She swore her daughter would have a good life – #Thriller #Giveaway

Blurb

She survived the night. The truth didn't.

Nicole gets the call at 4 a.m. Her daughter Lacey was found in the woods beside her friend's dead husband. He was stabbed forty-four times. Lacey is barely alive. Covered in his blood. And completely mute.

She hasn't said a word since. Not to the police. Not to her husband. Not even to Nicole.

Nicole had Lacey at seventeen and swore her daughter would have a good life. Now Lacey is sitting in a cell, and Nicole's three grandchildren are left behind with a father who is losing it.

But Nicole knows her daughter. She isn't a cold-blooded murderer. Guilt didn't silence her. Fear did. Whatever happened in those woods scared Lacey more than prison.

So Nicole starts digging. But some secrets don't save people. They destroy them.

Excerpt

I strode past carts and nurses, straight down the hall, and yanked open the door to room 12.

But I wasn't ready for what was waiting inside. My body jerked back as my hand shot up to my neck. "Dear God."

Lacey sat upright on the bed, wearing a hospital gown. A doctor stood over her, shining a light into her eyes. Two nurses flanked him.

I almost didn't recognize her.

Her hair was soaked in dried blood. Matted. Tangled with dirt and leaves. Thick blood streaks ran down her neck and across her temple like Viking war paint. Her face and arms looked like someone had tried to wipe her clean with a wet napkin and given up halfway. Just smears of pink and red everywhere.

The bandage on her forehead was already smudged with red too.

Her eyes met mine. Brown, blank, dull. Nothing behind them.

"Sweetheart!" My voice fell apart. Tears burst out of me as I crossed the room in two desperate strides and grabbed her. Held her. Pressed her to my chest so tight nothing could tear her away again.

Not even the nurse who latched onto my arm.

"Ma'am, you can't be in here right now." Her voice was sharp and demanding.

I didn't move.

The other nurse came at me from the side. Hands on my other arm.

"You need to wait outside," she said, yanking at me.

"Get off me," I growled.

About the Author

S.T. Ashman is an American-German author who calls the beautiful U.S. sea coast home. A graduate of the University of Pennsylvania, she spent years working as a psychotherapist in the criminal justice system. The work gave her a rare window into the human mind, both the beautiful and the deeply shadowed. It's no wonder readers often say her characters feel real enough to step off the page.

When she's not crafting her next twisty tale, you'll find her chasing after her kids, nose-deep in a book, or curled up late at night with a horror movie and a husband who always falls asleep on the couch before the scary parts.

Social Links

https://www.tiktok.com/@ashmanbooks

https://www.instagram.com/booksbyashman/

https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100094353614873

www.ashmanbooks.com

Link to ARC on Netgalley: https://www.netgalley.com/catalog/book/830451

S.T. Ashman will be awarding a $20 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner.

Hurts So Good - #BDSM #EroticRomance #PainPleasure

Much of my erotic fiction includes aspects of dominance and submission -- partly because that's what pushes my personal buttons. One of the most perplexing aspects of BDSM, for people without real world experience, is the question of how pain could be arousing. In a consensual BDSM scenario, both the dom and the sub supposedly enjoy what's going on. But how could activities that hurt be enjoyable?

The answer to this question is multi-faceted. At the biological level, there is significant evidence that sexual arousal changes pain thresholds and pain perception, although the mechanisms underlying these changes are not completely understood. Both hormones (epinephrine and norepinephrine) and endogenous opiates ("endorphins") are believed to play a role. Thus, experienced dominants will often "warm up" a submissive, starting with less extreme pain and mixing it with sexual stimulation, before moving to more painful activities. To put it succinctly, when you're horny, things don't hurt as much!

Meanwhile, there are many psychological factors that motivate a submissive to accept or even desire pain administered by the dominant. One aspect involves conditioning. When painful and pleasurable stimuli are experienced together, the sub "learns" to associate pain with pleasure. For example, the bottom may be penetrated with a vibrator (normally an arousing activity) while being whipped. Eventually whipping alone may evoke a sexual response.

