, do you?”

“No, I don’t think you can submit to me.”

“Oh, a challenge. But what if I told you I was sincere.” She stepped backward. “I’m interested.”

“I’m not.”

“Please.”

“I don’t believe you. Why are you really here?” Deep interest replaced his curiosity. Information about his secret sexual life was not easily obtained. He’d find out who leaked any information about them. But, first, he had to know her motives.

Was this part of some retaliation for his rebuffs of her advances? No, his ego wasn’t that big. Washington was full of powerful, attractive men.

Blackmail? If Dana knew who he was—and had proof—she could destroy him. She would have offered terms by now. Something else was at play.

Experimenting? It was the only reason he could fathom why someone like Dana Moore would be interested in any power dynamic other than the one she’d already amassed. She was a good-looking woman, still in her prime years, with a successful position, and married to a powerful man. She has to be bored, that’s all.

A heavy sigh escaped her lips. “Does it matter why?”

“Yes.” He crossed his arms.

“I want to know what it’s like.” Her tone was so sincere, he almost believed her. Almost.

“I don’t get involved with dilettantes,” he said.

A bolt of pain flashed across her face, hard and fast like a crack across a porcelain vase. It was gone as fast as it came, and her smooth mask return to its perfection.

“Mrs. Moore, when you go home tonight, you tell Mister Moore—”

“Please, please, stop calling me that,” she spat.

“Why should I?”

She laughed heartily. “Because my husband isn’t interested in me, Mr. Reese. Nor any woman.” She looked out at the Washington skyline and hissed between her teeth. “It’d be easier if he’d just have damned affairs like everyone else in this town. Of course, he probably is. Just not with anyone I could compete with. Divorce papers are next.”

Jackson crossed his arms. “Why are you telling me such privileged information?”

“So you have one of my secrets like I have one of yours. You like dominating women. My husband doesn’t even see them.”

So Senator Moore was gay? Who cared? Except Jackson learned long ago unsatisfied women were dangerous women. Angry men may start wars. But frustrated women could implode planets. And, Dana looked ready to hit something or someone. Well, it wouldn’t be him.

“Move on then,” he said.

“Oh, we are. We’re legally separated but waiting until after the election for the announcement. You of all people should know a divorce in an election year is an impossibility. He’s barely holding on in the polls. Besides, we make a good team when we’re focused on work.”

“Doesn’t sound like much of a team if he’s batting for the competition.”

She laughed again. “I didn’t know you had a sense of humor, Jackson.” Her shoulders dropped and she chewed her lip.  “I want to see what it’s like to be . . . more.”

He grasped her by the shoulders and lurched her closer to him. She gasped as he ran his hands down her back and her sides.

“You think I’m wired.” Honest shock colored her face.

“Yes.”

“Did anyone ever tell you that you have trust issues?”

“Everyday. Now tell me the truth.”

“I did. I want to know what it’s like . . . not to experiment. But to be the sole focus of . . . someone. Even temporarily.”

“Go on.”

“I can keep thinking about what I don’t have or act. I need to know what I’m missing.” She shifted on her heels and a flash of vulnerability crossed her face. “Maybe next time I’ll choose someone more . . . compatible.”

Holy shit. Dana was serious.

He stepped backward and looked at his watch. “I’ve got one hour.” He must be half-crazed out of his mind to do anything with this woman. But the enigmatic story of Dana Moore gnawed at his insides. No bars enslaved a man more than the unknown—and Jackson Reese didn’t do mystery. Add the injustice of her situation and Jackson found himself compelled to help her.

She straightened. “One night.”

“One hour.” He grasped her chin and lowered it. “No sex. Nonnegotiable. And you’ll do what I say.”

“That’s the point, isn’t it?”

He huffed a half laugh willing to let her indulge in bravado a bit longer. Then he walked over to the conference room door and clicked the lock.

“Dana, what is your maiden name?”

“Strickland. Why?”

“That’s your safeword. I presume you know what that is.”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now go to the end of the room.”

“Being punished already?”

“No games, Dana.”

“So serious, Mr. Reese.” She uncharacteristically wobbled a little as she walked. She was scared. Okay, she didn’t like mystery, either. Tough.

“Take off your dress. The color does nothing for you. Drop it on the floor. Yes, Dana, you likely have ten others like it at home,” he said to her incredulous face.

As she shed her god-awful dress, she revealed a beautiful lingerie set, including garter belt and stockings. Unexpected, but welcomed.

“You came prepared,” he said.

Her skin flushed a deep crimson.

“Turn and look at me.”

She pivoted and immediately crossed her arms over her ample breasts captured in a surprisingly feminine bra. White lace. Yes, very nice.

“Don’t hide yourself. Show me what you chose to wear for me.” After she lowered her arms to her side, he cocked his head and looked. Really looked. How could no one admire this woman? Jackson appreciated any woman who kept herself in such fine form as Dana. The mystery deepened.

“Take down your hair.”

After shaking her bun free, her long brunette hair reflected flashes of ambient city lights streaming in from the long wall of windows.

“You should wear your hair down more.”

She huffed. “I’m not sixteen anymore.”

“Thank God.” After clicking off the lights, he shed himself of his jacket. He rolled his shirt sleeves to bare his wrists. He removed his watch. Each movement deliberate and slow. Dana’s face grew more pale with each action.

He had pledged himself to uphold all the laws of safe, sane and consensual play. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t let a little intimidation create the right mood. Dana wanted to try on submission, well, he’d use all means at his disposal to have her feel that loss of control.

He stood at the head of the table and laid his hands on the smooth surface.

“Get on the table. Hands and knees.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Seriously?”

“That’s the last time you’ll argue with me.”

As she bent over the table, a curtain of chestnut silk fell in her face. One knee and then the other connected with the glass, her stockings easily gliding her into position. Yes, very nice. Without that steely suit and severe hairstyle, Dana was quite the looker. His cock jolted alive for the first time all day.

He walked to where she knelt on the table. His hand slid down the side of her head, silky strands soft under his palm. “You have remarkable hair.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He continued to run her smooth locks through his fingers. She grew more jittery under his touches. “You’re a grown woman with grown-up needs. No need to feel ashamed about enjoying being petted.” A thought flitted across his mind. “Yes, that’s what I’m going to call you. My pet.”

A small sliver of anger flashed in her eyes.

“You can choose to take it as society tells you.” He leaned close to her ear. “Or how I meant it.”

He walked back to the head of the table but remained standing by his chair. Dana faced him on the opposite side, kneeling with her breasts rising in fell in shaky breaths.

“What should I call you?” she asked.

“Titles don’t interest me right now. What does interest me is your fantasy.”

