The essence of romance? — #Femdom #Dominance #Submission #NewRelease

By Lawrence Westerman (Guest Blogger)

My new short story collection, Anything For Mistress, explores a subject near and dear to my heart—female domination, or femdom, for short. Femdom first captured my imagination early in life and it has been an enduring theme throughout.

Being a sub is a very mental thing. In many ways, it’s based on fantasy. In some ways, it’s a state of mind, a role you slip in and out of. In other ways, it’s part of the bedrock that makes up your personality. It’s poorly understood, partly because it’s so taboo. Because we live in a patriarchal, male dominated society, weakness in a man is frowned upon. But subs aren’t weak. That’s a misconception. Being a good submissive requires strength, devotion and dedication. If one is fortunate enough to serve at all, that is. For many, femdom will forever remain a fantasy.

For me, femdom is the essence of romance. I’ve explored the subject exhaustively in this collection, looking at it from every angle I could think of. In doing so, I had fun combining different literary genres, including elements of horror, fantasy and science fiction. Although the stories in this collection are fiction, I tried to share simple truths and personal revelations about femdom and BDSM wherever possible and whenever they seemed to fit. Submission engages all aspects of my being: physical, psychological, emotional and spiritual. I try to get in touch with those parts of myself when I write femdom erotica. These stories were written between 2018 and 2025. I hope they do the magic of femdom justice. Thanks for taking this journey with me. I hope you enjoy the ride.

Blurb

Would you do anything for Mistress?

Thirteen smoldering Stories of FEMALE DOMINATION! Devoted subs undergo strict discipline and exquisite humiliation at the hands of stern, beautiful dommes.

Do you have secret submissive longings? Step into another world where every dark desire is permitted and every forbidden fantasy is explored.

If you’ve ever dreamed or fantasized about serving at the feet of a dominant woman, you owe yourself a copy of this seriously kinky collection

Excerpt/Snippet

Mistress holds my soul in the palm of her hand. Increasingly, I feel like this is no longer role play we’re doing. With each passing day, I become more deeply and profoundly her slave. This is the place that has beckoned to me all my life — a distant shore I only ever dreamed existed. And yet here I am. There are no limits anymore. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for my Goddess. I am hers absolutely and completely for as long as I still draw breath.

About the Author

As a lifelong devotee of femdom, I relish putting my fantasies and experiences into words. I grew up on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, inspired by all the cultural, artistic, and intellectual riches New York City had to offer. My journey as an author of femdom erotica began with a blog,“Her Majesty's Plaything," that was transformed into a story and appeared in, Under Her Thumb: Erotic Stories of Female Domination, edited by D.L. King. A follow up story: “Dreams Made Flesh,” appeared in, On Fire: Erotic Romance Stories, edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel. Having been bitten by the writer’s bug, I went on to write Hubby Improvement Plan, Femdom Fortune Teller and The Bootboy Chronicles, all of which are available on Amazon. I’m excited to announce the release of my latest book, Anything For Mistress: A Femdom Anthology, on Valentine's Day 2025! Many thanks for reading!

No stranger to battle – #BlackHistoryMonth #Ghetto #MFRWHooks

For my last February post, I’ve got a bit from a much darker story than my usual. I wrote Divided We Fall immediately after the 2016 US presidential election. It was my vision of a world in which hate has been deliberately cultivated, in order to divide us and make us weak.

The story includes language that some people might find offensive, including racial slurs. That’s what hate is all about, after all – using every tool, including language, to dehumanize the other.

If you’d like a copy, just leave me a comment telling me so. Although it’s a harsh tale, it does include some light, and some romance.

Blurb

Linh’s three year old brother has wandered out of Viet Village into Niggertown. Despite the danger, she has no choice but to go looking for him in hostile territory. She manages to convince the rifle-toting guard at the entrance to the black ghetto to help her search, using a mixture of bribery and bravado. As they comb the desolate streets of Niggertown, seeking any trace of Duy, Linh discovers that the barrio’s inhabitants aren’t necessarily the violent, drug-addled brutes she’s been taught to hate, and by the time Linh and Steel have rescued the injured toddler and spent a long night hiding in a derelict building, she has come to understand who are their real enemies.

The Hook

There are no walls. Just IEDs, trip-wire bombs and snipers. We’ve learned a few things from the jihadis.

