A Sexy Audio-Menage! @cw1985 #MMF #BDSM #audiobook

 

Good news for audiobook fans who also love steamy BDSM ménage romances—Eyes Wide Open is now available to listen, thanks to the amazing talents of Frankie Holland! Enjoy her dulcet tones as she takes you on an adventure through the swankiest parts of England’s capital city.

Blurb

A chance meeting opens Fiona’s eyes to some very sexy possibilities.

Recent graduate Fiona Gillespie is stuck working in a grimy pub in London’s East End, and living in a horrid flat. It’s only while she figures out what she wants to do career-wise, but that’s easier said than done.

When she sees an advertisement for a job at a plush Mayfair hotel, she jumps at the chance. Determination and a spot of luck land Fiona her dream role—and it comes with accommodation included.

Her job and living situation sorted, things are on the up. Unfortunately, her personal life is lacklustre. It doesn’t bother her, though—not until she meets businessmen James and Logan, and her head is well and truly turned.

When a misunderstanding leads Fiona to James and Logan’s sumptuous top-floor hotel suite, she has no idea what she’s about to uncover. Her imagination runs wild, but not wild enough to get to the truth—James and Logan are a couple, and they’re into some seriously intriguing activities.

Fascinated, she launches herself into a whole new world with the two men. But is this just physical, or is their arrangement set to become something more?

Universal link: http://books2read.com/eyeswideopenv2

Excerpt

Fiona Gillespie wiped a damp cloth half-heartedly over the surface of the bar. It was a pointless exercise. The pub’s fittings and fixtures were so old that no amount of scrubbing would remove the grime that had been ingrained in the wood over the decades. That and the next time she served one of the old drunks who frequented the place, it’d just get beer spilled on it again.

Glancing at her surroundings in distaste, Fiona stifled a derisive snort when she caught sight of the swinging pub sign through the window. It had never really registered before, but The Royal Oak? There was nothing remotely royal about the pub in London’s East End where she worked. If an actual royal—even a minor one—so much as stepped foot across the threshold, they’d run screaming in the other direction. A shame, really, as a chance to try to woo Prince Harry would not go amiss. She was sure those mischievous eyes and smile hid a multitude of sexy sins. His grandmother would not approve. And besides, he was spoken for now.

Abandoning her cloth with a sigh, she reached for a newspaper one of the patrons had left behind. There was hardly anyone in, as usual, so no glasses to collect, tables to wipe, or bowls of nuts to refill. A flick through the paper was her only source of entertainment. Or at least the only thing to stop her going completely out of her mind with boredom.

It wasn’t quite where she’d seen herself when she’d decided to take a chance and move to London after graduating from university. But while she figured out her next career move—or any career move—this would have to do. It served a purpose—paying her a paltry wage, just enough to cover the rent and bills on her scummy flat, and food. There really wasn’t much left after that, so her social life mainly consisted of vegging in front of the TV with her flatmates.

They’d club together their miniscule amount of disposable income to buy some cheap, supermarket own-brand lager and swap stories, either about their pasts or about how their current situation was just temporary—just a stepping stone on their way to success, to high-flying, ridiculously well-paid jobs in the banking world, the publishing industry, in PR, advertising, acting, production, tourism… The list went on.

Fiona was absolutely determined to get a foot on the career ladder. She’d rather scurry back home to her parents in Birmingham with her tail between her legs than stay in this dump for much longer. The only trouble was, the others at least knew what they were aiming for, which particular ladder they were trying to grab hold of. She’d graduated with a first class honours in creative writing and didn’t have a clue what to do with the damn degree now she had it.

Nobody got approached just for having a degree in creative writing, then were given a ton of money and told to sit down and write a book. It simply didn’t work like that—more was the pity. Even the world’s most famous and successful writers had had to start somewhere. And she wasn’t sure fiction writing was the way to go, anyway.

A cough, accompanied by a whiff of stale smoke and booze, alerted her to the presence of a customer.

Fixing a smile on her face, she turned to him and said politely, “What can I get you?”

A white-haired, grizzled old guy with yellowing teeth—the teeth he still had, anyway—squinted at her. “Pint, if you’re not too busy reading the bleeding newspaper.”