“I don’t—”

“Yes, you do. Given your situation, you have a bank of fantasies you rely on.”

She sighed and gazed out the window. He sighed in return. It was going to be a long night if she continued to indulge in her nerves. She asked for this scenario. Yet he’d have to help her along. “Where does he place his hands on you?”

Her eyes darted to his face. “Everywhere.” She answered without hesitation. Ah, so she did fantasize about someone.

“Specifics, Dana.”

“He grabs my hands and—and pushes my wrists. . .”

“Overhead.”

“Yes.”

Dana Moore dreamt about being overpowered? Hardly a ringing endorsement she cared for submission. Her fantasies could mean she wanted aggressive sex, not loss of control. He knew only one true way to find out.

“Crawl to me. Slowly, pet.”

She hesitated.

“Dana.”

She lowered to her arms and moved forward. In the dim light he caught flashes of a crystal rosette at the center of her bra. She could afford the best after all. He pushed the thought aside that she had no one to admire such finery from his mind and concentrated on the woman before him. Yes, the woman. The thought occurred he’d never considered Dana a woman prior to five minutes ago.

Halfway across the table, she stopped and pulled back up to kneeling. “I feel like an idiot.” Her voice trembled.

“You’re beautiful.” He lowered himself to his chair. “Feel me watching you, Dana. Resume.”

Her hands fell to the table once more. She moved forward, her shoulders growing more rigid with each inch forward. He’d never seen a woman so scared—and that was saying something. The courage it must have taken for her to come to him?  Uncharacteristic guilt hit him square in the chest from his earlier, dismissive behavior. He’d been in Washington too long.

He concentrated on her movements, slow, deliberate, and all because he’d asked. The familiar satisfaction of experiencing submission, even as frail as Dana’s, filled his insides.

“Thank you, Dana.”

She looked up at him. “For what?”

“For you.” He ran a finger over his bottom lip. Time to concentrate—on her. “Can you feel the pull of your garter against the back of your thigh? Perhaps I’ll snap it, leave a nice thin red stripe on that ass you hide all day.”

Her breath hitched.

“Is that what you’d like, my little pet? A good smack on the ass?” He laid both hands on the armrests of his chair, wholly aware of the effect his stance held to someone so exposed.

“Maybe,” she whispered.

“You have to get closer to earn such a reward.”

She looked up him, surprised. Her breathing deepened and her chest flushed a deep pink. When she reached his end of the table, she pulled herself up to kneeling. He laid his hands on her thighs. Yes, she definitely shook—but not from fear. He tucked her hair behind her ear and curled his fingers around the shell of her ear. So, she was serious about this experiment.

“Do you know when a woman is most beautiful?” he asked.

“Twenty-five?”

He laughed. “Only a woman would answer that way. No, when she’s being true to herself.”

“So I should walk around in lingerie with my hair down?”

“You already walk around in lingerie, don’t you?” He cupped her chin and raised her gaze to him. “Next time I see you, you’ll wear your hair loose, too.”

“When will that be?”

“I don’t know. So you’ll have to wear it down for a while. Sit up, legs over the edge.”

After she complied he pulled her forward so she perched on the edge. In his peripheral vision he caught their faint reflections in the windows as night had fallen dark and heavy outside. He turned her face so she could see their images.

He twisted a lock of her hair in his hands. “Yes, remarkable.”

She lifted her hands and placed them on his chest. “One hour. Does anyone get more of you?”

“Rarely.” He pulled her off the table and swiveled her so she faced it. She caught herself with her hands. He palmed her behind and leaned toward the ear. “We should make the most of our time together.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“What you’re doing.” He snapped her garter. A puff of air left her lips. He grasped a handful of her hair and pulled her head back. “More, my pet?” he whispered in her ear.

“Yes.”

He laid a sound spank on her ass. She grunted and lurched more over the table. When she tried to move a lock of hair that had dropped forward, he twisted her arm behind her, gently but firmly. Her mouth dropped open. “You don’t need to do anything. Take it in.” He drank in the sight of her cheeks, reddened from his smack.

“Widen those legs. Good.” He dropped his grip and sank down in his chair. “Show me how you touch yourself.”

Without any more prompting, she drew her hand to the inside of her thigh.

“More,” he said. “Very nice. Leave the panties on. I told you I like your choice.”

She gave him her profile, and he caught a glimmer of gratitude in her eyes. His gut lurched a little at how little he’d done and how much she’d already reacted. Was her life so empty? Likely. Here she stood, lapping up his minor attention like a kitten.

He never understood people who settled for scraps. Of course she agreed to marry Senator Moore—and stay married to him. Besides, who was he kidding? Work in Washington often replaced matters of the heart. Perhaps he knew why people settled after all.

But not tonight.

Her fingers had moved under the elastic of her panties. As she stroked herself under the slip of lace, he kept his eyes on her back, now reddening in desire. Her breath accelerated, and she leaned more forward on one arm. When her head fell back, her long hair nearly touched the crack of her ass.

“Stop.” He grew heartened at her growing confidence but he wasn’t ready for her to come.

Air sputtered between her lips.

“Turn around,” he said. “Give me your fingers.”

She withdrew her hand from her panties and turned to face him. Jackson lifted her fingers to his lips. He fought the urge to suckle the wetness from her fingers, settling for flicking his tongue across one tip. She gasped on contact, and her eyes glazed. He expected no more back talk from Dana—only the reality her desire was winning, which meant he was winning.

He grabbed her waist and placed her back on to the conference table. Then he picked up one of her feet and placed it on his cock, now rock hard and uncaring about her marital status.

“You’re having quite the effect on me.” His brain would win this battle, of course. He’d settle for a cold shower later.  “Lean back,” he said.

After she lowered herself on to the table, he leaned over her. His crotch connected with hers. Her glorious hair spread in all directions around her head, forming a chestnut halo. He leaned down, pressing his hands on either side of her shoulders, keeping himself from leaning too much on her body. He’d make no more contact – a contract he had with himself about who he’d get intimate with and who he would not. Unhappy or not, Dana was married and off limits.

“Put your finger inside yourself.”

He didn’t need to see that she’d complied. He could feel her fingers move. She gasped and arched her back.

“Jackson, please.”

“Keep going,”

“I’m not sure I can.” Her eyes had moistened.

He cracked her hard on the side of her ass. A choked cry released from her throat, and her fingers quickened. Ah.

“That’s not the only place he puts his hands, is it?”

“No.” A tear slipped down her cheek to disappear into her hair.

“Where?”

She drew her free hand to the base of her throat, unable to say the words.

Jackson placed his hand on hers. “Do you trust me?”

She nodded.