The Santa Anas whip at the white rag attached to my broom handle as I cross Vermont. No-man’s land. Black hair tangles in my eyes, obscuring my vision. I should chop it all off, maybe even shave my head. That would be safer. Would look scarier, too. Pathetic how vanity survives, even in the most desperate situations.

Afternoon shadows stripe the broken pavement. The only vehicles visible are burned-out skeletons, picked clean by scavengers from both barrios. I dart from one to the next, keeping a good distance away from the blackened hulks while still trying to use them for cover as I approach the Niggertown gate. Any one of them could be booby-trapped, though that would break the unwritten rules that have allowed us Viets to co-exist with the niggers. So far at least.

I don’t want to be here. I’ve got no confidence my truce flag will buy me any kind of safety. But what can I do? My little brother’s disappeared, last seen headed toward the black ghetto. We searched every corner of Viet Village. Unless he’s deliberately hiding―not likely given his age and his usual good behavior― he must have wandered outside the bounds.

The many kinds of harm he might meet scroll through my mind like credits for some old movie. I force myself to slow down as I approach the West Century intersection, the only un-mined street leading east into Niggertown. Gripping my flag in one hand, I raise the other high to show I’m unarmed. It’s true, aside from the switchblade hidden my boot. I don’t step out of the abandoned grocery my family calls home without that knife. When I sleep, it hangs from cord around my neck, nestled between my breasts. Older Brother calls me Blade-Heart. He thinks it’s a joke, but his nickname suits me. I might ask Uncle Pham to tattoo it on my bicep.

“Freeze, bitch.”

I’m expecting the challenge, but still, my stomach does a queasy flip. I remain motionless, as instructed, keeping both hands visible. A tall, lean figure steps out from behind some pollution-rusted shrubbery in front of a ruined apartment building. He carries his Kalashnikov like it’s another limb, one which he points directly at me. Funny how there’s never enough food, but no problem getting guns.

“What you doin’ here? This ain’t your territory. You get your gook ass back ‘cross the street before I kick it back!”

Though the guard talks tough, I can see he’s young, maybe younger than I am. He fixes me with a belligerent glare and brandishes his weapon like he’d just as soon shoot me as not, but there’s a softness to his mouth that lets me imagine him smiling. Using his left hand to draw an ugly blade from his belt, he strides in my direction.

He wears threadbare jeans and a faded camouflage shirt, open to the waist. The inky skin on his bare chest gleams with sweat, despite the brisk wind. The paler flesh of a scar slashes across his chest, just above his left nipple. That must have been a dire wound, close to fatal. He might be young, but he’s no stranger to battle. None of us is, these days.

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

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Everyone was supernatural in some way – #UrbanFantasy #Review #Giveaway @GameOverStation

Blurb

Adair Finch, the most powerful warlock in the world, is back in business!

But first he must complete his pact with a mischief spirit by finding her a human body. Seemingly no easy task, as the mischief spirit is beyond picky about her future body. But on his way to Oakland, Finch stumbles upon the dead body of a social media star—both a solution and a major problem.

Oakland is teeming with werewolves, full moon witches, vampires, and redwood elves, most of whom aren’t on good terms with Finch. Navigating the supernatural world to gather clues about the murder is hard enough, but now Finch must also dodge old enemies and rivals. And to make matters worse, the murderer just might be trailing Finch, now that he’s found the body.

Good thing Finch has a pact with Chronos. With time on his side, perhaps he can do the impossible…

Continue this urban fantasy series in the second book of the Chronos Chronicles!

Excerpt

The luxury nightclub was stunningly beautiful. The chandeliers wept crystals, lush black rugs were made of some of the softest material Finch had ever stepped on, and the gentle golden lighting gave everything an expensive feel. Soft jazz music played from speakers in the ceiling, rounding out the ambience.

It was a place so fancy, even the perfectly spherical ice cubes in everyone’s drinks had pedigrees.

The clientele was also in a league of its own. The moment Finch took in a deep breath, he knew everyone here was supernatural in some way. While some looked completely human, magic radiated from them like heat off a heat lamp.

Plus, there was a werewolf behind the bar.

Not like the bouncer outside, who had to remain in human form. No, this bartender was a full-blown anthropomorphic wolf. He stood on two legs, his black fur lustrous over a body made of pure muscle. He wore a suit tailored for his lycanthrope body, his little vest a shade of gray that complemented his ebony fur.