The submissive also derives emotional satisfaction from the notion that the master is getting off, even though the dominant's pleasure may require the sub to endure significant pain. Every relationship is different, but this aspect of submission -- devotion to the dom and dedication to pleasing him -- was one of the most potent aspects of my own BDSM experience.

Still, the cut of a cane, the sting of a crop or the burn of melting wax don't stop being painful, no matter how much you love your master. I remember introspecting once, in a scene that involved rubber bands and a wooden ruler, thinking "What am I doing? Am I crazy? That hurts like hell!" Yet I didn't tell my master to stop. I didn't want him to stop - far from it. The pain somehow just pushed me higher - I wanted more intensity, not less.

I started out trying to explain the appeal of pain in a D/s context, but I find that at its heart, it truly is a mystery. Maybe it's just something you have to experience. Or perhaps you can understand, a bit, if you can identify strongly enough with a fictional heroine. Here's a snippet from my story The Understudy, available both as a single title and as part of my boxed set Whips & Kisses. (The latter is free on Kindle Unlimited.)

 

“You’re late.” He didn’t rise to greet me.

“I’m sorry, sir…I fell asleep.” Desperation clutched at my throat at the notion that I had displeased him.

“Excuses will not help you escape punishment.”

“Punishment?” A thrill rippled through me, of fear or desire, possibly both.

“Come here, Sarah.” He patted his lap. “I hadn’t planned on spanking you so soon, but you give me no choice, do you? I need to teach you. If you are going to be mine, you must obey me completely—or face the consequences.”

“Um—yes, sir,” I mumbled as I stretched myself across his body.

I couldn’t believe that I was doing this, willingly it seemed. Gripping the chair arm, I leant my cheek against the upholstery. He was so much bigger than I was. My chest, belly and thighs rested on his lap. My lower legs hung awkwardly on the other side, toes just touching the floor.

His flesh was warm under his slacks. I could feel the muscles shift as he adjusted my position. His scent tickled my nostrils, summer sweat and expensive cologne intermingled. I could smell my pussy, too, ripe and salty, announcing my brazen arousal. He flipped my skirt up over my back, exposing my panty-less bottom.

“I do like your attempts to follow my instructions,” he commented, his voice softer and more intimate.

He brushed his hand across my bare butt. Every contact between his skin and mine struck sparks.

“You’ll learn better how to please me over time.” He dipped a sudden finger into my sopping cleft, gathering my juices, and chuckled. “You’re remarkably wet, Sarah. You want this, don’t you? You want to feel the sting of my palm on your ass.”

I thought I’d die of shame. I burrowed into the cushions, hoping the question was rhetorical.

He dabbled his fingers in my cunt, making me squirm. “Well? Answer me!” He pinched my butt hard.

“Ow! Um—I can’t…”

His gentle fingers stroked my hair, working out the tangles. “Tell me, little one,” he practically whispered. “Don’t be afraid. You can tell me the truth. Do you want me to spank you?”

That hint of tenderness broke me. “Yes,” I moaned, as he plunged deeper into my pussy. “Yes, please…”

“Good girl.”

Without warning, he withdrew his fingers from my sex. I didn’t have time to cry out at the loss of contact.

I heard the smack an instant before I felt the sting of his palm meeting my ass.

“Ow!”

He slapped me again, on the other cheek. The site of the first blow pulsed as the sharp pain morphed into something quite different. Tendrils of sensation blossomed, travelled, twined their way around my clit. His hand landed again, near the first spot, amplifying both the pain and the pleasure.

“Ouch! Ow! Oh—ow!”

He spanked me harder and faster. Each slap hurt more than the one before. Each brought the seething cauldron in my pussy closer to a boil.

“Ah! Ow! Ow, ow...argh!” My bottom was on fire. I jerked each time his hand connected.