Holding the smile so firmly in place it hurt her now-gritted teeth, she took the proffered glass and filled it. After placing it back on the bar, she picked up the money that had been left. The exact right amount. This guy bought enough pints to know. She murmured her thanks as she deposited the money in the till, but she needn’t have bothered. The grumpy old sod was already halfway back to his table, precious beer in hand.

She rolled her eyes. Then, after double checking there was nothing that needed doing, shifted her attention back to the newspaper, figuring it was better than wondering about a career she couldn’t even imagine.

As it happened, the paper wasn’t all that engaging. It was several days out of date, so she knew about all the big news pieces already, and the weather and TV listings were now obsolete. But her interest was piqued when she reached the jobs section. She’d never looked in this particular publication for jobs before, thinking the online searches she did on various websites were more targeted, more relevant. But then, how could you target a role you didn’t even know you wanted?

Skimming through the ads, she immediately dismissed many of them. She had no wish—or the qualifications—to drive an HGV, look after sick or old people, cold call, sell advertising, work in retail or become a model. But amongst all that was something interesting. Something that maybe, just maybe, she could do.

She wasn’t entirely sure what being a PR assistant entailed, but it sounded like a very posh job title, and she could sure as hell tick the box of the phrase in the ad that had caught her eye in the first place. We’re looking for someone with creative writing skills.

As she read through the information again, excitement bubbled in her stomach. The role was at a top London hotel—in Mayfair, no less—offered live-in accommodation, a generous starting salary, access to all the hotel’s amenities and, best of all, career progression. It was clear they wouldn’t employ just anybody and, if Fiona was honest with herself, they were probably looking for someone with more experience than her—which wasn’t difficult—but she had to give it a go. She had nothing to lose. If she didn’t get it, then she’d have gained some valuable interview experience—if she even got that far, that was—and if she did, well, then she’d have well and truly grabbed the bottom rung of the career ladder she’d been striving for.

It was only on her third read-through, when she was mentally picking out key words and phrases she could use to help tailor her CV to the role and to write a spectacular covering letter, that she noticed the closing date for applications.

For fuck’s sake! How typical was that? The only job advert she’d seen since arriving in the capital that had got her genuinely fired up, and she’d missed the bloody date by one day. One. Single. Day.

Universal link: http://books2read.com/eyeswideopenv2

About the Author

Lucy Felthouse is the award-winning author of erotic romance novels Stately Pleasures (named in the top 5 of Cliterati.co.uk’s 100 Modern Erotic Classics That You’ve Never Heard Of, and an Amazon bestseller), Eyes Wide Open (winner of the Love Romances Café’s Best Ménage Book 2015 award, and an Amazon bestseller), The Persecution of the Wolves, Hiding in Plain Sight and The Heiress’s Harem series. Including novels, short stories and novellas, she has over 170 publications to her name. Find out more about her writing at http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk, or on Twitter or Facebook. Join her Facebook group for exclusive cover reveals, sneak peeks and more! Sign up for automatic updates on Amazon or BookBub. Subscribe to her newsletter here: http://www.subscribepage.com/lfnewsletter

Release blitz organised by Writer Marketing Services.

Sizzling Sunday: The Ingredients of Bliss -- #menage #BDSM #romance #cooking

For today’s Sizzling Sunday, I’ve got a new bit from my MFM BDSM ménage novel The Ingredients of Bliss. This book puzzled reviewers a bit, given the complexity of its relationships and the fact that it doesn’t fit well into well known genres. But anyone who has read my work will know that I love defying convention.

Blurb

One sexy French chef. One kinky American TV producer. One ambitious Chinese gal who thinks she wants them both. The ingredients of bliss? Or a recipe for disaster?

Accomplished cook Mei Lee ‘Emily’ Wong knows exactly what she wants—her own show on the Tastes of France food channel. But life is full of complications. First, her deceptively nerdy producer, Harry Sanborne, initiates Emily into the delights of submission. Then her boss, legendary chef Etienne Duvalier, begs her to dominate him. Emily just can’t resist—especially when Harry orders her to explore her inner mistress. Suave and sexy Etienne will do whatever she asks—in the bedroom if not in the kitchen. And Harry, her lovingly diabolical Dom, adores pushing Emily’s limits.