He even had a tail hole in his pants, so his large and bushy tail could wag around, unhindered.

And the bar had clearly been built to accommodate a beast nearly eight feet tall. It was larger, more spacious, and made of material that wouldn’t easily be scratched by the man’s claws.

His long muzzle and pointed ears really gave him the silhouette of a wolf, but his dark eyes were alight with human intelligence. And having dark eyes was a good thing—only werewolves with red eyes could spread the lycanthrope disease. If this wolf lost his temper and bit everyone here, there was no chance of a werewolf outbreak. Oakland had had too many of those already.

The wolf’s ears shifted in Finch’s direction as Finch walked over. The beast turned to greet him with a fang-filled smile.

“Good evening,” the werewolf said, his voice rich and confident. “You seem familiar, but I don’t think I’ve seen many warlocks in these parts. Take a seat. I’ll pour you something smooth.”

Review by Lisabet Sarai

Warlock and former private investigator Adair Finch claims to have retired. After failing to prevent the death of his brother Carter, all Adair wants is to be left alone, to wallow in guilt and misery.

The universe has other ideas. For one thing, Adair owes a debt to Kullthantarrick the Sneak, the mischief spirit who helped him bring down a corrupt police officer and a villainous band of witches in his last case. After centuries of loneliness, Kull wants to know what it feels like to be human and to fall in love. The warlock has promised to find her a human body to inhabit so she can fulfill this desire—even though this means she’ll lose her immortality. They discover the body of a murdered social media star, which Kull declares to be perfect. Adair won’t be satisfied, though, until he identifies and apprehends the killer.

Meanwhile, Adair’s demanding landlord insists that the PI determine whether his wife is involved in an adulterous affair. Then there’s Adair’s former colleague Enzo, a police officer who’s been turned into a werewolf and forced to leave his beloved family. Though the warlock is bitter and cynical, he has a soft heart. He can’t seem to resist the urge to help people, especially when he knows that his magical powers—the ability to rewind time and to unleash a lethal firestorm upon his enemies—give him a potent advantage in almost any situation.

Chronos Warlock was even more fun than the first book in Shami Stovall’s series, which I reviewed last year. This is largely due to the character of Kull. Taking over the gorgeous body and the glamorous life of super-influencer Fox-Pistol, she is hilarious in her quest to understand the essence of being human. Alternately bold, naïve, outrageous and vulnerable, she pretty much steals every scene. Adair serves as the straight man, trying to protect her while resisting her undeniable appeal.

Like the previous book, this one is set in Stockton and Oakland, California—hardly the most glamorous of locales, but a very creative choice. The two working-class cities are hotbeds of supernatural activity. Oakland teems with witches, warlocks, vampires, werewolves, demons, half-spirits and elves. The redwood elves turn out to be particularly nasty creatures, elegant, devious and ruthless. They’re among the foes Adair must outmaneuver in order to find Fox-Pistol’s killer, locate and save his landlord’s errant wife, heal the emotional wounds of his colleague Enzo, and generally set the world to rights.

As in the previous novel, Adair’s ability to reset time proves pivotal to the plot. After a while this device gets a bit monotonous, however. For instance, Adair replays a hand of poker in the elves’ lair dozens of times, until he knows every card that will be dealt. To be honest, I lost interest at this point, especially since the outcome was preordained. Fortunately, other aspects of the tale, including the complicated structure of magic in Ms. Stovall’s world, kept me reading.

Overall, Chronos Warlock is an enjoyable, lively and sometimes surprising continuation of the series. In the next book (which I assume will eventually be published, given the hints in this one), I’d like the author to lean a bit less heavily on the time-manipulation and explore other ways for Adair to save the day.

About the Author

Shami Stovall is a multi-award-winning author of fantasy and science fiction. Before that, she taught history and criminal law at the college level, and loved every second. When she’s not reading fascinating articles and books about ancient China or the Byzantine Empire, Stovall can be found playing way too many video games, especially RPGs and tactics simulators, or hugging John.

If you want to contact her, you can do so at the following locations:

Website: https://sastovallauthor.com/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/GameOverStation/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/SAStovall/

Email: s.adelle.s [at] gmail [dot] com

Shami Stovall will be awarding a $25 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner.

