Meet Ángel Rascón – #NewRelease #DarkRomance #99cents

Tomorrow is release day for the latest book in Amber Daulton’s intense, sultry dark romance series the Lozano Cartel. To give you a better sense of this book, I’ve got an interview with the hero – or maybe anti-hero would be more appropriate. Read on for a peek into his world and his heart, plus all the details about where you can get your own copy. It's available for only 99 cents, for a limited time!

 

What’s your name, and who are you in your world?

I’m Ángel Rascón, an enforcer for the Lozano Cartel.

Give us a visual. What do you look like?

Dark hair, dark eyes, dark personality. You get my drift.

What time period and location does your story take place?

Present day in Hermosillo, Sonora.

What’s your goal in this story?

Stay alive long enough to fix the mess Raul created. Protect Marisol from the fallout. My goal isn’t noble. It’s survival—hers and mine. If I have to burn every bridge I’ve ever stood on to keep her safe, I will.

What conflicts are you facing?

My crew wants Raul. The cartel wants blood. Marisol wants a normal life. I’m stuck in the middle, trying to keep her out of a war she never asked for. Every choice I make pulls me deeper into the kind of violence she shouldn’t witness. And I’m not sure I can climb out of it without losing her.

Your biggest fear is…?

Losing Marisol. I don’t fear death or the cartel. I’ve made my peace with that. But the idea of losing the one person who understands and accepts me for who I am scares the hell out of me.

What do you want that you know you shouldn’t?

Peace. A life that isn’t built on violence. A future where Marisol chooses me without fear or obligation. I want all of it, and I know I don’t deserve any of it.

Any regrets?

Not many. I’m content with my life, as screwed up as it is. However, I regret that I let Marisol’s brother, Raul, drag her into danger. I should’ve seen it coming. I should’ve stopped him before he stole 100k from the cartel. I knew he was on a downward spiral, but I didn’t step in to help him through his addictions. I was a shit-poor friend, and my inaction nearly cost Marisol her life.

Do you have any secrets?

Is that a trick question? Of course, I do. Lots. And no, I won’t tell you. I don’t want to kill you. But I will say this—some people may think I fell for Marisol because she saved me. That’s the farthest thing from the truth. I fell for her because she didn’t shy away from the gore when I was bleeding out on the sidewalk. She didn’t treat me like a monster. She helped me like I was a man worth saving. My biggest secret is this then—I want her to keep believing in me, to keep accepting me, flaws and all.

What is people’s first impression of you?

They think I’m dangerous. They’re right. I don’t soften my edges for anyone. I don’t pretend to be harmless. Most people keep their distance, and that suits me fine. The ones who don’t—like Marisol—change everything.

Do you see morality as black-and-white, or with shades of gray?

Morality is a luxury. People with safe lives get to debate right and wrong. In my world, you do what keeps you breathing. You protect the people who matter. You eliminate the threats. If that makes me gray, then I’m gray. But I don’t lose sleep over it.

What do you normally wear when you leave home?

Dark clothes. Nothing that draws attention. Nothing that reflects light. Henleys and chinos are my go-to. Boots, too, thick leather ones that can handle dirt, pavement, or blood. At night in the winter, I’m always wearing a denim jacket, which is heavy enough to hide weapons and light enough to move fast.

What’s your quirkiest habit?

I count exits. Every room, every building, every street. I track escape routes even when I don’t need them. It’s automatic—muscle memory from years of staying alive.

Why do you think Amber, your author, chose to write about you?

I wasn’t supposed to be anything more than a background character in someone else’s story. But after I was shot in Corrupting His Wife, something shifted. I didn’t stay quiet. I didn’t fade out. I had more to say, and Amber heard it.

My romance with Marisol isn’t clean. It isn’t soft. It’s not a damn Hallmark movie. There’s obsession in it. Darkness. Stalking. Lines crossed that shouldn’t be crossed. But Mari and I, we’re damaged enough that a safer beginning wouldn’t have worked. We needed the danger. We needed the wrongness. We needed the kind of collision that only happens when two broken people find each other at the exact worst moment.