When the network sends the trio to France to shoot a series of cooking shows on location, Emily knows her career is on the upswing. Her plans fall apart in Marseille as a Hong Kong drug syndicate kidnaps both Etienne and Harry. The Iron Hammer Triad mistakes Etienne for notorious gangster Jean Le Requin, who has stolen their drug shipment, worth millions. Emily realizes she must find the real Le Requin, retrieve the purloined dope, and bargain it for Harry’s and Etienne’s lives. The secret she’s been keeping from Harry might prove useful. Still, what chance does one woman whose knife skills are limited to chopping vegetables have against the ruthless cruelty of two criminal organizations?

“You don’t have to be ashamed or embarrassed,” Harry added. “All we want—both of us—is to satisfy you. To please you and make you happy. Can’t you just accept that?”

Harry hooked an arm around my neck and pulled me down into lush kiss. His tongue was assertive as ever, yet I caught a hint of uncertainty in his manner. Under his brashness, he worried that I’d reject the solution he and Etienne had worked out. If I did, would I choose him, or the suave, glamorous chef?

I relaxed and let him plunder my mouth, offering reassurance via my physical surrender. His hands roamed over my body, visiting all the sensitive spots he’d discovered in our months together. There was no pain now, only bliss, pouring from him into me.

Warmth pressed against my back. I smelled vanilla and thyme. Etienne’s fingers joined Harry’s, tracing along the top of my corset. He stroked the tender flesh under my arm, making me shiver, then let his palm wander down my side to the curve of my hip. His uncharacteristic boldness increased the thrill of his touch. You’ll be sorry, I thought, giddy with desire, as Harry continued his hungry kisses. I’ll trash your butt until you can’t sit down.

Etienne knew he’d be punished. We both knew that was part of his motivation.

Only part, though. I felt the hair lifted off my neck, the moist, gentle pressure of Etienne’s lips between my shoulder blades. The eloquence of that simple gesture almost brought tears to my eyes. I eased my lips away from Harry’s, beaming him a look I hoped was full of love. Then I swiveled to offer my mouth to Etienne.

The chef accepted my kiss with the eagerness of a starving man. He opened to the probing of my tongue, letting me drink my fill of him. I tasted the walnut mousse he’d sampled earlier at L’Auberge de Francois-Martine and the Courvoisier he’d used to wash it down. Under it all, I caught a hint of some half-bitter flavor that reminded me of rainy autumn afternoons in Jardin les Tuileries. As I kissed him, I realized I’d been craving this since the first day he’d graced me with that haughty smile.

While his mouth was subservient, his hands became increasingly more brazen, palming my breasts and thumbing my nipples, then sneaking down to tease my lower lips. Meanwhile, Harry was busy unlacing my corset. I hadn’t appreciated how much the garment had constrained me until he managed to slip it off, somehow without breaking the lip-to-lip connection between Etienne and me.

I paused to draw in a lungful of the sex-scented air and looked from one man to the other. Had Harry minded my kissing Etienne? Did Etienne think I was rejecting him for Harry?

Both of my lovers wore broad smiles. Relief washed over me. The last vestiges of guilt evaporated. And I was too horny to be embarrassed.

“What…what about male ego?” I gasped, as Etienne’s fingers delved into my cleft and found my clit. “I thought—oh, yes!—thought that you all see other guys as threats, challenges to your masculinity…”

Harry urged me onto my hands and knees and buried his face between my thighs. He slithered his tongue into my channel while Etienne continued to stroke tingling nub at my center. A new climax gathered deep in my pelvis—I’d lost count of how many times I’d come, by this point—encouraged by the wet shock of Harry’s tongue circling my rear hole.

“Other guys,” Harry replied, taking a breather before returning to lick me into a further frenzy.

“Not us,” Etienne agreed, diddling my clit with one hand while stroking his gorgeous erection with the other. I imagined that lovely cock pounding into my cunt. I could make those fantasies real. All I had to do was ask.