 

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Charity Sunday: For the joys we take for granted – #CureSMA #Research #CharitySunday

Welcome to this month’s Charity Sunday. As you probably know by now, I devote the last Sunday of each month to showcasing some worthy cause. Then I commit to making a donation to that cause for each comment I receive.

Today I’m highlighting a very personal charity, CureSMA. This organization is dedicated to supporting individuals and families affected by spinal muscular atrophy, a devastating hereditary disease that affects about one in 10,000 children in the U.S. Many children born with SMA will die within the first two years of their lives. If they survive, they may be profoundly disabled.

I have a nine-year old cousin who has SMA. When he was an infant, he was fortunate enough to participate in a trial for a new drug and to have survived much longer than many SMA sufferers. However, his life – and that of his parents – is very difficult. Many of the activities we take for granted, the joys of everyday life, are impossible for him.

Among other activities, CureSMA funds research into potential new therapies. Given modern advances in genetic modifications, I have some hope that Danny’s condition may be at least partially reversed in the future. But this will only happen if research into this relatively rare condition continues—research that is threatened by the current cost-cutting frenzy in Washington.

Anyway, this month I will donate two dollars to Cure SMA for each comment I receive on this post.

I don’t have any stories even remotely linked to this month’s cause. So I’ll just pick an excerpt from my first novel, Raw Silk. The expanded 25^th Anniversary Edition is now available in e-book and print.

Excerpt (Rated X)

“Time for the next scene.” Before she knew what was happening, he had swooped down and picked her up. Her shoes fell off with a clatter. Distracted by the formidable strength in his arms, the iron muscles rippling beneath his shirt, she hardly noticed.

He carried her over to the bed and laid her down on her back. “Lift your arms above your head,” he commanded. As she complied, her hand brushed against something dangling from the headboard. She turned to look at the braided ropes of purple silk fastened to the rattan spokes and suddenly understood why Gregory had disappeared when she first arrived. A few things to attend to, he’d said. So he had left her with his lady co-conspirator, trusting his comrade and the performance to inflame her senses and imagination, while he came and installed these bonds.

Gregory watched the comprehension dawning in her eyes. “Yes, Kate. I prepared these for you. Only for you.”

He leaned closer. “I want to tie you here, hand and foot, so that you will be more completely at my disposal. I believe that you want that, too. But you must tell me so. I will not do this without your permission.”

Kate was silent. She had never been so unsure in her life. Fear, suspicion, shame, and distrust warred with curiosity and desire. In his arms she had felt both sheltered and helpless, and she longed for those feelings again. Yet he was essentially a stranger, she reminded herself—a stranger with a shady profession and an unsavory reputation.

When she looked at him, though, she saw attentive concern in his eyes, belying the fierce reality of the cock which pulsed hugely from his fly. The sight of his manhood sent a delicious weakness through her limbs. I must be crazy, she thought, as she nodded her assent.

“Do it,” she murmured, and did not trust herself to say anymore.

With expert skill, he bound her wrists with the silken braids. “Silk is a marvelous substance,” he commented. “So soft, but incredibly strong. Like you, my little Kate. I know that you can endure much. Much more than you would believe.”

She shivered, wondering exactly what he meant. He was working on her ankles now, in a business-like fashion, leaving her knees bent and open so that her sex was spread wide. Every time he touched her, heat rippled through her to that burning center, still sensitive and hungry from her earlier ministrations. She squirmed a bit, pushing her pelvis toward him.

“Be still,” he said sharply. “Be patient. You must learn to wait.”

Finally, she was bound, restrained from all but the most subtle movements. She found she was panting. Gregory stood at the foot of the bed, admiring her, or his handiwork.

“Excellent. Just as I’d imagined.”

He began to remove his clothes. Her eyes followed his every gesture. When he dropped his shirt to the floor, Kate sucked in her breath. Marshall’s left arm, from shoulder to wrist, was elaborately and beautifully tattooed. A pattern of multicolored flames writhed over his flesh—scarlet, green and turquoise. A trick of the flashing neon, or perhaps simply the motion of his muscles, made the flames dance across his flesh as if they were consuming him. A similar flame flickered in his blue eyes as he pulled off his trousers.