He paused. “Should I stop?” The mocking knowledge in his voice made my face burn as hot as my bum.

“Um—no—well, it’s up to you, sir.”

“I suggest that you not cry out so loudly, then. The walls in these old buildings tend to be thin. Maybe I should gag you. Would you like that?”

I had a terrifying vision of my mouth stuffed with one of his monogrammed handkerchiefs, unable to cry, scarcely able to breathe. My pussy clenched and flooded at the image. I shook my head, stripped of every remaining shred of pride.

Fortunately my gesture was enough to satisfy him. He resumed his assault on my ravaged buttocks, each smack more vicious than the one before. I writhed in his lap, my mouth pressed against the cushions to muffle my yells, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes. I raised myself on tiptoe, trying to escape his inescapable blows. I couldn’t help myself. He forced me back down without breaking his rhythm.

It seemed to go on and on. After a while, I found myself floating in a throbbing crimson haze. The bite of his blows seemed far away. My cunt felt heavy, swollen, ready to burst, but there was no urgency. I was willing to lie there forever and be punished, for as long as he thought necessary.

 

Very peculiar indeed. But don't knock it until you've tried it.

It couldn’t hurt to try... #RomCom #AsianHeroine #MFRWHooks

In the U.S., May is Asian-American and Pacific Islander Month. I do have several books featuring heroines of Asian descent, although if you want to be picky, none of them is American.

I’m not going to split hairs... Here’s a bit from my short (18K words) romantic comedy Her Secret Ingredient that explores the heroine’s Chinese roots.

You’ll find all the buy links at https://www.lisabetsarai.com/hersecretingredientbook.html

Blurb

Stir in a pinch to stir up his passion.

When the Tastes of France food channel offers Mei Lee “Emily” Wong a series of guest spots, she jumps at the opportunity to take her culinary career to a whole new level. Ultimately, she wants a show of her own, but first she has to prove herself to Michelin-starred network founder and effective dictator, Etienne Duvalier. A legend in the world of classic French cuisine as well as a domineering perfectionist, Etienne is skeptical about the culinary abilities of a woman from Hong Kong. To make things more difficult, the master chef is also so gorgeous that Emily can’t help being attracted to him.

Emily tries to solve both problems by spiking her luscious profiteroles with an ancient Oriental aphrodisiac. Unfortunately, Harry Sanborne, the low-key, bespectacled producer for Emily’s show, samples the delicacies she intends for Etienne’s consumption. His powerful reaction to her secret ingredient comes as a pleasant surprise to them both. Harry turns out to be far more impressive in bed than on the set. However, he can’t do nearly as much to advance her ambitions as Etienne. Emily tries once more to tempt the exacting Monsieur Duvalier with her special cooking as well as her feminine charms. The outrageous results threaten to end her TV career forever—until Harry steps in to save her reputation and claim her heart.

The Hook

Unlike my delighted parents, Grandma had been full of dire warnings when she had learned I’d been offered the gig at TOF. “Barbarians!” she’d muttered as she’d helped me pack. “Those American men think every Chinese girl is a delicate flower to pick when blooming, then toss in the garbage when she wilts.”

“I’m thirty, Gran. And don’t forget I lived on my own in Paris for four years. I can take care of myself.”

“Thirty, yes, not fresh produce anymore. Why don’t you forget about this TV show? Marry someone like Hsi Chang Hu? His mother tells me he’s still interested in you, and his property company is making a fortune.”

I’d gently rejected my old classmate’s urgent proposal years ago, before enrolling at Cordon Bleu. “I’ve got to take advantage of this opportunity. Something this good might never come again.”

“And what about grandchildren for me?”

“There’s time, Gran. Please don’t worry. I just haven’t found the right guy yet.”

An image of Etienne Duvalier had flashed through my mind, that clip where he swept off his chef’s hat with such aplomb and favored his audience with a smile warm enough to melt butter. What would Gran think about a Frenchman as a son-in-law? Etienne had starred in enough of my fantasies at that point that I could feel myself dampen at the mere notion of his sharing my bed.