That’s why Amber wrote me.

Because I demanded it.

And because Marisol and I were never meant to be ordinary.

Anything else you’d like to add?

Readers, now is your chance to request Breaking Her Enforcer for FREE. Believe me, it’s worth your time. All you gotta do is review it. Click either link below for more details. Otherwise, reserve your copy for 99 cents while it’s on PREORDER.

BookSirens: https://booksirens.com/book/LGP0A7C

StoryOrigins: http://books.amberdaulton.com/BreakingHerEnforcerReviewCopy

Adios, amigos.

Blurb

A drive-by shooting lands him in the hospital. And in the arms of temptation.

Cartel enforcer Ángel Rascón knows he should stay away from the woman who saved his life. Marisol is a sensual blend of fire and innocence, irresistible to his inner beast. She’s also the little sister of a man now on the run from the cartel—Ángel’s friend and former partner. Getting involved with her could destroy everything he’s worked for, but when she’s threatened, it’s game on.

Physical therapist Marisol Cruz knows Ángel is dangerous, yet he’s always there. Watching. Waiting. Wanting. After her brother’s enemies track her down, Ángel appoints himself her protector with every intoxicating kiss.

Ángel will have to risk his position—and his life—to keep her safe. But Marisol faces the most devastating choice of all. Loving her stubborn enforcer may mean losing her brother forever.

– Book 3.5 in the dark romance series, The Lozano Cartel. All the books can be read as a standalone, but are part of an interconnected series.

– Scenes featuring gang violence and suicide may be uncomfortable for some readers.

– No cheating. HEA guaranteed!

Excerpt

Ángel latched the squeaky iron gate behind him and crept across Marisol’s darkened front yard. The soothing droll of crickets masked the sound of his footsteps while the overgrown trees, shrubs, and cacti at the far property line shielded him from any nosy neighbors. Not that she had any in this quiet, working-class neighborhood on the city’s outskirts. As he braced himself against the side of her house, the rough stucco scraped his jacket and the back of his head as it always did. Yellow light poured from the living room window in horizontal beams as though to expose him.

Fuck that. He wasn’t an amateur.

Faint music seeped from inside the house.

He smirked, willing to bet his bank account that Marisol was streaming reruns of her favorite telenovela. Desperate for a glimpse of her, he pressed closer toward the glass pane and peered through the slatted blinds.

Inside, Marisol was bundled under a thick red-and-green checkered quilt on the sofa and cheered like a love-struck teenager over something that happened on the TV.

Damn right. He knew his woman well. From the high-stakes story lines to the nineteenth-century period costumes, Las Sombras del Imperio had found its way into countless living rooms across the country. Including his own.

After the program ended, Marisol turned off the television and grabbed her dinner plate and glass.

He darted around the house and ducked under a mesquite branch in the side yard. The crisp breeze rustled through the leafy branches, swept back his hair, and chilled his skin. Gritting his teeth, he huddled deeper into his denim jacket. His thick, cable-knit shirt caught against the hard ridge over his collarbone, irritating the taut skin. A deep, metallic chill radiated from the inside out, numbing the fracture site with a dull ache. He yanked the collar away from his neck and cursed.

Light now streamed out from the kitchen window.

As the rambunctious mutt next door yapped at something stirring in the bushes, Marisol peered out the glass into the darkness. Fine lines crimped her face.

Ángel slunk deeper into the shadowy foliage. Once she focused on washing the dishes, he swiped a branch out of his way and rolled his tight, sore shoulders. A low grunt tore from his mouth.

Distant laughter rang out, disrupting the tranquility of the night.

He tsked, shaking his head. The university-aged kids who lived in that dingy house at the end of the street were partying again. It was only Thursday, for fuck’s sake. Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose. As if he had any room to judge. At twenty-eight years old, he’d surely partied harder than those guys down the block could imagine.

He pulled his phone from his jeans back pocket and checked his notifications. Nothing from Raul. Or Muniz. What the hell was going on with them? He slid the cell back in.