He mounted the bed and straddled her with his thighs. His engorged cock hovered above her body. Despite her best intentions, she arched upward, drawn to his flesh like iron to a magnet. In response, he leaned over to pinch both her nipples, hard enough that she cried out.

“Still, I said! You are mine now, mine to do as I wish. I will fuck you, or not fuck you, as I please. But,” he added, smiling, “I do please.”

The bonds already held her wide open. Her sex was already drenched with arousal. Holding her pinned with those ice-blue eyes, he sank his penis into the heart of her, into depths she had not known existed.

Find the buy links at https://www.lisabetsarai.com/rawsilkbook.html

Don’t forget to leave a comment. Every one is a spark of hope for families dealing with SMA.

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A second chance at forever – #AustralianRomance #HorseBreeding #SecondChance

By Cynthia Terelst (Guest Blogger)

Some love stories never really end—no matter how broken they seem.

I’m thrilled to finally share Back in the Saddle, the first book in my brand-new Diamond Firetail Farm series! This is a story of love, loss, and second chances, set against the stunning backdrop of Australia’s thoroughbred breeding industry.

A Love That Refuses to Die

Every great love story deserves a second chance.

Ciaron and Taylor promised each other forever. They had a whirlwind romance, built a life together, and raised a family. But after twenty-two years, their marriage slowly unravelled.

He holds their family together. She fought for their farm. In the end, Ciaron walked away.

But their scheming children have other ideas —for them, divorce is not an option. Now Ciaron is back under the same roof, forced to live with the woman he never stopped loving.

Proximity won’t fix their broken marriage. But maybe, just maybe, love will.

Challenging Gender Norms – And Why It’s Been Polarising

One of the most controversial aspects of Back in the Saddle is its reversal of traditional gender roles in romance.

So often, we see the career-driven man and the nurturing woman—the husband who gets lost in work while the wife holds the family together. But in this story, I flipped the script.

Taylor is the one who becomes consumed by her work. She’s fiercely ambitious and deeply devoted to the family’s horse breeding farm. She assumes Ciaron will always be there, with her. But just because she worked to save the farm doesn’t mean she wasn’t a loving mother. She fought for their future in the only way she knew how—even if it cost her more than she realised.

Ciaron is the one who puts their family first. He took care of their children, their home, their life together as well as working alongside his wife—until one day, he realised he couldn’t keep holding it all together alone.

For some readers, this role reversal has been deeply refreshing—a much-needed representation of real-life dynamics that aren’t often explored in romance. Others have found it confronting, challenging their own biases about relationships and love.

But that’s what I love about storytelling—it sparks conversation.

• Who carries the emotional labour in marriage?
• Why is it expected that mothers shouldn’t lose their way in parenthood but males aren’t judged when they do?
• What happens when the roles in a relationship don’t fit society’s expectations?

This book asks those questions—and not everyone has the same answer.

What Readers Are Saying

“This one is a journey of sorts… lots of things like realizing what you have right in front of you, self-accountability, personal growth, boundary-setting, and so much more. Watching these leads figure it out and grow is truly a treat.”

“I'm so glad I got the opportunity to read Ciaron and Taylor's story. It was an emotional journey, that’s for sure—with some twists, a whirlwind of craziness, and never a dull moment! Once I started, I couldn’t stop. I ate it up from start to finish.”

“I learned so much as the reader while watching these leads learn things about life, love, and themselves.”

“This book was so sweet and heartwarming.”

This is a book for romance readers and horse lovers alike. Set on a horse stud in the Hunter Valley, Back in the Saddle offers an authentic look into the world of thoroughbred breeding, thanks to inspiration from my daughter, Cheneya, who worked as a horse midwife on one of Australia’s largest breeding farms. If you love heartfelt, emotionally charged romance with a touch of rural charm, this book is for you!

Ready to Fall in Love Again?

Back in the Saddle by Cynthia Terelst is available now! 🔥
Grab your copy today and visit Diamond Firetail Farm!

https://books2read.com/u/3yO2LJ

Blurb

I wanted love at first kiss to last a lifetime. It didn’t.

My wife and I separated after twenty-two years.

I’d moved from Ireland to Australia to be with Taylor, never doubting that we’d grow old together. Instead, we grew apart. Her focus was our horse breeding farm, mine was our family. In the end, the scarcity of water on our farm mirrored the devotion in our marriage. It had been a long drought.