“Well, just in case you meet someone you like there in Gold Mountain—take this.” She’d handed me a glass vial of brown powder that looked like dust someone had collected off a neglected windowsill. “Dōng chóng xià căo. Winter worm, summer grass.”

“Huh?” I unscrewed the cap and sniffed the bottle’s dubious-looking contents. No scent at all. I tapped a bit into my palm. The fine-grained particles coated my skin, reminding me of the residue from butterfly wings.

“Caterpillar fungus. An ancient remedy. Increases energy and stimulates powerful desire, especially in men.”

“An aphrodisiac?” I shook my head. “Thanks, but I don’t need that kind of help.” If—when—I encountered the man I wanted as my partner, I wasn’t about to resort to artificial means to attract him.

She’d refused to take the vial back. “Keep it. You might change your mind.”

Wise woman. How did she know these things? Back in my hotel room, I rummaged through my toiletries kit, looking for the vial I’d thrown in at the last minute.

I needed to get Etienne on my side. I wanted to make him desire me the same way I lusted after him. Gran’s gift just might be the means to both ends. A single arrow to bring down two geese, as she’d say.

But was it safe? And would it be effective? A quarter of an hour on the Internet convinced me that there were indeed some scientific studies supporting my grandmother’s claims, and few if any negative indications.

It couldn’t hurt to try.

 

Be sure to visit the other authors participating in today’s Book Hooks hop!

The Chicken Wire Theory of Reality - #Metaphysics #Memory

Image by Leo from Pixabay

When I was in graduate school, I would often get involved long conversations about the philosophy of life and the nature of reality. Those discussions, often facilitated by marijuana, had an intoxicating joy about them. They were almost as good as sex. After a joint or two, we saw everything clearly. We understood, and could articulate, how the universe worked. Even if we had conflicting theories, the verbal and conceptual explorations were their own reward, the mental gymnastics intrinsically satisfying. It didn’t matter much that all that clarity vanished the next day, to be replaced by a fuzzy conviction that we really had made some progress in unraveling the eternal mysteries.

There’s a theory I came up with during one of these talk-fests, though, that has stuck with me. The basic idea was that there were actually many parallel universes, joined by choice points, which I visualized as the shared vertices in the hexagons that make up chicken wire. (In case you grew up in a totally urban environment and have no idea what I’m talking about, here’s an image of chicken wire.)

As we navigate through our individual lives (so the theory went), we traverse the strands and periodically come to the vertices where we have to make some decision. Depending on our choice, we may find ourselves in a different universe.

Of course the image above is just two dimensional. Imagine this sort of mesh extruding out from and disappearing backward into the page. That would be three dimensional. It seemed obvious to my friends and me that the structure of the cosmos had to have many more dimensions, which meant many more possible paths through space and time. The repeating cyclic structure of the paths, however, meant that you might later shunt yourself back into a universe where you’d been before.

When I look back at my (fairly long) life, I can identify critical decisions that sent me on paths I never expected to travel. Some of these involved relationships. What if I’d married the romantic, melancholic poet with whom I was so desperately in love? I remember one ecstatic night when I was sure that was my future. He eventually became a lawyer and had four children – not a future I can readily imagine now.

What if I’d stayed with my Master, the man who initiated me into dominance and submission? Lisabet Sarai the writer, borne of erotic fantasies fueled by our few short years together and our long years apart, probably would not exist.

If I’d chosen someone other than my peripatetic current partner (improbably still married to me after more than forty years), it’s perhaps less likely I’d now be living as an expatriate in Asia.

On the other hand, I had a fierce desire to see the world from my earliest years, reading stories about ancient Egypt and feudal Japan, the jazz age in New York and the Gold Rush in California. Maybe I’d have ended up experiencing all the fascinating places and cultures I’ve been privileged to visit even if I’d settled on an entirely different companion. And given the fact that I spontaneously started writing poems and short stories when I was in third grade, it might have been inevitable that I’d become an author.