A crash echoed from the other side of the house.

Ángel jerked upright.

Marisol flung her dish towel aside and raced out of the kitchen.

“Mierda,” Ángel dashed back around the house and snatched his gun from his hip holster. His pulse thundered in his ears. Icy dread slashed through his stomach.

The front door hung open.

“Get out!” Marisol shouted from inside. Something shattered. “Get out of my house!”

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Download Links

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About the Author

Amber Daulton writes raw, edgy romantic suspense and dark cartel romance featuring high stakes, deep passion, and defiant hearts. She’s the author of the Lozano Cartel, Arresting Onyx, Embracing You, and Ramseys in Time series, as well as a rich catalog of standalone novellas. Her books are available worldwide in digital, print, and select audio formats.

From her home base in North Carolina, she builds dangerous criminal underworlds and maps out fierce, second-chance love stories alongside her supportive husband and her demanding feline writing assistant, Zita.

Amber Daulton is the author of the Lozano Cartel, the Arresting Onyx, the Embracing You, and the Ramseys in Time series, as well as several standalone novellas. Her books are available in ebook and print on demand while select titles are in audio and foreign language formats.

Social Media Links

Follow Me: https://linktr.ee/AmberDaulton

Check out my website, Daulton Publishing: https://amberdaulton.com

Sign up for my Exclusive Newsletter (free ebook to new subscribers): https://amberdaulton.com/newsletter-signup/

Welcome to my Month of Magic! #99Cents #Giveaway #Halloween

You don’t need to spend much time with me to learn that Halloween is my absolute favorite holiday—a fact that tends to make October my favorite month.

So I usually do some something special to mark the occasion. Today, October 1^st, marks the first day of my Month of Magic. Throughout October I will have lots of treats for you. To start with, I’ve discounted four of my favorite paranormal titles to only 99 cents for the entire month. This includes my full length vampire/werewolf romance novel Fangs, Fur and the Single Girl.

If you’re getting into the Halloween mood yourself, grab yourself one of these deals!

A tragically attractive vampire, a hunky wolf-man and a skeptical but susceptible career gal. What could possibly go wrong?

Bianca Sorenson understands obsession. Her phenomenally successful Vamp magazine feeds the popular fascination with the undead. The city is full of fanatics who want to believe vampires are real. Bianca knows that’s a fantasy. Then a blond, blue-eyed blood drinker walks into her office looking for a model’s job and turns her universe upside down. Jim Bush hasn’t been a vampire for long, but his terrible history and seductive hunger undermine Bianca’s single-minded ambition and her cherished self-control.

Trying to escape from Jim’s disturbing influence, she collides with a shaggy giant of a man whose mere presence inspires irresistible lust. When Zack Kane reveals that he’s a wolf shifter and claims Bianca as his mate, she finds herself on the horns of a supernatural dilemma. How can she resolve her feelings for her two mutually hostile lovers while defusing a city-wide conflict between the vampire clique and the werewolf pack?

Fans of Twilight: get ready for a wilder ride than you ever imagined!

Buy links: https://www.lisabetsarai.com/fangsfurbook.html

Bitter and alone, Etienne de Rémorcy haunts the forest around the ruined plantation of Fin d'Espoir. He has sworn to never again taste human blood. Then a fierce storm and a runaway horse bring a slender, raven-haired beauty to his lair. When she begs him to take her, he cannot resist.

Madeleine and Troy hope that a carefree vacation in tropical Jamaica will reignite their faded passion. On a mountain trail ride, Maddy's horse bolts, carrying her deep into the jungle. Injured and lost, she is saved by a giant of a man whose mere presence kindles unbearable desire. By the time she understands his dark nature, it is far too late for her to escape.

When Maddy returns, Troy finds her greatly changed: ravenous in bed, restless and disturbed otherwise. The elegant stranger he meets on the beach holds the key to her transformation - and soon has seduced Troy as well.

Tortured by his conscience, Etienne is determined to set the young couple free. But their love may be his last hope for redemption.