“We’d rather share you than lose you, love.” On his knees behind me, Harry ran his cockhead along my slick crevice, then pushed inside, filling my pussy with delicious, familiar hardness. He waited, letting me adjust to the welcome intrusion. I closed my eyes, focused on the bliss rippling through me.

Satin-soft skin brushed my lips, leaving a residue of moisture. My eyes flew open to find Etienne kneeling before me, presenting his cock for my consumption.

His eyes shone, blue as a summer sky. “If I could be so bold…”

I lunged forward and swallowed the whole sleek length of him. Etienne trembled on my tongue, but didn’t move or thrust, awaiting my instructions like the good submissive he was.

I sucked hard, my nose in the musky tangles of his pubic hair. His fists clenched by his sides, he fought his natural inclinations.

Sweet—so very sweet…

Harry drove deep, taking me over. The sensations dragged my attention back to the tantalizing ache building in my core. Yet another climax shimmered in the near distance, with Harry pushing me closer with every thrust.

Lovely, bossy, kinky, sensitive Harry, who claimed me as his slave only to devote himself to my pleasure.

I must have been a saint in a previous life, to deserve such luck in this one.

The Ingredients of Bliss is available in ebook and print. Get your copy from Totally Bound, Amazon, Barnes and Noble, or your own personal favorite bookstore.

Fantasy has no limits at Noble House... (@sara_brookes #bdsm #menage #newrelease)

Out Now—Get Off Easy by Sara Brookes

Blurb

At Noble House, fantasy has no limits. Log on and enter a world of your most secret desires. And remember, there is nothing more noble than the pursuit of passion…

I shouldn’t be watching, but I can’t look away.

It’s been years since I’ve seen Ford “Saint” Templar or Boyce Denali in person—although the gorgeous men have haunted too many of my fantasies to count. But now they’re here, right on my screen. Together. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.

And I want in.

Noble House is the kingdom of geek kink, where the thrill comes from knowing that someone is always watching. All I have to do is be brave enough to turn off the screen, walk through the door and ask Saint and Boyce to take me back.

We used to be so good together, but we’re different people now. Will Saint’s commands still bring me to my knees with desire? Will the anticipation of Boyce’s touch still drive me wild? Will I be able to survive the pleasure of having them both?

It’s time to stop watching. I need this. I need them. And just maybe, they need me, too.

Buy Links

Carina Press: http://www.carinapress.com/shop/books/9781488030703_get-off-easy.html

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2reL2vW

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/2qrz9S8

Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/get-off-easy-sara-brookes/1120980430?ean=9781488030703

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/get-off-easy-3

Apple: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/get-off-easy/id1227445208?mt=11

Google: https://books.google.com/books?id=bsauDgAAQBAJ&dq

Excerpt

Darkness surrounded Grae. In her life. In her mind. And even in her office as she leaned back in her overstuffed, overpriced chair and yawned. The creature comforts weren’t enough to keep her interested in the image flickering on her computer screen. Not that well-chiseled abs didn’t do it for her. They totally did. But considering the fact she’d been the one to draw, define, and enhance each one of those tongue-licking indentions, the final product had lost its appeal hours ago.

As long as the female audience members went wild, she would keep plodding along. Not to mention, if she didn’t deliver, she wouldn’t be paid her hard-earned check. As tempting as it was to continue, she desperately needed a break.

A quick glance at her trusty desktop clock showed she hadn’t stopped for over thirty-six hours. Since she was on a deadline, her director’s schedule won out over sleep and basic hygiene. Especially because she was under contract. If she wanted another shot at working with this director, she needed to have this guy’s abs painted on and swoon-worthy in the next three hours.

One hell of a reward awaited her after she completed her work, too.

As she made her way to the kitchen to refill her carafe, she tapped the reminder postcard that arrived two days ago against her chin. Fresh coffee would get her through. At least it had to. She’d worked under tighter deadlines, and on less sleep, than this project.

Thirty-six hours with no sleep was kid’s stuff.

Her reward, however, was not child appropriate.

No way. No how.