That’s the thing about the chicken wire theory. There can be themes, cycles, regions of meaning that you revisit again and again, regardless of your decisions. As I look back on my seven-plus decades of life, I increasingly see order and consistency in events that seemed random at the time. Perhaps this reflects the influence of earlier choices on later happenings, but it might just as well indicate some higher level patterns in the structure of time.

That notion is somewhat comforting since it suggests that no one choice is critically important. Even if you find yourself taking a bleak detour for a while, you have a reasonable chance of making it back to the central artery of your life. That realization makes me smile.

And no, at the moment I am not stoned.

The Accidental Alpha – #EroticRomance #99cents

Image generated by Gemini AI

When I began writing Raw Silk, I’d read quite a bit of erotica, but I had no experience with the rules and traditions of the romance genre. I’d never read a Harlequin. My notion of romance was Wuthering Heights or Romeo and Juliet, stories of thwarted passion that definitely violate the romance requirement for a happy ending.

Nevertheless, I naively incorporated a variety of plot and character elements common to the genre. Most notably, the “hero” Gregory Marshall turns out to be the classic alpha male.

He looks like an alpha: tall, lean and muscular, with strong features and piercing blue eyes. He typically dresses all in black and wears a silver earring. He moves like an alpha, graceful and sinuous as a wild cat when he stalks into a room or swings a flogger. His voice is melodious, compelling, persuasive. He even has a dramatic tattoo.

Beyond his physical attributes, though, he has a typically alpha personality. It’s not just that he’s a dominant with many years experience, accustomed to wielding power and compelling obedience. We discover over the course of the novel that his authoritative persona hides insecurities and doubts. Due to traumatic events in his personal history, he does not trust love (like many alphas). He’s eager to initiate Kate into dominance and submission, but wary of his deeper feelings for her. He can be gruff, even cruel, as he wrestles with his inner demons.

Given that I was unaware of these tropes, why did I incorporate them into the character? I honestly don’t know. It may be that I am susceptible myself to the emotional forces that make alpha males attractive to other readers. Certainly I found Gregory as challenging and exciting as Kate does.

On the other hand, the other “heros” in the book are far from the alpha stereotype. Anand Rajchitraprasong, the lascivious Thai nobleman, is slender and slightly androgynous. He’s also polite, solicitous of Kate’s welfare (as well as her pleasure), yielding and appealingly gentle. Meanwhile, David Berman, Kate’s American boyfriend, epitomizes the beta males I prefer in my own life: honest, intelligent, tolerant and feminist.

I love both of them as much as I adore Gregory.

I’ve concluded after twenty-five years that I accidentally tapped into a societal stereotype in creating Gregory. Ultimately, one cannot analyze the creative process. Our imaginations conjure the images that move us; we cooperate by bringing them to life in our stories.

Review Quotes

“Raw Silk has all the excitement and energy of a first novel, but the author's technique is already highly evolved—with exquisite descriptions, intriguing characters and expert plot weaving. Passion and a sense of wild sensual abandon seem to drip off every page, when Kate travels to Thailand and embarks on a wild journey of sexual self discovery” ~ Loren West, Amazon review (Five Stars)

“This is by far one of the best erotic novels that I have read and it fully deserves every one of the five ribbons I am giving it! But it does make me wonder what the characters could do with them.” ~ Maree Schuler, Romance Junkies (Five Ribbons).

“[Kate’s] character grows and she comes to realize her inner needs along with her deep sexual desires. Lisabet Sarai has a flair for sexy, sensuous romance with an edgy feel. I cannot wait to read more by this talented author.” ~ Dawnie, Fallen Angels Reviews (Five Angels).