He nearly encircled her entire neck with his large hand. She released a long breath, her face relaxing. He tightened his grip around her throat. “Now, Dana. Make yourself come.”

A long cry emitted from her throat as she released. Her mouth opened into an oval, her neck arching into his hand. He knew after tonight, he wouldn’t ever see her as beautiful as she was in that moment again.

Her body lay limp on the glass tabletop as he released his grip around her throat. He pulled her up to sitting and ran his fingers through her hair for some minutes. When her breathing returned to normal, he sat her in his chair and retrieved her dress from across the room. She sat dazed.

“Dana?”

“I’m fine.”

“Don’t get embarrassed now.”

“I-I’m not. I’m just . . .” She looked down at her dress, scrunched in her lap. “I don’t want to put this on. Is that silly?”

“Not at all.”

He gave her a glass of water, and they both stared out at the skyline for an hour, unspeaking. When the traffic sounds outside died down to a low hum, she finally spoke. “Weren’t you supposed to beat me or something?”

He laughed. Wait, she’s serious. “No, Dana. I was not supposed to beat you. I was supposed to do what you needed.”

“And that was it?”

“You needed to be seen.”

“That’s not all. Thank you for being . . . affected.”

“A man would have to be dead to not be affected by you.” He turned to face her.

She returned his smile. “I’m not sure what to do next.”

“I do.” He took in a deep breath and pulled a card from his wallet. He handed it to her. “Call me when the ink’s dry on your divorce papers.”

She stared at the card for a long minute and then cocked her head at him.

“And think about what you want. No subtly, Dana. I want specifics.” He still wasn’t convinced Dana had a submissive bone in her body. But he’d help her discover her true proclivities—once divorced. He owed it to her. Her moment of giving herself to him was worth a thousand dates with bottles of Scotch.

She fingered the card. “You’re kind, Jackson Reese.”

“Shhh. Don’t tell anyone.” He winked at her. Jesus, he was flirting? No, he just wanted an unhappy woman to feel better about herself. He had little tolerance for men who mishandled women, and Senator Moore was clearly mishandling his wife if she was reduced to attempted seduction. But what did he know about their marriage? Nothing. And that’s the way he’d keep it.

She sighed. “You sure you couldn’t . . .” Her words stopped when he cupped her cheek.

“Yes, I’m sure. Call me when you’ve decided you are more important than your husband’s career.”

“I think I already have. Now that I have something to look forward to.” She blushed.

“No promises, Dana. And, be very, very sure before you act.” He dropped his hand and stared back at the same skyline. “But when you text me with an image of your signed divorce decree, I’ll answer it.”

~~~The End~~~

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Master Me … If You Dare (Untouchable Excerpt)

15 May

by Elizabeth SaFleur

Not all power in D.C. is wielded by politicians. Wealthy Washington, D.C. corporate attorney and seasoned Dominant, Carson Drake is the master of the romantic pre-emptive strike—until he runs into his PR consultant, London, in a BDSM club where she tests every assumption he’s ever had about love.

~~~Excerpt~~~

Every candle in Carson’s room was lit, over two dozen pillars similar to the ones he’d used in a demonstration he’d given at Club Accendos months ago. The young girls giggled and screamed as their partners dripped hot wax on their bellies and breasts. No one got burned or hurt. The sensation play simply brought out their innate melodrama. He’d been bored to tears. Right now nothing interested him more.

After laying London down on the table, he took a moment to admire the wisps of caramel and chocolate strands by her cheeks, her ponytail dripping over the edge of the table.

“Are you cold?” he asked.

“No.” She shifted and the plastic crinkled underneath the sheet. “I’m fine.”

Carson freed his belt from her waist. A loud clank when it hit the floor made her startle.

He picked up a bottle of oil and snapped open the top. After filling his palm with the lubricant, he spread it over London’s stomach. He moved to her breasts, kneading and then pinching her raspberry nipples. Her back arched into his hands, and her hands grew white from fisting the sheets by her side.

After attending to her arms and hands, he poured more oil over her pussy. He made sure every hair was coated in the emollient. He wasn’t in the business of giving bikini waxes. Soon her thighs, calves and feet wore an oily sheen illuminated by the candles. She glowed like a marble sculpture—if it wasn’t for her constant wiggling.

“Relax.” He massaged her feet, pulling on each toe and massaging her arch. Finally her hands unclenched their hold on the sheet and splayed open.

He tipped a few teaspoons of melted wax from one of the candles into his hand. “Tell me if this burns.” He spread the warmth over her greased belly.

She inhaled sharply and her hands darted up and then settled back down.

“London?”

“Not burning . . .” He could tell she squeezed her eyes tighter under the blindfold.

The wax grew tacky under his palm. More gasps came from her throat as he dribbled a large drop from the candle onto her arm. Her hands jumped from the sheet only to float back down.

“Shh, feel it.” He grasped her wrist and angled it away from her body. “Palms up. Don’t move.” He picked up two pillar candles, one in each hand. “No matter what, London.”

Carson tipped both candles over her wrist. Her fingers danced as the drippings made contact and she gasped. “Oh!” A wax line formed, the edges pooling on the sheet.

“You are being cuffed to the table with wax. If you break these restraints, I’ll find something stronger.”

She curled her fingers as if she tested the bond.

“Confirm.”

“I-I won’t break them.”

He streamed more wax until she wore a thin manacle on her wrist. The bond barely covered her skin. If she was the submissive he believed, she’d feel it like an iron chain.

“You’re mine tonight,” he said.

She sent her other arm out, away from her body as if ready for the same treatment. Her acceptance of his handling made his groin tighten in anticipation.

He secured the other wrist with a waxy shackle. But her legs would require more than candle drippings. In addition to the soy candles, he’d warmed his largest block of paraffin in a crock pot. If his mother knew what he did with her Christmas gift, she’d lose her final hope of him ever being domesticated.

He dipped a ladle into the wax bath and continued until her ankles wore similar restraints to her wrists. Now cuffed by wax chains, spread wide, he stepped back to admire London’s captivity. A small smile played on her lips, finally relaxed. Finally giving into the inevitable.

Carson picked up a small paintbrush and dipped it into the pot. He painted a thin layer of wax over one nipple. She arched and sighed under the sensation. He then took one of the larger candles, and holding it high, let a long stream flow over her breast. She cried out and flinched. One hand broke through its cuff.

Her forehead furrowed. “I-I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting it.”

“Of course not.” He chuckled. “That’s the point.”

She returned his laughter, but quickly swallowed it back. “Carson? I won’t do it again.”

He touched her arm. “Of course you won’t.”