Kochran Duke was throwing one of his famous parties tonight. The events, where participation was allowed by members both at the club and online, were not low-key and always the highlight of the month. It also meant there was a distinct possibility Saint and Boyce would attend. They never missed a party at the converted armory. No telling what they’d be doing, though.

It was always a surprise when it came to those two.

She shoved a fresh filter into the brew basket, dumped in beans and water, and realized she didn’t care. They could sit and read nursery rhymes to one another, and she’d still get off. Wasn’t as though she’d joined Kochran’s exclusive website only to watch the pretty boys play with their toys.

Okay, well, it wasn’t the only reason.

There was a touch of practicality to why she chose to spend her night watching porn.

And it had nothing to do with satisfying her voyeuristic tendencies.

Her former Master recommended the online dungeon when it became obvious she had all the desire and drive to submit, but none of the time. Noble House offered several levels of membership depending on participation or observation. The fees were steep, but it was a small price to pay for satisfying a guilty indulgence from the privacy of her home office.

Once she’d discovered two of her closest friends from college were Dominants at Noble House, her interest in the private club increased tenfold. Thanks to alumni updates from the university, she’d known they’d continued to date after they graduated. Even knew where they lived because of an article published six months ago in the yearly alumni newsletter about the building they’d saved from the wrecking ball and turned into an apartment complex. Knowing they were still together, and trying to change the world, warmed her heart.

And a few other strategic lady bits.

Someday she would visit Noble House. Though the idea of taking a vacation long enough to visit Northern California sounded absurd. With the constant trail of work following her wherever she went, taking a break was unheard of. Visiting friends she hadn’t seen in more than a decade was even more ludicrous. As was confessing she’d seen every one of their broadcasted scenes since she’d become a member.

And hunted through the archives.

Several times over.

The coffeepot chimed. She dumped the contents into the carafe, then grabbed the French vanilla creamer. As she made her way back to her spacious office, her eyes slowly adjusted to the permanent darkness she’d created thanks to heavy light-blocking blinds. Day or night, the lighting in the room never changed. When she’d decided to leave the guaranteed contract with the big-budget movie studio behind and become a freelancer, she’d invested in all the bells and whistles. No sense working from home without the proper equipment.

Six monitors wasn’t too much, right?

A quick check of the emails she’d been ignoring for the past few hours indicated the director was getting aggravated. Time to buckle down and turn out this masterpiece. Armed with a fresh cup of coffee, Grae leaned back to watch the fight sequence she’d been working on for the past week. She noted a few minor inconsistencies she could smooth over while she waited to see if she had approval. No need to waste her time if the director wanted to ditch the segment.

Task completed, she zipped the file, then dropped it onto her secure server. An email containing the link to the director was next and meant her part was complete. She flipped a switch to change over to her personal computer tower and waited for it to boot. When it finally beeped in greeting, she directed the browser window to Noble House’s main site. A few keystrokes, and the splash page for tonight’s event flashed onto the huge screen she’d mounted on the wall.

Two very familiar faces stared back at her.

Boyce Denali, the one on the left, wore heavy-duty leathers. Too bulky for working inside the club. These were the kind used for protection should he take a spill. Though she doubted he would ever be so careless. Boyce was the kind of man the pavement moved for. Dark blond, piercing blues, muscles to die for, and a chiseled bone structure even the most formidable Viking would find intimidating.

Ford Templar, on the other hand, was all dark and mysterious. Nicknamed Saint at the club, Ford was broody. Sulky. Dark hair. Olive skin. Lean muscles. The dark to Boyce’s light. Except his eyes. Those eyes. Eerily colored, they reminded her of glass Coke bottles. Rumor had it his gaze could pierce right through to someone’s soul. While Boyce held a commanding air that demanded to be heard, Saint wore his power subtly but was still all dominant authority.

Seemingly connected at the hip, the two men scened together every week. Much to her delight. Grae didn’t think she’d ever seen them work with a submissive alone. Not that the choice to only carry out ménage scenes affected their standing at the club. Not in the least. Every time they worked together, their scenes had been nothing short of spectacular.

“Let’s see what you’re up to tonight, boys.”