Buy links: https://www.lisabetsarai.com/findespoirbook.html

 

I am who I am, and I know what you want.

Rebecca believes in magic. She has never lost her childhood love of Halloween, when she can don a costume and step away from her boring, ordinary self. For one night, she transforms into someone else – someone mysterious, daring, sensual and seductive.

When All Hallow’s Eve finds her stranded at a seedy motel a hundred miles from her friend's annual party, she is desperately disappointed. Then she discovers that her room is haunted by the invisible but unquestionably virile ghost of a rake who seduced local women nearly half a century earlier.

Buy links: https://www.lisabetsarai.com/rendezvousbook.html

Enter the fourth world - a world of lust and shadows, where anything can happen.

Obsessive passion and dark ecstasy mark these nine stories of paranormal desire. An undead couple hunts for beauty and youth in the history-drenched streets of Prague. A sex addict meets his fate in the embrace of a seductive monster. An innocent writer offers her body and heart to a century-old ghost. A spiritual seeker succumbs to temptation in the arms of a fearsome and greedy goddess. A kinky, blood-drenched threesome unfolds in a luxurious Bangkok penthouse. These tales conjure the magic of sex, and its dangers. Expect to be unbearably aroused and occasionally terrified. Do not expect happily ever afters.

Warnings: This collection includes violence, blood, death, extreme BDSM, and some M/M interaction.

Buy links: https://www.lisabetsarai.com/fourthworldbook.html

All four books are just 99 cents each at all stores, between now and Halloween!

Do you believe in magic? – #Halloween #Paranormal #MFRWHooks

It’s not quite October—not quite!—but I’ve decided to start the month of magic a bit early, with an excerpt from Fourth World, a collection of my paranormal short fiction. The hook below comes from the story “Higher Power”. Myra is a struggling actress, recently arrived in San Francisco. Desperate for work, she applies to a job ad seeking a magician's assistant.

I’ll be putting this book on sale along with a variety of my other paranormal titles as part of my Month of Magic promotion. Stay tuned!

The Hook

I swallowed my regrets and turned my attention back to the magician. He still watched me as if he would strip away my masks and lay me bare. Suddenly, he reached out and with one blunt finger touched the little gold cross hanging around my neck.

“Are you a believer?” he asked. Memories shot through me—my childhood awe as I knelt under the cathedral arches; my first communion, colored light through the windows staining my bride-like finery; my mother dying of cancer, asking for my prayers.

“I’m not sure,” I replied. “I used to be, but now...”

“And what about magic?” he asked with that ironic half-smile on his full lips. “Do you believe in magic?”

My heartbeat inexplicably quickened. “I don’t know about that, either.”

“There is much in common between religion and magic. Both are grounded in faith and love. The essence is a trust in things unseen.” I thought this a peculiar observation from a practicing conjuror. Surely the essence of magic was manipulating expectations and perceptions. Show business. “I have something to show you,” he continued.

He removed the dusty velvet cloth shrouding what turned out to be a combination television and VCR, a pre-DVD relic. It must have already had a tape loaded. As soon as he hit the button, it began to play. “Watch closely,” he said.

It was a recording of one of his performances. At first, I did not recognize him. He was clad all in black, with glittering rhinestones at his collar and cuffs. He moved with a grace and economy that negated his bulk. There was no sound.

He offered a few deft sleight of hand tricks as warm up. Then he was joined by his assistant, a slender, raven-haired Latin beauty wearing a scarlet evening gown. How could I compare? I wondered. As if he heard my thoughts, he commented. “Roxanne. Exquisite, isn’t she?”

“What happened to her, that you need a new assistant?”

His face darkened. “She suffered an unfortunate—accident.”

Roxanne lay down on her back on a trestle table. The magician draped her with purple satin. He passed his hands over her, clearly speaking some incantation. The draped figure began to rise, until it hovered level with his chest. The mage then removed the table.

The illusion of levitation, I thought with some degree of smugness. Cleverly concealed wires.