After he secured her wrist with more wax, her fingers quivered. Tension in her belly returned, perhaps fighting to lift herself toward him? Her pussy glistened, and not from oil, but from growing arousal. London enjoyed being handled, he thought. He mentally added the sentiment to London’s List.

She balled her fists. The thin shackles didn’t crack. He spilled more melted candle onto her waiting body. A seal formed over her breast from drizzling wax, spiral-fashion.

“This is the only white you should wear.”

He turned to the paraffin wax bath and scooped out a full dipper of the mix. With one long stream, he drew small circles around her other breast. A coiled cap formed over her flesh. She squirmed under the liquid heat, soft moans escaping her lips. More candle drippings formed waxy rivers and tributaries over her belly and her hips. Her skin reddened around the waxy parts from the stimulation and heat.

He traded candles. He’d empty one of its liquid while allowing the others to burn down more, creating their own small pools of melted warmth. Large sections cooled to semi-hardness. Unable to stay motionless any longer, her back arched with each new stream that met her skin. Wax separated and cracked, except for the thin shackles securing her wrists. She balled her fists, as if willing them to stay intact.

By the time he’d moved to her legs, she took in big gulps of air. A light sheen had formed over her upper lip and forehead. He ran one long line of warm melted candlewax down one thigh to her knee.

When he crossed her low belly with a large spill of wax, she squealed. Her hands threatened to dart upward. Her manacles barely held. But she stopped herself from completely freeing her wrists and ankles.

His belly clenched. London, the woman who fought his every move in meetings, argued every word from his mouth, now fought to honor his control. The shields London had erected to deny her desires had begun to fall away.

Now we begin.

~~~~~

AMAZON   AUDIBLE   B&N   Apple   Kobo

 

Sexy Sunday Snippet: Spanking the Senator by Elizabeth SaFleur

11 Feb

Think Femme Domme might not be your thing? Elizabeth SaFleur promises her alpha male submissives who meet the female Dominants of their dreams are no pushovers. That’s what makes it so much fun, right?

 

About the book:

“No one is regular when it comes to sex.” ~Candor Moore

Secret Service Agent Candor Moore puts her life at risk every day to protect the men and women this country elects to high office. She expects no thanks, would prefer to remain invisible. So when she saves the life of Senator Thomas Kincaid she doesn’t know how to handle his sudden romantic interest in her. Love is messy. Love is unpredictable. Love cannot be controlled. But sex where she can exercise her full Femme Domme nature? Oh, yes.

 

Thomas can’t stop thinking about the beautiful guardian angel who put her body between him and a bullet—the first woman to spark his interest since his wife died. Candor proves to be a hard sell when he asks her out, and even harder to pin down around commitment. Thomas had never considered himself a sexually submissive man, but for his Mistress Angel’s love, he’ll go all in—which proves to be the key to earning her heart.

~~~~~

“Thomas.” Candor tapped her fingernails against her glass and scrutinized the man who sat before her full of hope, good looking, and, quite frankly, ignorant as to what he was getting himself into with her. Why did she find his innocence attractive? Perhaps she had delayed too long in immersing him in her brand of relationship, or non-relationship.

“Yes?” he asked.

“You like the idea of me dominating you.”

He nearly spat out his wine. She handed him his napkin.

“Would you like to find out how much?” she asked.

“Will you come to Montana?” He coughed a little into his napkin.

Negotiator, indeed.

She rested her bare foot on his. He didn’t pull it back as he had at the restaurant.

“I will do more with you. Tonight,” she declared. Oh, that look on his face was priceless.

“Are you getting hard for me, Thomas?” she asked.

His neck flushed but his eyes stayed trained on hers. “Yes.”

She pushed out her chair and held out her hand. “Come with me.” The time for talk and teasing was over.

He looked up at her as if to ask, already? Yes, already, she thought.

She wasn’t going to go away with a man who didn’t understand she had one kind of relationship on her mind, and her preferences would never change. She’d tried a few vanilla dates here and there, even dated a man for six months whose idea of deviant sex was doing it upright in the shower. She’d been bored witless. Thomas, however, fascinated her.

Thomas pushed back his chair and rose. “Can I bring my wine?” He threw her a smile, trying to lighten the mood, which was not his job. She wouldn’t allow him to direct the atmosphere.

As they took the steps, her mind cleared of the day’s events. She tuned into Thomas. She noted his breathing, the way he clutched his wine glass, how his eyes stayed trained forward.

“Don’t be nervous,” she said as soon as they reached the top of the stairs. “You can always say no.”

“Not likely,” he said under his breath.

She turned for his bedroom where she’d napped in a very comfortable king-sized bed draped in soft green, white, and taupe bedding. The tall bedposts begged to be put to good use, and despite being surrounded with classic cherry furniture with brass handles, the room had potential for what she planned. When she woke earlier, she was sure she’d been transported to Colonial Williamsburg. Time to add her flavor to the décor.

He set his wine down on his nightstand. “Candor, it’s been a while.”

“I understand.”

“It’s just if this is an audition . . .”

She smiled, but he looked grim. “No, Thomas.” She ran her palms down both his arms and captured his hands. “Remember, I won’t harm you,” she promised. “If you’d rather—”

“No,” he said quickly. “I want to.”

“Then take off your shirt. From there, I’ll direct your access to my body.”

His eyes darkened with lust. “Access,” he said.

“Yes, consider it like giving you permission.”

He swallowed so hard she saw his Adam’s apple move up and down. If this didn’t work, then there was no reason to torture each other with a trip across the country.

“You game?” she asked.

He nodded. “I’m game.” The words came out in a hoarse whisper, but his fingers moved to his buttons.

She stepped backward to give him room. Plus, she wanted to watch the reveal of his naked body. It wasn’t just men who got off on visual delights. Two buttons undone, and she could tell this man had hidden treasures.

His fingers stilled, and she glanced up at his face.

“Why, Thomas Kincaid, are you shy?”

“No. I just like taking my time.”

“As do I.”

“And I like watching you watch me. It’s like nothing bad can happen when you’re in the room.” The man smirked. “The first time I saw you, I thought a guardian angel stood over me. Silly, huh?”

“Not at all. Consider me your Mistress Angel.” She liked that—the sound of the name and its meaning. She would never let anyone hurt this man. She recognized a feeling of protectiveness toward Thomas, something she hadn’t felt in a while, certainly not about someone she wasn’t paid to protect. Other than Franco, of course.

More buttons released the constriction of fabric across his chest. He unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt, shrugged out of the garment, and hung it over a chair back. His hands grabbed his under shirt and pulled it off over his head—a manly move she’d always adored—to reveal a delightful dusting of hair across his muscled chest, hair that was also peppered with gray and made him look even more masculine. This man pushed more than paper all day.

“Then I noticed your hair,” he said.