About the Author

Sara Brookes has always been fascinated by the strange, the unusual, the twisted and the lost (tortured heroes are her personal favorite). She is an action movie junkie, addicted to coffee and has been known to stay up until the wee hours of the morning playing RPG video games. Despite all this geekiness, she is a romantic at heart and is always a sucker for an excellent love story.

Links:

Website: http://sarabrookes.com

Twitter: http://twitter.com/sara_brookes

Facebook: http://facebook.com/brookesofbooks

New release announcement list: http://eepurl.com/mbG31

Release blitz organized by Writer Marketing Services.

Celebrate Read-An-Ebook Week (#CheapBooks #Smashwords #SundaySnog)

Today marks the start of the huge “Read-An-Ebook-Week” promotion at Smashwords. Thousands of authors (including yours truly) are discounting their books or making them free, between today and next Saturday. I’m dropping all my books that cost over 99 cents by 50%. My 99 cent books are free!

You’ll find links to the discounted books at the end of this post. Meanwhile, browse the special catalog that Smashwords has put together for this event here:

https://www.smashwords.com/books/category/1/newest/1

To whet your appetite, I have a Sunday Snog excerpt from the story “On the Beach”, which is included in my BDSM ménage collection Coming in Costume – now 50% off!

When you’re done with my snog, don’t forget to visit Victoria’s Sunday Snog page, for more sexy kisses!

And remember, you’ll find links to all my discounted books after the excerpt.

“Turn around,” James orders. I glance at Greg. He nods. I understand that I am to obey them both today.

My husband’s friend traces one of the stripes on my shoulder, then slips down to fondle another welt on my ass. His touch, though gentle, wakes new pain in my battered flesh. I wince and he lands a sudden slap on my punished butt. I don’t mind. I feel myself moistening, melting, yielding as always to the intoxicating combination of tenderness and power.

“We really did a job on you.” His voice is gruff with lust, but I also hear something like awe.

“Sorry, Bella.” He draws my hair aside to nuzzle at my nape.

“Don’t apologise to the slave, James.” Greg steps in front of me. His cock is now fully engorged. It sways as he steps closer to tweak my nipples. Lightning sizzles down to my clit. His cock bats against my thigh. I lower my gaze, as I’ve been taught. “The slave exists to serve us. If we want to beat her, we beat her. She’s happy to beaten, as long as it pleases us.”

He sounds like some Dom in a cheesy romance novel. That doesn’t mean it isn’t true. With his finger and thumb, he tips my chin up so that our eyes meet. A wild light burns in his, fierce and proud and full of love. Joy balloons in my chest, ready to burst.

When his mouth descends to mine, I open immediately to his probing tongue. I want him to take everything he can. He tastes of espresso and maple syrup, from the decadent brunch James cooked for us. His familiar scent fills my nostrils, like sun-warmed earth. His vacation stubble grazes my cheek. Every sensation is welcome, glorious. His lips seal themselves to mine, drinking in my devotion. This is my husband, my lover, my master. I deny him nothing.

Releasing my chin, he molds my breasts, squeezing the soft flesh, dragging his thumbs over the rigid tips, making my poor, soaked pussy ache for his hardness. His sharp teeth nip the corner of my mouth and I gasp at the sudden pain. My clit throbs in the aftermath.

“Isabella,” he murmurs, delving deeper, taking more. Delicious weakness seizes me, but James is behind me, hands encircling my waist, simultaneously caressing and supporting me. My husband’s friend licks his way down my spine, leaving a wet trail that cools in the sea breeze. Then suddenly he parts my rear cheeks and sweeps his tongue across my rear hole, still loose and sensitised from last night’s invasions.

My muscles clench. A shudder races through me. I’m teetering on the edge of climax, with James mouth busily working to push me over.

“Don’t come,” comes Greg’s voice, close to my ear. But it’s too late. James stabs his tongue into my pussy, Greg grinds his cock against my pubis, and I dissolve, relentless pleasure surging through me in massive waves.

I bury my face in Greg’s chest to smother my screams. My two lovers hold me while I shake like a rag doll, helpless with delight.

Finally, the spasms subside. Greg shakes his head, his lips purse in mock disapproval.