But then the scenario began to veer from the standard. Magister Aleister whisked the drapery off Roxanne’s prone body. He picked up a full-length oval mirror and held it above the immobile figure, moving it up and down her body in a manner that would have effectively interrupted any possible attachment of cables from above. I could see her reflection in the glass, and faintly, a misting from her breath. Her eyes were closed. Then he crouched and moved the mirror underneath her, as if to prove that she was not supported from below. He released the mirror, and it hovered below her form, halfway between her body and the stage.

The mage now made some passes over his assistant, his hands elegant and evocative. Her body began to rotate. First, she floated in a lazy circle around the vertical axis, her head and feet changing places. Then, very slowly, she rolled over, so that she was facing downward, once more face-to-face with the mirror. The video was surprisingly clear. Again, I could see the signs of her breathing.

I was impressed. I could not understand how such a trick could be accomplished. What arrangement of wires or hidden frames could provide so many degrees of freedom? The next trick, however, amazed and horrified me.

The magician gestured and Roxanne floated to a standing position, her crystal slippers barely touching the ground. Her eyes were still closed. He did not wake her from her trance. Instead, he pulled from the wings a framework of wrought iron, rather like an oversized bird cage. It was hinged along one side. He opened it, pulled it around Roxanne’s body, and snapped it shut, then applied a padlock to the latch. I could almost hear the clang of metal on metal.

A heavy cable slithered down toward the stage from above. He fastened it to a loop on top of the cage, and gave an almost imperceptible signal. The cage, with Roxanne within, rose about a foot off the floor.

Now what? I wondered, as he disappeared offstage again. He returned with a rack of swords.

He was talking during the entire performance, though I could not read his lips well enough to determine what he was saying. He chose one of the blades and swished it through the air in a swashbuckling manner. Then he appeared to plunge it between the bars of the cage and through Roxanne’s body.

She did not flinch. She did not move. Aleister seized another sword, circled behind her, and impaled her from back to front. I could see the tip of the blade emerging from her body, just below her breasts. There was no blood.

I did not want to watch the rest of this performance. The illusion was too perfect, too disturbing. But I could not look away. The magician skewered her with a half a dozen more blades. He spun the cage in a circle so that the audience could see Roxanne from every angle. Unlike the usual sword gambit, there was no opaque box within which the assistant could hide or contort her body to avoid the sharp instruments. Everything was clearly, awfully visible.

Finally, Aleister removed the blades, with great care, in the opposite of the order in which he had inserted them. He lowered the cage to the ground, and clapped his hands once. Roxanne’s eyes flew open, and her lips curved in an enigmatic smile. Aleister unlocked the cage and handed her out of it as if it were a royal coach. They bowed deeply, in synchrony. Then the tape went blank.

My heart was pounding uncomfortably hard. The magician re-covered the television, then turned to me. “Well?” he asked, fixing me again with those unnerving eyes.

I took a deep breath and tried to meet his gaze. “That’s—unbelievable. Remarkable. Not to mention very creepy.”

“Convincing, isn’t it? Makes you wonder what kind of power I really have.” There was an edge to his politeness, the slightest hint of arrogance in his well-tempered voice. He smiled in a way that I suddenly saw as seductive. “Do you still want to audition?”

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

 

Review Tuesday: The Origin of Pietas by Kayelle Allen -- #SpaceOpera #ScienceFiction #ReviewTuesday

The Origin of Pietas (Bringer of Chaos #1) by Kayelle Allen

Romance Lives Forever Books, 2016

Open the novella The Origin of Pietas and you are dropped into the middle of a war. Humans created the immortal Ultras but distrust, envy and hatred have made the two races into bitter enemies. When treachery turns a supposed peace negotiation into a betrayal, the Ultra leader Pietas finds himself helpless, trapped in a suspension pod on a space ship without sustenance of any sort. Deprived of food, water, and air, he dies repeatedly, only to revive and suffer further agonies.