She walked to him and put a fingertip over his lips. Politicians made talking an art form, and silence would be one of his greatest challenges. Perhaps she’d gag him later—see if he could take not speaking.

She pushed him so the back of his knees hit the bed and he tumbled backward. He caught himself with his hands but didn’t try to get back up. His chest lay bared with his abs starkly delineated in muscle and a V of hair that trailed beneath his belt buckle.

She ran a fingertip over his stomach ridges. “You’ve been quite physical in your life.”

“Hay bales. Lifted thousands of them in my lifetime. No one who owns a horse ranch gets away without doing work.”

“Okay, then. I’m considering going to Montana with you.”

“Considering—”

His words choked in his throat as soon as she reached his belt buckle.

After ridding him of his belt and dumping it unceremoniously on the floor, she cupped his trapped erection.

“Yes,” she said. “I like to consider all my options.”

After unbuttoning his trousers, she freed a cock she knew would be as magnificent as the man who leaned back on his elbows receiving her handling. She’d felt him before but now was treated to the full visual.

“They do grow you country boys big, don’t they?” she said, marveling at the flesh in her hands.

“Now you’re just flattering me.” His eyes held an astounding confidence. Clearly, her dominance fueled his courage—something she’d rarely seen in a man but which was oh-so-welcomed.

She let go of him and stood upright. Taking three steps back, she slowly lowered herself into a corner wingback chair.

“Thomas, take off the rest of your clothes. Show me what else you’ve got.”

He smiled and rolled his eyes, but God love the man, he rose and did what she asked. The loss of his shirt, trousers, socks and then those tight black briefs confirmed all the high hopes she had for this man.

Some men were just proportioned correctly with well-developed legs, torso, and arms as if they were designed to go with one another. Someone high above definitely designed Thomas Kincaid well—very well. He should have an ego the size of Montana. Instead, he stood before her, nude and comfortable, as if masculinity was in his genes, a man who had embraced the physicality of life from an early age.

Now she’d see how much he got off on being truly, thoroughly dominated.

BUY LINKS for Spanking the Senator

Amazon US    Amazon UK    Amazon CA    Amazon AU      Barnes & Noble     Kobo

 

~~~~~

Elizabeth SaFleur writes contemporary romance that dares to “go there.” Expect alpha males (and females), seductive encounters, and love. Learn more about her steamy and sexy stories by following her on Amazon and Bookbub.

 

Justice Wears A Stiletto

24 Jan

COVER REVEAL!

“No one is regular when it comes to sex.”  ~Candor Moore

Secret Service Agent Candor Moore puts her life at risk every day to protect the men and women this country elects to high office. She expects no thanks, would prefer to remain invisible. So when she saves the life of Senator Thomas Kincaid she doesn’t know how to handle his sudden romantic interest in her. Love is messy. Love is unpredictable. Love cannot be controlled. But sex where she can exercise her full Femme Domme nature? Oh, yes.

Thomas can’t stop thinking about the beautiful guardian angel who put her body between him and a bullet—the first woman to spark his interest since his wife died. Candor proves to be a hard sell when he asks her out, and even harder to pin down around commitment. Thomas had never considered himself a sexually submissive man, but for his Mistress Angel’s love, he’ll go all in—which proves to be the key to earning her heart.

 BUY LINKS for Spanking the Senator

Amazon US   Amazon UK   Amazon CA   Amazon AU   Barnes & Noble  Kobo

About the Justice Series

Washington, D.C. is full of powerful women. Meet the three most formidable. In Elizabeth SaFleur’s Justice series, meet three D.C.-based Femme Dommes—Stella, Candor and Julianna—and the submissive men who get what they need: discipline, love and a larger purpose.

About the Justice Series
About the White House Gets A Spanking, book #1
About Spanking the Senator, book #2

~~~~~

Elizabeth SaFleur writes contemporary romance that dares to “go there.” Expect alpha males (and females), seductive encounters, and love. Learn more about her steamy and sexy stories by following her on Amazon and Bookbub.

Strong And Sexy Week Starts At The White House

10 Sep

It’s Strong and Sexy Week at LadySmut where we’re celebrating all things hot and fierce — from Femme Dommes to alpha males. from what makes us feel virile and courageous to what does not. To start, here’s a free excerpt from Elizabeth SaFleur‘s latest, The White House Gets A Spanking where a Femme Domme finds herself in the most famous house in the world and, perhaps, discovers the alpha submissive male she’s dreamed of for six, long years.