“The Bangkok setting is fascinating and adds to the overall feeling of opulent sensuality. Lisabet Sarai deftly shows the country without ever letting the descriptions take over the story. Good BDSM novels are voyages of self-discovery, and Raw Silk is a journey you’ll enjoy taking.” ~ Kathleen Bradean, Erotica Revealed

“...this is one SIZZLING read (the ending was incredible) and should not be put on the back burner of your ‘to read list.” ~ Alyssa, Amazon review (Five stars)

Only 24 hours left to get your copy of Raw Silk for just 99 cents!

Buy Links

Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/Raw-Silk-Lisabet-Sarai-ebook/dp/B0DF6Q2S2B

Amazon CA:

https://www.amazon.ca/Raw-Silk-Lisabet-Sarai-ebook/dp/B0DF6Q2S2B

Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Raw-Silk-Lisabet-Sarai-ebook/dp/B0DF6Q2S2B

Kinky Literature: https://www.kinkyliterature.com/book/1666-raw-silk-a-sensual-journey/

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1611408

Paperback (Amazon): https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DKJ2PW92

Add on Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/218068923-raw-silk

Add on Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/books/raw-silk-by-lisabet-sarai-2024-09-01

 

Equal measures of excitement and dread – #EroticRomance #99cents #MFRWHooks

Raw Silk is still on sale this week, so I thought I’d share another excerpt from my debut erotic romance. This bit is the first meeting between my heroine Kate O’Neill and the dominant hero, Gregory Marshall. I definitely wouldn’t call this a “meet-cute”. Kate concludes, quite accurately, that Marshall is an arrogant bastard. Still, that’s not enough to curb her interest.

You can grab this this 90K word novel for only 99 cents at your favorite bookstore. Sale ends on the 9^th of May, so don’t delay!

Blurb

“You were born to this. You may not understand, yet. You may not believe. But I will teach you.”

When software engineer Kate O’Neill leaves her lover David to take a job in Thailand, she embarks on a sensual journey that will change her forever.

In the glittering City of Angels, Kate becomes sexually involved with two very different men—a handsome and debauched member of the Thai aristocracy, and the charismatic, dominant proprietor of a sex bar. With Anand Rajchitraprasong, she discovers her own almost unlimited capacity for erotic pleasure. Meanwhile, Gregory Marshall shows her what she has hidden from herself: a deep desire to submit, to surrender herself body and soul to someone with the power and compassion to master her.

The Hook

[Note: this novel is set in the year 2000 in Bangkok, Thailand]

She was so intent on her tasks that she did not hear Malawee approach. She started at the Thai woman’s respectful voice.

“Miss Katherine, Mr. Edward asked me to see if you were available. He’s meeting with a client and would like you to join him.”

“Of course,” said Kate, stifling a surge of frustration. She turned on her screensaver, and followed Malawee to the conference room.

She knocked then opened the door. Harrison sat at the far end of the polished table, a look of annoyance on his face. Sitting beside him was a man of unusual appearance—disquieting, she thought, then questioned the source of her reaction.

The man was European or American. He dressed casually, entirely in black—black shirt with an open collar and tight black jeans. He had long, straight hair, also black, pulled back in a ponytail with an ornate silver barrette. Kate thought she saw a flash of silver at his throat. His long fingers, clasped before him on the table, were similarly adorned with silver rings.

Strong planes shaped his tanned face—broad forehead, high cheekbones, resolute chin. His mouth, at the moment, framed a smile, but Kate thought that she caught a twist of irony in his expression.

As she entered, he turned his attention to her and she saw his eyes—a shocking, unexpected blue under heavy black brows. Intense, piercing, and completely without restraint, any sense of politeness or etiquette. He continued to hold her gaze for an awkward moment. Then Edward broke in, clearing his throat.

“Ah, Katherine. Thank you for taking the time to join us. We need your technical expertise.”

“Of course,” she said softly, seating herself several chairs away from the man in black. She was aware that he was still staring at her, and still smiling.

“Katherine, this is Gregory Marshall, one of our clients.” The man in black rose and bowed, a polite gesture, yet somehow unconvincing. Kate saw that he was very tall, well over six feet. “Mr. Marshall, Katherine O’Neill, our new director of software development.”