“Really, Isabella! I thought you were better trained.”

~ ~ ~

Get your cheap books now!

The Gazillionaire and the Virgin (BDSM erotic romance)
Bangkok Noir (BDSM LGBTQ thriller)

Coming in Costume (BDSM ménage)

A Contract for Christmas (BDSM ménage)

The Antidote (science fiction erotica)

Hearts & Handcuffs (romantic kink)

Gray Christmas (holiday romance – free!)

Slush (holiday romance – free!)

The Shadow over Des Moines (Halloween erotica – free!)

Sunday Snog 260: A Contract for Christmas (#holiday #bdsm #giveaway)

Happy New Year to all my readers!

After last week’s vanilla release, I’m back to my usual tricks with a BDSM-flavored snog from my holiday ménage tale A Contract for Christmas. Want your own copy? Just leave me a comment with your email and I’ll enter you in the drawing.

And when you’re done here, do head back to Victoria’s place. She’s got an extra kinky Sunday Snog, too!

“Good morning, sleepyhead. Merry Christmas!”

Greg’s voice dragged me awake. The brightness made me blink. For a few minutes, I couldn’t focus on the figure towering over the bed.

“Um—Greg? You’re back!”

Joy sang through me. Then I realized where I was—lying in a bed that reeked of sex, with my arms around another man. Guilt descended, threatening to smother me.

James still slept, oblivious. I extricated myself from his embrace, tumbled out of the bed and sank to the floor at Greg’s feet.

“Sir…I’m so sorry, sir...”

“Sorry for what, minx? Didn’t I order you to put yourself at James’s disposal? It looks to me like you followed my instructions very well.”

He raised me to my feet and drew me into a kiss. His bold mouth was familiar and yet shocking, after so many kisses from James. I let him take me over, relieved to find he wasn’t angry. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d betrayed him.

“I missed you, Greg. I let James use me, as you ordered, but it wasn’t the same…”

My husband ran his fingers through my hopelessly tangled hair. “I should hope not! Wouldn’t make much sense to have two masters if they were exactly the same. I’ve always believed that variety is the spice of life.”

He set me at arms length and looked me over. “Impressive marks on your thighs, I must say.”

My cheeks flamed as I remembered the ecstatic pain James had bestowed upon me.

“Turn around. Oh my! A paddling too, if I’m not mistaken.”

“You’ve always had a sharp eye, Greg.”

I turned to see James propped up on elbow, sporting a self-satisfied grin.

“Ah, Merry Christmas! So, was our Bella a good girl for you last night?”

James sat up straight and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Despite the night’s exertions, he sported an impressive erection. “The very best.”

He reached out, pulled me against him and planted his lips on mine. The kiss was brief but wet, with plenty of tongue. How different he tasted from my husband! Meanwhile, his fingers slithered between my sticky thighs to tease my clit.

“James, don’t!” I squirmed away, unwilling for Greg to see how easily his friend controlled my body.

My husband arched an eyebrow. “You’re refusing him? I ordered you to submit.”

“That was last night.” Backing away from James, I bumped into Greg. He strapped an arm across my chest, taking the opportunity to tweak a nipple. “Greg—no, please…”

“Now you’re objecting to my attentions as well? What’s got into you, Bella?”

James stepped forward, pressing his body against mine, until I was sandwiched between them. His rigid cock prodded my belly. “I’d expect you to be deliriously happy,” he said. “You’re such a lucky woman, with two strong masters just dying to get their hands on you.”

Greg’s evergreen cologne mingled with stale sweat from his long plane trip. James smelled of cum and pussy. Their scents combined to trigger new moisture in my pussy. I sighed and surrendered, sinking into their heat. “You’re ganging up on me!” I protested, as Greg circled my anus and James palmed my breast. “It’s not fair.”

“Who ever said BDSM was fair? I think she needs to be punished, James. Taught her place.”

“I agree,” my husband’s friend replied. “But can we do that later? I’m desperate for a shower.”

Sunday Snog #174: The Ingredients of Bliss

My kisses this Sunday comes from The Ingredients of Bliss, my steamy BDSM ménage. The excerpt is a bit long, so I’ll skip the blurb. (You can find it here.) Hope you like the snog!