EXCERPT

~~~~~

“Tell me Samson—I should call you that?” Stella placed her hand over his fingers that he drummed  on his leg.

“You can call me anything you want.”

“Samson then. What are you looking for?”

He blinked up at her. “Dominance.” He phrased it like a question as if she was either an idiot to ask such a thing or he wasn’t sure what that meant. She chose the latter.

“And what does this dominance look like? When you are in complete surrender in your mind, the thoughts you have late at night when you’re alone in bed playing with yourself . . .” she stilled his fingers once more. “Yes, Samson, when you are touching yourself, what is she doing?”

She didn’t need to ask him if he’d thought of her as he jacked off. She knew he did. He wouldn’t have come looking for her otherwise. And, his little gifts throughout the week were finally the right messages she’d sought.

“I haven’t. Touched myself.”

She cocked her head. “You’re telling the truth?”

“I always tell the truth.” His gaze shot to her.

“You forget I’ve been to your briefings.”

“I have never lied to the press.”

“Oh, the Assistant Press Secretary is ill? Or in bed with a certain someone?”

His nostrils flared. “Okay, I touched myself. But I didn’t—”

“You didn’t relieve yourself? Why not? Did Hannah forbid it until she got back?” If she had, that would have been another useful bit of information his former Domme should have shared.

His expression sank a little. “No, she didn’t forbid it.”

“But you wished to prove something to her anyway.”

“No.” He lifted his gaze to her, his eyes beseeching yet clear. “To you.”

Mixed emotion cascaded down her spine: pride, bewilderment, happiness and a little distrust. He still could be playing her. So many did in this town. But Hannah wouldn’t be with a player, despite the fact his job was in the biggest playpen. And, he had shown candor tonight. She’d give him the benefit of the doubt, but she wanted to know more.

“Why?”

He blinked. “You’re different.”

“How?”

He tossed her a small smile. “I didn’t take you for someone who required flattery.”

“Don’t you dare.” She smiled back at him. “Tell me what you’re looking for. Details, Samson.”

His head swiveled immediately upon her words to see who might be around. Three men were walking by them. He angled himself so he leaned into her more.

“You’re among friends, Samson.”

“I want someone to belong to.”

Now they were getting somewhere.

“Belong,” she repeated, not because she didn’t understand, but because she did. The transience of their worlds—media, politics, Washington itself—wasn’t for someone who required constant reassurance. Comfort wasn’t on the menu. But if one’s nature was in direct contrast with who one had to be on the outside, well, having a place to be yourself could be very comforting indeed. Who didn’t long to be themselves, devoid of pretense, pseudonyms, false identities and the niceties everyone must adopt in D.C.?

“What do you want?” he asked.

“I’ll tell you. But, first, tell me more about this belonging.”

His eyes didn’t get that dreamy cast like so many other submissives when they paint their ideal fairytale. His eyes grew fierce.

“You would tell me what to do, of course. We are equals but you understand my need to serve you. You’d love . . . having me. It would be a shared experience.”

His unwavering clarity made her sit back against the couch cushions.

“I know watching is not the same as doing,” he said. “But what I’ve seen, well, I can tell the difference between people who are playing and people who are together and playing.”

The man used words for a living, so she shouldn’t be so surprised at his articulation. But the fact he expressed himself exactly as she would have? His answer rendered her nearly speechless.

It didn’t matter if Hannah had told her to watch over him. She wouldn’t turn her back on this man for anything. He wasn’t just rare. He was perhaps once in a lifetime.

“Is that what you want, to be part of a 24/7 couple?” she asked.

“Eventually. But first I have to know what it’s like. To be sure.”

“That’s wise. There is a vast difference between the fantasy and the reality of what we do.”

“I learned that quickly.” His eyes lit up. “It was better.”

Controlling the squirm that rose inside her, she leveled her voice. She was investigating, not seducing. “So you’re hungry for more?”

He nodded and clenched and unclenched his fists. He had something inside seeking release. She took his hand and he seemed to relax.

“You enjoy being handled.” The words just tumbled from her lips.

“Very much so.”

Every fiber of her being wanted to handle him. Her mind spun with all the possibilities about the apparatus she could connect him to while strapping open his ass cheeks and plugging him, playing with his cock, and making those delectable lips do all kinds of things to her. . . . She told her imagination to take five. There was more investigation to do. Her lady parts complained bitterly.

Stella took a long breath and squared her shoulders toward him. “I wish to see you again. Do you wish to see me again?”

“Yes, but . . .” He leaned forward. “. . . we’re here now.”

She smiled. She could so easily tell him to drop to his knees, crawl with her as she scoped out a quiet corner for them, test him out a little. Perhaps a short spanking scene or binding him with his own clothes and asking him to service her.

She loved to delay sating a man’s lust until he couldn’t take it anymore, and then let him unleash on her, give her pleasure while taking his own. She once thought she’d found such a man. But, no, her last submissive lover had to end things because his wife had found out—a spouse tucked away in Northern Virginia that she didn’t know he had. This time she would be wiser.

“Tonight, we just talk,” she said.

“Hannah has already told me it’s fine, but if you wish to speak to her—” He stopped abruptly likely due to her face coloring. He’d spoken to Hannah, and Hannah hadn’t bothered to call her back? Then again, Samson was under her charge at least some of the time. She would feel obligated to return his call.

“I’m glad she called you.” Sort of. “And, you asked her about me?” She parted her legs a bit more and let one thigh rest against his. Man, he had muscles.

“I said that we saw each other at work, and you were generous in offering to accompany me here.”

Generous? Hardly. Want for the man would make fulfilling Hannah’s request the easiest thing she’d done in years.

She stood and held out her hand. “Let’s take a little walk.”

~~~~~

Pre-Order The White House Gets a Spanking at the discount — $0.99. Releases September 15.

Blurb: Stella Martin, reporter, single, Femme Domme meets the submissive of her dreams in Laird Harkness. Only problem, he’s the assignment she loathes to take. As the White House Communications Director, Laird’s secret desires could end his career. Stella calms his fears, as she sates his craving to submit, serve and belong to someone, but the balance of work and play is a hard line to walk.

Enter Elizabeth’s Rafflecopter giveaway in honor of this new release.

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Elizabeth SaFleur is an award-winning author of contemporary erotic romance. Many of her books were inspired from her thirty years as a PR practitioner in and around Washington, DC — where she learned not all power in D.C. is wielded by politicians. She writes, tweets and posts under a pseudonym since her business clients might be (WOULD be) shocked at her new career choice. When not writing, she’s dancing or drinking good wine. Life’s too short for bad wine. And, if her house were to catch fire, she’d grab 3 things: her furry baby, a Westie; her laptop; and her Sally Rand, 5-feet wide, ostrich feather burlesque fans — in that order. (Words of wisdom she shares with everyone: it’s never too late to learn to dance with fans and boas.)

The White House Gets A Spanking

1 Sep

There’s someone new in the White House.
And, brace yourself. It’s a woman.

 The last place Washington D.C. investigative journalist Stella Martin wanted to cover was the White House. But when a friend’s request to watch over her latest submissive plaything when she’s out of town turns out to be the White House Communications Director, Stella’s unwelcomed and unbearable assignment becomes quite interesting.

Laird Harkness hadn’t expected his perfect Domme would show up in his office—the most famous house in the world and a place where his secret desires could end his career. Stella calms his fears, but can she sate his craving to submit, serve and belong to someone?

 Releases September 15

 Want just want ONE email when the book goes live?
>>>FOLLOW Elizabeth on BookBub here.
>>>FOLLOW Elizabeth on Amazon here.

 PRE-ORDER The White House Gets a Spanking.

 

About the Justice Series, a Femme Domme series: 

Washington, D.C. is full of powerful women. In this series, each book will introduce one of three D.C.-based Femme Dommes—Stella, Candor and Julianna—and the submissive men who get what they need: discipline, love and a larger purpose. The White House Gets a Spanking is book #1.

ENTER Elizabeth’s Rafflecopter giveaway in honor of this new release here:

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 ~~~~~

Elizabeth SaFleur is an award-winning author of contemporary erotic romance. Many of her books were inspired from her thirty years as a PR practitioner in and around Washington, DC — where she learned not all power in D.C. is wielded by politicians. She writes, tweets and posts under a pseudonym since her business clients might be (WOULD be) shocked at her new career choice. When not writing, she’s dancing or drinking good wine. Life’s too short for bad wine. And, if her house were to catch fire, she’d grab 3 things: her furry baby, a Westie; her laptop; and her Sally Rand, 5-feet wide, ostrich feather burlesque fans — in that order. (Words of wisdom she shares with everyone: it’s never too late to learn to dance with fans and boas.)

How to have a kinky date night inspired by On Fire

19 Jul

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

It’s On Fire week here at Lady Smut, so I wanted to talk about what you can learn about having a kinky or otherwise naughty date night from the characters in the book.