“My pleasure,” said the man, perfectly civilly. So why did she feel he was mocking her?

“Mr. Marshall is the proprietor of one of the foremost establishments in Patpong.”

“The red-light district?” she blurted out then nearly bit her tongue in embarrassment.

“The entertainment district,” countered the man in black smoothly. “The Grotto is just a go-go bar, offering the same types of entertainment available in many places in the city. However, I am trying to make it more distinctive, more creative, more—interesting. That’s where DigiThai comes in.”

“Yes,” her boss cut in, trying to recapture the conversational initiative. “Six months ago we designed and installed a custom multimedia system for Mr. Marshall’s bar, The Grotto. Video-walls and cameras, a simulated aquarium with computer-graphic inhabitants, acoustically-driven digital kaleidoscopes—very elaborate.”

“And very successful,” said Gregory Marshall, with a broad smile that bared his straight, white teeth. “I’m very pleased with your work. It’s just that now I want to go further.”

“Mr. Marshall has some novel ideas, but, as I have been telling him, they are barely feasible, technically. And certainly not for the price that we have been discussing.”

Always attracted by a technical challenge, Kate found herself interested. “What do you have in mind, Mr. Marshall?” she asked, in her most professional tone of voice.

“Well, now…” The man’s voice was melodious, controlled, expressive. The voice of an actor. He riveted her with his gaze again. She stared back at him, proudly, rebelliously, not willing to be cowed. Eventually, he continued his speech, without looking away from her.

“Three-dimensional imagery is what I am looking for. Something like the holograms one sees in science fiction movies. My girls are already fantastic, but I’d like to project more fantastic images still, images from people’s dreams and nightmares. They should be mysterious, evocative, erotic and disturbing. Furthermore, I would like to somehow link these images to the music, so that my customers will see reflections or echoes of the emotions aroused by the beat and the melody.”

Kate was silent for a moment. As she gathered her thoughts, Gregory Marshall watched her attentively. Finally, she spoke, choosing her words carefully.

“Three-dimensional imagery on a two-dimensional screen has now become inexpensive and commonplace. Projected 3-D, though, still requires costly hardware, and custom software— the sort of thing available only to Disney or Spielberg.”

She paused and took a deep breath before continuing. “I do have some familiarity with this area, though. I did some related research when I was in grad school—”

“Would you be willing to work on this for me?” interrupted Marshall, clearly excited. “I believe that I can make you understand exactly what I want.” He paused dramatically. “What do you say, Kate?”

Part of her bristled at the liberties he took, using her name so familiarly on such short acquaintance. Part of her warmed in response to that very familiarity, the tone of persuasive intimacy.

Beyond those reactions, she had to admit she was eager for the opportunity to pursue her ideas on the problem. She’d had to put her 3-D project aside after defending her thesis. Employers in the U.S. were seeking more practical innovations.

As for the chance to work for Gregory Marshall—well, that notion filled her with equal measures of excitement and dread. He was an arrogant bastard, that much was clear. The way he looked at her—without a shred of respect, as though she was some sort of peon, his to command! Yet at the same time, that challenging gaze made her pulse race. 

 

 

Buy Links

Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/Raw-Silk-Lisabet-Sarai-ebook/dp/B0DF6Q2S2B

Amazon CA:

https://www.amazon.ca/Raw-Silk-Lisabet-Sarai-ebook/dp/B0DF6Q2S2B

Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Raw-Silk-Lisabet-Sarai-ebook/dp/B0DF6Q2S2B

Kinky Literature: https://www.kinkyliterature.com/book/1666-raw-silk-a-sensual-journey/

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1611408

Paperback (Amazon): https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DKJ2PW92

Add on Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/218068923-raw-silk

Add on Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/books/raw-silk-by-lisabet-sarai-2024-09-01

Be sure to visit the other authors participating in today’s Book Hooks hop!