Our scheming children have other ideas. They’ve invited my mother to come stay, knowing I haven’t told her about the split. It’s easier for us all if she doesn’t know. Now I’m living back in the family home, sleeping next to the woman I’ll never stop loving.

Proximity won’t fix our problems. Only we can do that. I don’t think she wants to…except the way she looks at me suggests otherwise. It sparks hope I lost long ago.

It’s time for us to fight for each other.

Farmers know all about risk, but putting my heart back on the line is terrifying. If I want forever, it’s a risk I’m going to have to take.

About the

Author

Cynthia Terelst is an Australian author based in regional Queensland, where the sun shines 283 days a year. She is a document controls manager by day and a writer by night. Her contemporary romance novels share a little bit of history, some Australian scenery and a whole lotta love. Cynthia does not shy away from difficult topics, as she feels they should not be ignored.

Terelst has published eight books in her Love Down Under Series and has added short stories to multiple anthologies. She refers to her writing style as heat with heart. Her stories will leave you feeling warm and hopeful.

Social Media Links

Website https://cynthiaterelst.com/

Newsletter https://www.subscribepage.com/p9p9y0

Facebook https://www.facebook.com/cynthiaterelstauthor/

Instagram https://www.instagram.com/cynthiaterelstauthor/

TikTok https://www.tiktok.com/@cynthiaterelst

BookBub https://www.bookbub.com/authors/cynthia-terelst

Amazon Author Page - https://www.amazon.com/Cynthia-Terelst/e/B07ZCTX8SB/

Goodreads - https://www.goodreads.com/cynthiaterelst

Blog http://cynthiaterelst.com/blog/

Twitter https://twitter.com/CynthiaTerelst

Linktree - https://linktr.ee/cynthiaterelst

Join us for Charity Saturday, 23 February 2025 #CharitySundaySignup #Altruism #Marketing

Spring is coming...

Since 2017, I’ve been devoting the last Sunday in each month to a post which features some worthy cause. Often, other bloggers join me in this effort, turning the event into a blog hop. This month’s Charity Sunday blog hop will take place this coming Sunday, the 23^rd of February.

Charity Sunday is a meme designed to give authors and bloggers a chance to give back to the world, as well as to attract new readers.

How does it work? Each participant selects a favorite charity. Before the date, you should prepare a blog post that: 1) talks about the charity and why you support it; 2) provides a link to the charity; 3) includes an excerpt from one of your books; 4) includes the code to show links to other participating blogs.

It’s fun if you can make the excerpt relate somehow to your chosen charity, but this isn’t required.

For every comment left on your post, you commit to giving some amount to the relevant charity. The specific charity and the amount to donate are up to you. You can set an upper limit to your donation if you want.

If you’d like to participate in the next Charity Sunday on February 23rd, sign up using the Linky List below. Please be sure that the link you enter will lead directly to your Charity Sunday post, not just to the home page of your blog.

Please download the new Charity Sunday banner for 2025!

https://www.lisabetsarai.com/2025CharitySundayBanner.jpg

For an example post, check out this link from my last Charity Sunday:

https://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com/2025/01/charity-sunday-holding-on-to-compassion.html

Header image by Ralph Häusler from Pixabay

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A familiar stranger – #ParanormalRomance #BlackHistoryMonth #MFRWHooks

Happy Wednesday! Today I’ve got another sneak peak at one of my Black characters, from my paranormal erotic romance Rough Weather.

Blurb

A fated encounter. A familiar stranger. A storm of passion. Can Ondine release her fear, surrender to Marut’s power, and claim her own?

Marine biologist Ondine Ambrose has always felt at home in the sea. Orphaned at birth and raised by her grandmother on the island of Martha’s Vineyard, she has never really questioned her extraordinary affinity for the watery world.

When she encounters an attractive but arrogant engineer on her private beach, surveying the site for a prospective off-shore wind farm, anger is her first reaction. A casual touch, however, transforms that emotion to incomprehensible, irresistible, terrifying lust.

Ebony-skinned Marut has his own talents—aside from his uncanny ability to swamp Ondine with desire. He can control the winds and summon storms. When he insists that they are both more than human, and that she is his destined mate, Ondine responds with skepticism. She tries to resist the charismatic Haitian, but ultimately she cannot deny the evidence of her senses—and her heart.