While I never intend my erotic fiction anthologies to be in any way how to books and they’ll never be marketed as nonfiction, nonetheless, I believe that those who want to gain inspiration for their own bedroom sexytime fun can do so. You don’t have to follow the action of a fictional story to the letter, but rather you can use it to spark your imagination and perhaps a discussion.
As I recently wrote about for Brides, erotica can improve your relationship, whether you’re reading it together as a couple, or if each partner is reading it separately, then joining forces to dish on their favorite parts. beI keep that in mind while editing, and make sure to include scenarios that, for the most part, could plausibly happen, while leaving room for sexual fantasy and creative flourishes.
So what can you learn about having a sexy and kinky date night from my latest release, On Fire: Erotic Romance Stories? A few of the authors provide some very arousing clues. One is just how much fun adding sex toys into your love life can be. As wonderful as they are for solo pleasure, they aren’t just for masturbation. A rabbit vibrator brings some major heat in “The Sweetest Thing” by Giselle Renarde.
 
One of my favorite stories in the book is the BDSM tale “Behind the Blindfold” by Rebecca Croteau (come back Sunday for an excerpt), not only because it’s deliciously kinky, but also because the dominant/submissive relationship is ritualized and relished. The couple have a play room in their home, where the narrator goes and kneels. For them, it’s silk cords and a blindfold that signal the tone their evening will take. It’s not that these kinky sex toys are taking the place of their human connection, but rather that they’re amplifying them. They are both signals and tools that help each person get into the right headspace.
In the story “My Wife, My Sub, My Love” by Victoria Blisse, told from the point of view of the narrator, a dominant male, about his wife, referenced in the title, they enjoy some very risqué outdoor sex. Theirs isn’t the ultra planned ritual of “Behind the Blindfold,” and one thing I appreciated about it is that it shows that couples can negotiate between family time and sexy time as needed. During a walk in a public garden, they steal away to enjoy some furtive oral sex. He’s made her skip wearing underwear, and she’s obeying his commands, even though she’s nervous about possibly being found out.
“As soon as we entered the clearing I pushed her down over that trunk. She had looked wonderful suspended over the rough wood, her hands in the soil, her ass in the air. The old trunk was so wide her toes didn’t touch the ground. I pulled up her dress and exposed her ass. WheN I finished spanking her, her buttocks were reddened damask; she looked like the perfect rose, like she’d grown there.”
While a fictional tale can’t give you precise tips on how to get away with public sex, this one does show how a couple engages in oral sex and erotic spanking surreptitiously.
If you read On Fire, I hope you’ll come away utterly entertained and perhaps even inspired! Follow Lady Smut, and stay tuned for much more during On Fire week.

Rachel Kramer Bussel (rachelkramerbussel.com) has edited over 60 anthologies, including Best Women’s Erotica of the Year, Volume 1 and 2, Come Again: Sex Toy Erotica, Begging for It, Fast Girls, The Big Book of Orgasms and more. She writes widely about sex, dating, books and pop culture and teaches erotica writing classes around the country and online. Follow her @raquelita on Twitter and find out more about her classes and consulting at eroticawriting101.com.

Welcome to On Fire Week at Lady Smut!

17 Jul

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

Welcome to On Fire week, where we’re celebrating the release of my new Cleis Press anthology On Fire: Erotic Romance Stories, which comes out as an ebook tomorrow, and a print book on August 8th. And stay tuned for the audiobook, which will be narrated by the fabulous author and podcaster Rose Caraway.

I’ll be sharing more later in the week, including a very sexy excerpt from the book, but I wanted to give you a little glimpse into this sexy book, which features couples having all sorts of erotic adventures, from exploring a stocking fetish to planning an orgy to diving into cherished BDSM rituals.

This is the official blurb:

In On Fire, today’s top erotic authors take us inside the passions of couples who go above and beyond in pursuit of sexual and romantic satisfaction, from kink to fantasies to outrageous, stimulating adventures. You’ll treasure the stocking fetish in “Sensitive to the Touch” and travel to “A Place as Beautiful as This.” You’ll go “Beyond the Blindfold,” find out what lurks in the “Art of Darkness,” delight in discovering “The Sweetest Thing,” and observe a feisty femdom couple in “Dreams Made Flesh.” These steamy stories by Kristina Wright, Delilah Devlin, Giselle Renarde, Kay Jaybee, Victoria Blisse, Jade A. Waters and others are perfect bedtime reads for your lover or for your own pleasure.

Here’s my introduction to the book, and keep reading Lady Smut all week for all our fiery posts!

Introduction: Fired Up

What does it mean to be On Fire? The characters in these stories know! It means to burn with need for your partner, to be willing to do anything for them, to take risks because you know they’ll be there to catch you. In this collection of erotic romance stories, you’ll read about all kinds of ways that desire plays out between couples. They know each other inside and out, know what makes the other tick, and use that to their advantage. When the narrator of Jacqueline Applebee’s “Approaching Hardcore” reveals, “I’m a filthy girl. My husband, Dan, always says so,” we know that we’re in for a treat as we find out just how filthy she can be.

Yet these stories are both tender and dirty, sometimes within the span of the same page. That is the beauty of these erotic storytellers—they don’t skimp on love or lust, instead entwining them in tales that will make your pulse pound, your heart race and your breath sigh. Some of these are about new lovers, like the one who helps Deb get over her ex in “Just Knowing.” Some are about long-term relationships where a new revelation leads to the type of intimacy neither partner had imagined, such as in “Every Second of It,” by Lynn Townsend, in which she writes, “Twenty-three years of marriage, and if he knew that she masturbated, he had never mentioned it. Until now. ”On the opposite end of the spectrum are couples who know each other so well, they know exactly how a command like “No underwear” will go over when given from a Dom to his submissive in “My Wife, My Sub, My Love,” by Victoria Blisse.

The couples here also learn how to understand and embrace each other over time, using the power of love and trust to further their sexual and emotional closeness, as is the case in the fun “Sensitive to the Touch,” by Donna George Storey, about a stocking fetish fulfilled. These are transformative, powerful moments that I hope will move you as much as they did me.

Sometimes the most wondrous thing is for lovers to watch their partners with someone else, with their full approval and consent—the couple made all the stronger for their extracurricular passions. This is the case in the paranormal “Masquerade,” by Angela R. Sargenti, and with the swingers in my own “The Dance.”

However these couplings happen, whatever fire warms them from the inside out, transferring from one person to another, all of these tales are ones that are daring, taking risks of the body and soul, in order to reach a new height of pleasure.