Still, he is not entirely alone. A human soldier—a “ghost” engineered to return to life each time he is killed—watches over Pietas’ pod and manages some minimal communication, though he’s unable to free the Ultra. Six, the soldier, should be Pietas’ mortal foe. However, compassion and admiration for the Ultra, along with a touch of rebellion against his own miserable fate, lead the ghost to protect Pietas. When they finally land on the planet of Sempervirians, Six nurses the skeletal, powerless Ultra back to health—at the same time giving him a crash course in the meaning of friendship and the importance of trust.

I’ve known Kayelle Allen for more than a decade and read quite a few of her books, almost all of which take place in the same universe—an enormous universe that spans galaxies, with personal histories going back thousands of years. Her immortal characters live multiple lives over time, sometimes adopting new identities. I’m in awe of her imagination and her world-building skill, not to mention her ability to keep track of thousands of details.

Pietas remains an important character in many of Ms. Allen’s books—the Immortal King of the Ultras, proud, arrogant, yet surprisingly vulnerable, feared even by his own people but craving a connection with others. The Origin of Pietas series attempts to show the forces that initially shaped his personality and that have continued to influence his behavior, including his early and unexpected friendship with Six.

The tale of that friendship offers a lot of emotional satisfaction. Unfortunately, I find myself unable to like Pietas at all. He blames his faults on his (admittedly horrible) family background and expects to be accepted as he is—no matter how rigid, arrogant, authoritarian and unreasonable that might be.

I know that many readers adore the ambiguity that defines Pietas. He actually needs love and friendship but is too stubborn and self-involved to bend and adapt to others. Six treats him with remarkable kindness, flexibility and humor. Pietas meets this initially with suspicion and later, it seemed to me, with only minimal gratitude.

Despite my personal reaction to Pietas, I have nothing but praise for the writing and the emotional complexity of this book. When I receive reviews of my own work that talk about how a reader could not relate to a character, I shrug. Tastes vary. I hope this review won’t stop others from meeting Pietas and sampling Ms. Allen’s universe. The number of five star reviews associated with this book suggests that I’m in the minority.

Charity Sunday: The gift of reading – #DollyParton #FreeBooks #CharitySunday

Welcome to our Charity Sunday blog hop for September.

I didn’t even need to think about what charity to support this month. And yet, I’m embarrassed to admit that I had never heard of Imagination Library until Dolly Parton’s passing a few weeks ago.

I spent a huge chunk of my childhood stretched out on my bed, reading every book I could get my hands on. My parents mostly encouraged me (except when my mom bugged me about going out and getting some fresh air). I’d never thought about what it would be like to live in a family where books were an unaffordable luxury. Or where parents didn’t understand how important it was to foster their kids’ love of reading.

I have always admired Dolly Parton as an incredibly talented composer, actress and performer. When she left the world, though, her real impact became clear. I found comfort and cheer in her example. Her light shines bright enough that it makes all the world’s darkness fade into the background. What you achieve matters much less, I understood, than who you are, how you treat others, and how much love you share.

Anyway, I don’t want to get maudlin. This month I will give two dollars to Dolly’s Imagination Library for every comment I receive. That’s bound to buy at least a couple of books to feed some hungry minds.

My excerpt may seem a bit strange. It comes from my urban noir novel Exposure, one of my darker books. I’ve chosen it because the heroine, like Dolly, is ridiculed due to her large breasts, but turns that to her advantage.

Excerpt (Rated X)

I strip for the fun of it. Don’t let anyone tell you different. It’s not the money. I could make nearly as much working at the mill and keep my clothes on, but then I’d have to suck up to the bosses. Here at the Peacock, I’m the one in charge, and I like it that way.

Sometimes I think it’s a sort of revenge, for all the times I heard those nasty calls trailing after me: Honey Jugs, Monster Boobs, Bouncer. Not to mention those sweaty, awkward clinches in back seats, trying to please. Trying to be popular. Now they can’t take their eyes off my breasts, swinging back and forth in time to the music. Their tongues are hanging out. I can see the tents in their laps. They all want me. I know how to make them want me. I’m an expert. But I’m off limits. They can look, they can drool, they can beg me. But my job’s to turn them on and bring them to the bursting point, then send them home unsatisfied.