The Hook (Rated R)

Marut released a heavy sigh. He opened his hands and stared at his pink-brown palms. “I know you, Ondine. The instant we touched, I remembered.”

“Remembered what? I’m sure we’ve never met.”

“Not in this life. But before.”

Uneasy doubt stirred in her chest. There had been something about him, in that first instant when their eyes met, something hauntingly familiar. She pushed the thought away, focusing her attention on her bandaged knuckles.

“Nonsense. You’re an engineer. I’m a scientist. How can you say such things?”

“There is much in this world that science cannot explain. You know that as well as I do. I saw you out there, diving and surfacing like some flying fish. Incredible.”

He was watching me? Did he see me masturbating, too?

She shrugged, pretending indifference she didn’t feel. “I’ve always been comfortable in the water. I was born right here on the edge of the Atlantic. I could swim before I could walk.”

“Does that explain why you can remain below the surface for ten minutes at a time? That’s not normal, Ondine. No human swimmer could hold her breath that long.”

“Human abilities cover a wide range.”

His hand covered hers. Fluid heat washed through her, rippling from the point of contact to flood her pussy and turn her nipples to stone. “You’re not human, pitit, not completely. And neither am I.”

“I told you, don’t touch me!” She sprang to her feet, wrenching herself from his grip and backing away, not only from his ever-so-tempting presence but from what he was trying to tell her.

“Okay, okay, if that’s really what you want.” His bushy brows knotted together as he shook his head. “Though I can sense your desire—even across the room. But listen to me, woman. I’m telling the truth. You’re not just some sexy girl I caught skinny dipping. You’re special. Powerful.”

She’d always taken her abilities for granted, figuring that perhaps they were some compensation from the universe for having snatched her mother at birth. Nevertheless, she didn’t flaunt her differences. When she dived with the other scientists from her team, she donned the unnecessary wetsuit, tanks and regulator. No point in encouraging idle speculation.

“So? What the devil does that have to do with you? With us?” Her harsh tone was a deliberate attempt to hide her uncertainty.

“I’m like you. Human, but with extra-human gifts. And you are my destined mate, Ondine—no matter how hard you try to deny the fact.”

Marut rose from the table, imposing despite the shabby robe that hung from his powerful frame. The garment gaped open, revealing the smooth ebony swell of his chest. Belted at Marut’s narrow waist, the faded terry hid his groin, but Ondine didn’t have to see the man’s magnificent cock to know it was swollen with desire, the same desire that had soaked the crotch of her sweatpants.

His mate. Ridiculous! And yet there was something mysterious and inevitable in her attraction to this stranger. Determined to fight that inexplicable desire, she turned towards the back door.

“I’ll go fetch your clothes,” she called over her shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”

The Wedgwood-blue morning sky and brilliant sun had disappeared to be replaced by masses of lead-gray cloud. The muggy air was thick as syrup, so heavy it was practically an effort to breathe. Marut’s jeans and shirt hung limply on the line, along with the laundry she’d hung before heading for the beach. With the humidity, Ondine feared they’d still be damp, but the earlier sun appeared to have done its work. Both articles were dry enough for her unwelcome visitor to wear. He could leave as soon as he dressed. Relief mingled with regret as she squeezed the clothes pin holding the T-shirt.

A sudden, brisk wind sprang up, tugging at her hair and whipping the stiff denim of the suspended jeans against her belly. Startled, she dropped the white cotton onto the sandy soil. The breeze caught the garment and whisked it away, a tumble of white, until it caught on one of the points of the picket fence. With a sigh, she padded barefoot across the yard to retrieve it.

“Ondine.”

She whirled to face him. She hadn’t heard the squeak of the old screen door hinges, yet there he was, tall and dark as a thunderhead—gloriously naked. His piercing eyes pinned her in place. His noble forehead arched up to the explosion of frizzy curls that framed his skull. His skin gleamed as though it had been oiled. He stood before her—no, loomed above her—his muscled legs parted, his arms crossed over his chest, sniffing for her all-too-obvious scent. His nostrils flared like a thoroughbred racehorse and his prominent lips curled into a confident smile. 

 

Find the buy links at https://www.lisabetsarai.com/roughweatherbook.html

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