Rachel Kramer Bussel

Atlantic City, New Jersey

Intrigued? You can buy On Fire for Kindle, Nook, Google Play, iBooks or Kobo.

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Rachel Kramer Bussel (rachelkramerbussel.com) has edited over 60 anthologies, including Best Women’s Erotica of the Year, Volume 1 and 2, Come Again: Sex Toy Erotica, Begging for It, Fast Girls, The Big Book of Orgasms and more. She writes widely about sex, dating, books and pop culture and teaches erotica writing classes around the country and online. Follow her @raquelita on Twitter and find out more about her classes and consulting at eroticawriting101.com. You can follow Rachel on BookBub to get notified about new releases and ebook sales.

Sexy Sunday Snippet: Now or Never by Isabelle Drake

2 Jul

Today’s Sexy Sunday Snippet is just what you need on this 4th of July weekend–hot and carefree. Now or Never is the first in the Invitations series by Isabelle Drake and published by Totally Bound. You can get your copy now for Kindle, Nook, iBooks and Kobo.

About the book:

Dressed as a sex slave and hiding behind a mask, Emily arrives at a costume party ready to make a former co-worker pay for not noticing her lush curves.

Emily grabs the opportunity to make a former co-worker she fantasised about before leaving for the US Peace Corps pay for not noticing her lush curves. Her goal—blow his mind with her sex slave seduction and leave him aching for more.

Wearing a borrowed costume and mask, Daniel accepts the offer of a woman eager to show him what she can do with the sheer scarves she’s untying from her waist. His goal—make sure the woman undressing for him knows how incredible she is and understands that he isn’t a one-night-only kind of man.

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Excerpt from Now or Never, Invitations 1:

Everything had changed, especially Emily’s plan—seduce him, get him hot and bothered, hungry for more, then leave him hanging.

He stood before her, waiting for her to make the next move, a quiet passion brewing behind his mask. His energy was intense, hungry but welcoming.

He was even more mesmerising than she’d imagined.

No wonder he was able to get any girl he wanted.

But that was the point. She didn’t want to be just any girl.

Yet maybe there was a side to him that she’d known existed, one that he didn’t let show?

He leant down to place a light kiss on her neck, then whispered in her ear, “If you were the Master, what would you want first? What can I do to please you?”

She glanced down at the glimmer of colour coming from her jacket on the ground. “You—you want to please me?”

“Of course. A sexy thing like you”—a sensual smile slanted across his mouth—“if I can make you feel good, then I must be something special.”

Emily shifted, watching his response carefully as she asked, “I get it. You just want to make yourself look good.”

He shot a glance towards Gino’s. “I don’t think anyone is watching us.” Returning his attention to her, he leant closer to ask, “You going to kiss and tell?”

“No.” Her gaze skimmed across his tempting lips, and the heat in her pussy flashed. “Of course not.”

“Then”—he reached out and ran his fingertips across the underside of her left breast, causing her nipple to tighten obediently—“it’ll just be between you and me. As soon as I get you in bed and you tell me where to start, that is.”

“So…you really want me to tell you what I want?”

“Yes, please.” He reached down and ran his hand across the bulge in his satin trousers. “And hurry up about it before I change my mind and push you against a tree.”

“Against a tree?” Emily grinned at the taunting challenge in his voice. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

He picked up her jacket, handed it to her, then guided her back, farther into the dense cluster of limbs. “You aren’t worried about getting scratched by the bark?”

“I’m a tough girl,” she replied, stopping short and lifting her chin. “I can take whatever you dish out.”

“Is that right?” he asked, bending down to run his lips across the rounded bottoms of her breasts, causing the stiff edge of his mask to graze against her nipples. She panted and he pushed her against a wide trunk, then added, “You can take anything?”

“That’s right.” Waves of desire had made her wet and swollen with a need that couldn’t wait.

Now or never.

Emily untied the sash at her waist, letting the thin layers of silk flutter to the ground and expose her bare skin. “Get down on your knees and I’ll prove it.”

“You’re a naughty girl, not wearing panties.”

The tender teasing of his voice was low and husky, sending pulses of heated pleasure across her nerve endings. Her heart thumped and her chest tightened. Somehow she found her voice. “On your knees.”

The night air breezed across her bare thighs and curled between her legs, making her shiver with frenzied need. His attentive gaze fell to the shadowed juncture of her thighs but he stalled, so she set her hands on his shoulders and pressed until his knees hit the ground.

“Wait. Put your hands above your head,” he said, scooting closer to her bare legs. “I want to imagine you like that later, when I remember how sweet your pussy tasted.”

When she stayed put, he leaned in to place a neat row of kisses across her right thigh, then looked up. “Do it.”

Even through mask, she felt the strength of his stare, commanding her. Slowly, she lifted her left arm, stretching it above her head as she reached for his strong shoulder with her right.

“No. Both of them.”

She pulled her right arm away from his shoulder, lifting it slowly, feeling more and more vulnerable. She arched her back and flattened her palms across the rough bark. Once her arms were settled, he stood to take hold of her breasts.

“I won’t forget these either.” He licked each nipple, leaving them wet and sensitive to the autumn breeze. Then lowering, he took her hips and pushed her back, spreading her legs wider. Finally, he placed her firmly on the trunk. “That’s right, like that. With your pussy right here, hot and wet and waiting for me.”

He put his mouth on her leg, picking up the row of kisses where he’d left off. A shudder started up Emily’s back but stopped midway, her body refusing to release the expectant tension stiffening her muscles and stealing the air from her lungs.

When his mouth finally touched her pussy, he parted her folds with his tongue and stroked the slick heat inside.

Her legs vibrated with the effort of holding her up and she clawed at the bark, grasping for some firm piece to help hold her upright.

He cupped her ass cheek, his grip firm enough to hold her steady while his mouth remained soft and teasing as he licked her inner folds. The light caress of his tongue was too gentle, she needed more and he knew it. Each time she pushed forward, he moved away, turning his attention to her thighs or stomach.

The fifth time he pulled back, he tipped his head up and whispered, “Tell me what you want, harem girl.” He reached up and slid his thumb between the folds, just barely touching her clit.

Emily sucked in air.

“Say it and I’ll do it.”

About the Invitations series:

In Washington, D.C. USA, a city of glittering lights and all-night parties filled with beautiful socialites and powerful politicians, women can to go after what—and who—they want.

Waiting for invitations can get in the way, but smart, savvy women create their own opportunities for hot times and hook-ups.

Sometimes a woman who breaks the rules to go after what she wants can get in over her head, but if she’s with the right man, the more rules broken, the better it gets.

Now or Never by Isabelle Drake is only .99 at Totally Bound. You can also get your copy for Kindle, Nook, iBooks and Kobo.

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