That’s my view, anyway. Some of the other girls think different. All in all, though, the Peacock Lounge is a pretty classy joint, not like some of the sleaze pits down near the railroad.

I love the moment when the lights come down, and the DJ introduces me. There’s this strange pause, as if I was floating. I can feel them out there, the audience, holding their breath. Then, I hear the first notes of my routine. Energy surges through me. I’m one hundred percent alive. My nipples get hard and my sex tingles when I step out onto the stage and meet their eyes.

That’s my secret weapon: eye contact. Up close and personal. I can bump and grind, shake my tits in their faces, bend over so they get a good look at the G-string settled in my ass-crack. It doesn’t do any good without my stare. I try to see their darkest fantasies. This one pictures me sitting on him, his mouth burrowing in my bush. That one wants me to hold his dick while he pees. That guy in the back, oh, he’s bad news. He aches to tie me up and beat me with his belt. Tough luck, feller. Dream on.

I don’t know whether what I see is real or just my imagination, but it has a real effect. They feel my eyes. They think I know them. They get all flustered and embarrassed, wave to me, stick their tens and twenties into my G-string. Watching me, anxious-like, all the time.

Meanwhile, it turns me on. I dance a lot better when I’m horny. Sometimes I play with myself a bit before my set, to get myself into the mood. Then I hold my fingers under their noses, and watch their reactions.

I feed off their desire. The more they want me, the hotter I get, the better I dance. The more outrageous I become. So, it’s especially annoying tonight that this one guy in the front row doesn’t react at all.

It’s early, and it’s Monday, slow. He’s the only one sitting close enough for me to use my stare, and it isn’t working. The guy’s good-looking in a clean-cut, straight-laced sort of way. Blond crew cut, blue eyes, muscles that show even under his expensive suit. At least it looks expensive to me.

He hasn’t taken his eyes off me since I strutted onto the stage, but his face is without expression. It’s like he has walls behind his eyes. I can’t see into him at all. And now it’s me that’s getting frustrated and hot under the collar. I’ve already stripped down to my pasties, boots, and thong. I peel one of the tassels off my nipple and dangle it in front of him. He looks only at my eyes. He’s measuring me, sizing me up for something.

I prance around on my stiletto heel boots. I shake my hips, do a slow, sensuous shimmy, cup my tits in my palms and offer them to him. No reaction. I take off the other tassel and attach it behind, where my butt cheeks meet, a lewd little tail. There’s a whistle from a table in the back, but Mr. Clean just continues to study me.

Damn him. I’m sweaty from the effort. My cunt is throbbing in time with the music. I can feel that the shred of nylon running between my legs is sopping. Fixing him with my best stare, I sink onto my knees in front of him, thighs spread wide. Then I slide both my forefingers inside the G-string and start to touch myself. We’re not supposed to do really explicit stuff like that. If Joey, the owner of the club, saw me, he’d give me hell. But this is a desperate case. I will not allow this guy to get the better of me.

I’m actually quite close to coming, when finally I see him give a little smile. So maybe he is enjoying himself after all. My music is ending. Time for the grand finale. Standing up, I unsnap the sides of the thong and pull it back and forth through my crotch a couple of times. Just to make sure it’s totally saturated. Then I drop it in the guy’s lap and strut off the stage, naked except for my boots.

 

Please leave a comment! Every one will bring the love of reading into some child’s life.

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Join us for Charity Saturday on 27 September 2026 #CharitySundaySignup #Altruism #Marketing

Image by ddzphoto from Pixabay

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 Sunday, September 27th, is our next Charity Sunday.

If you do decide to join me, I hope you’ll download my 2026 banner:

https://www.lisabetsarai.com/2026CharitySundayBanner.jpg

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 September 27th, 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.

Be sure to use the new Charity Sunday banner!

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

https://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com/2026/08/charity-sunday-fighting-for-our-freedom.html

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