Don’t forget to visit Blisse Kiss Central for lots more sexy kisses!

“You’ve got nothing to hide now.” With his lanky frame, mussed hair and crooked grin, Harry almost looked like a teenager. A very horny teen, considering the substantial erection bobbing hopefully at his groin. He flipped back onto his side and fixed me with a slightly fuzzy gaze. He was irresistibly cute without his glasses. “Everything’s out in the open.”

“But it’s all so—complicated!” As usual, my objections began to melt in the warmth of his smile.

He danced his fingers up my outstretched thigh and my pussy clenched in anticipation.

“On the contrary, I think this considerably simplifies the situation—Ms Wong.” Etienne’s voice was deferential, but I read a mirror of Harry’s mischief in his expression. “I serve you. You serve Harry. Each of us gets what he or she wants.”

“There’s no more need for secrets, love. Or for surreptitiously administered enhancements to the libido, either…” Harry slipped a fingertip between my moist lips and grazed a fingernail across my clit.

My annoyance paled next to the flare of pleasure kindled by his touch. Before I could clamp down to hold his hand in my crotch, however, he’d snatched it away.

“Oh no!” I groaned, fighting arousal and disappointment. “You told him…?”

“I had my suspicions in any case. It doesn’t matter. Your methods might have been dubious, but I’m grateful for the results.” Etienne glanced down at the livid marks from my beating, a set of parallel strips leading up his lean thighs toward his rearing cock. “I might never have had the courage to act on my desires if not for your—um—intervention.” His voice held quiet pride.

“You don’t have to be ashamed or embarrassed,” Harry added. “All we want—both of us—is to satisfy you. To please you and make you happy. Can’t you just accept that?”

Harry hooked an arm around my neck and pulled me down into lush kiss. His tongue was assertive as ever, yet I caught a hint of uncertainty in his manner. Under his brashness, he worried that I’d reject the solution he and Etienne had worked out. If I did, would I choose him, or the suave, glamorous chef?

I relaxed and let him plunder my mouth, offering reassurance via my physical surrender. His hands roamed over my body, visiting all the sensitive spots he’d discovered in our months together. There was no pain now, only bliss, pouring from him into me.

Warmth pressed against my back. I smelled vanilla and thyme. Etienne’s fingers joined Harry’s, tracing along the top of my corset. He stroked the tender flesh under my arm, making me shiver, then let his palm wander down my side to the curve of my hip. His uncharacteristic boldness increased the thrill of his touch. You’ll be sorry, I thought, giddy with desire, as Harry continued his hungry kisses. I’ll trash your butt until you can’t sit down.

Etienne knew he’d be punished. We both knew that was part of his motivation.

Only part, though. I felt the hair lifted off my neck, the moist, gentle pressure of Etienne’s lips between my shoulder blades. The eloquence of that simple gesture almost brought tears to my eyes. I eased my lips away from Harry’s, beaming him a look I hoped was full of love. Then I swiveled to offer my mouth to Etienne.

The chef accepted my kiss with the eagerness of a starving man. He opened to the probing of my tongue, letting me drink my fill of him. I tasted the walnut mousse he’d sampled earlier at L’Auberge de Francois-Martine and the Courvoisier he’d used to wash it down. Under it all, I caught a hint of some half-bitter flavor that reminded me of rainy autumn afternoons in Jardin les Tuileries. As I kissed him, I realized I’d been craving this since the first day he’d graced me with that haughty smile.

While his mouth was subservient, his hands became increasingly more brazen, palming my breasts and thumbing my nipples, then sneaking down to tease my lower lips. Meanwhile, Harry was busy unlacing my corset. I hadn’t appreciated how much the garment had constrained me until he managed to slip it off, somehow without breaking the lip-to-lip connection between Etienne and me.

I paused to draw in a lungful of the sex-scented air and looked from one man to the other. Had Harry minded my kissing Etienne? Did Etienne think I was rejecting him for Harry?

Both of my lovers wore broad smiles. Relief washed over me. The last vestiges of guilt evaporated. And I was too horny to be embarrassed.