A long, dark and very lonely night -- #Steampunk #Shifter #MFRWHooks

 

Blurb

A bandit prince cursed into beast form under the full moon.

A brilliant but sadistic Rajah whose robotic sex toys mingle torture and delight.

A voluptuous spy on a mission from Her Majesty, tasked with discovering Rajasthan’s secrets.

She has never faced such a challenge.

When Rajasthan refuses to remit its taxes, the Queen calls on her most lethal and seductive secret agent, Cecily Harrowsmith. Cecily expects to have little difficulty persuading the rebellious Rajah to submit once more to the Empire. Instead, she is the one forced to submit – to endure unprecedented extremes of pleasure and pain.

Kidnapped by the ruler's half-brother Pratan and delivered into the hands of the handsome but depraved Rajah Amir, she soon finds herself fighting against her own lascivious nature as much as the schemes of her captors. Her sympathy for the moon-cursed wolf-man Pratan only complicates her situation. Cecily has never failed to complete an assignment, but now she risks betrayal by both her body and her heart. 

 

The Hook

They arrived in good time despite the road conditions. The carriage crested a hill. Cecily gazed out to see the calm waters of Nakki Lake spread out before them, gilded by the setting sun. Across the lake loomed the conical bulk of Mount Abu, crowned with gold as the fiery orb sank behind it. On the near shore, just below them, Akanksha Palace gleamed in the waning light, a fantasy in white marble.

“The lake is ancient and holy,” Pratan commented. He had roused himself from his funk. “The palace, though, is fairly new. My father built it as a gift for my mother. ‘Akanksha’ means wish or desire.” His face clouded, and Cecily’s chest ached in sympathy.

“It’s lovely.” Cecily spoke the plain truth. Though fashioned of stone, the edifice had the delicacy of a cloud. It looked like some confection of spun sugar, all airy balconies and minarets, graceful arches and courtyards open to the sky.

The few retainers who had arrived beforehand by air had set candles in the tall windows. As the sun dropped out of sight and the light faded, the place twinkled as though inhabited by fireflies.

“Gorgeous,” Cecily murmured. The coach had left them just outside the gate, in a circular courtyard centred on a fountain. She recognised the motif—Krishna and the Gopis, the milk maids who so adored him. The palace was no less wonderful at close range. Carved friezes decorated the exterior walls, gods and goddesses entwined in sacred congress. Inside, the ceiling rose twenty feet or more, vaulted like the great cathedrals of Europe. Silver chandeliers bearing hundreds of candles dangled from the apex. Meanwhile, a cool breeze wafted in from a terrace that overlooked the dark lake.

She gazed around her in wonder. Pratan stood by her side, brooding and silent. Amir had disappeared with the sleepy Sarita, presumably conveying her to their room. A palace named desire.

On impulse, she seized Pratan’s hand. “Stay with me tonight.” The raw need in her voice astonished but did not deter her. “Please, Pratan-ji. I don’t want to be alone.”

“I dare not, lady. The moon is still below the horizon, but already I feel her energy. I must hasten to my cage. Every minute I spend here with you increases the danger.”

He tried to extricate himself from her grasp. She clasped his hand to her breast, feeling her nipples knot under her blouse. Brazen, she rubbed his palm over one taut nub, striking sparks that sizzled down to her pussy.

“I’m not afraid. You didn’t hurt me before…”

He snatched his hand from her grasp and backed away. “Have you really forgotten the pain, woman? The blood? Leave me be!”

“Pratan—”

“And if I bite you, and make a monster of you as well? No, no… We must not be together at all, not until the night of the ritual.” He strode off down the corridor, towards the sleeping chambers where she knew they’d set up his iron cage.

“Please,” she murmured, sinking to her knees in the empty room. “Please! I need you. I want you.”

The waters of the lake lapped against the shore. Wind sighed in the garden, bringing hints of jasmine and gardenia. Her vision blurred as she fought against traitor tears. Pull yourself together, she scolded herself. He’s nothing but a savage scoundrel—a beast—Her Majesty’s foe. He’s not bloody worth crying over, that’s for certain.

It was a long, dark and very lonely night.

 

Buy Links

Kinky Literature - https://www.kinkyliterature.com/book/363-rajasthani-moon-steampunk-shifter-bdsm-romance/

Amazon US - https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09DBMLQQG

Amazon UK – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B09DBMLQQG

Smashwords - https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1100493

Barnes and Noble - https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/rajasthani-moon-lisabet-sarai/1140045684?ean=2940165000041

Kobo - https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/rajasthani-moon-steampunk-shifter-bdsm-romance

Apple Books -

https://books.apple.com/us/book/x/id1582490320

Add on Goodreads - https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/58835067-rajasthani-moon

I hope you'll visit some of the other authors participating in today's Book Hooks hop!

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Give yourself a chance to heal – #MFRWHooks #PNR #MMRomance

 

Welcome to MFRW Book Hooks, our weekly showcase for great romance!

Today I’m featuring a bit from my MM paranormal erotic romance, At the Margins of Madness. Hope you like it!

Both power and love can lead to madness

Nineteen year old Kyle sees visions of disasters, visions that tear his world apart. Everyone assumes that he is schizophrenic, but Rob, the cop who picks him up off the street, knows better.

Rob's own experience has taught him that psychic powers are real, and potentially devastating. Since his telepathic sister's brutal murder, Rob wants nothing to do with "gifted" individuals like Kyle. Yet he can't deny his attraction to the beautiful, tortured young man – an attraction that appears to be mutual.

When a brilliant, sadistic practitioner of the black arts lures Kyle into his clutches, Rob faces the possibility that once again he may lose the person he loves most to the forces of darkness.

 

The Hook

Kyle’s throat was sore. His head ached and his whole body felt heavy, as though someone had encased him in concrete.

For now, though, his mind was clear, free of any disturbing images. He swallowed the sour taste in his mouth, took a deep breath and opened his eyes.

He was there. The cop who’d picked him up. He was sitting by the side of the hospital bed, watching Kyle, turning his blue cap around and around in his blunt-fingered hands.

Everything about the man screamed “strength”. He wasn’t that big, but he looked like solid muscle. His shoulders and upper arms strained against his starched indigo uniform whenever he moved. His dense thighs had a similar effect on his trousers.

His face was strong, too. Kyle remembered the square jaw, but he hadn’t noticed the determined mouth. No one was going to mess with this guy. On the other hand, the eyes were a clear, open blue and the shallow creases on either side of his nose suggested that the man laughed easily. There were a few lines on his forehead, too. Kyle guessed he was in his early thirties.

The officer leaned forward in his chair. “Hey, you’re awake!” The thin lips curled into a warm smile.

Kyle gave him a weak grin. “Yeah. Sort of. I’m in the hospital?”

“St. Vincent’s. You’ve been here for the past two days.”

“What happened?”

“You passed out. Probably from loss of blood. That ulcer of yours was pretty serious. They did an emergency endoscopy and cauterisation. The doctor told me, another few weeks on the street and it would have perforated. You’re a lucky man. You could have died.”

Kyle closed his eyes, weary. He recalled his last terrible vision, dimly, like a bad dream. “Maybe that would have been better,” he murmured.

“What?”

“Oh, um, never mind. Thanks, Officer— ”

“Murphy. Sergeant Rob Murphy.”

“Thank you, Sergeant Murphy.” Kyle hiked himself up on the pillows, not wanting the macho cop to see him prostrate and helpless. “When can I leave?”

“That’s up to the doctor. Now that you’re back among the living, though, I’ve got to get some information for my report.”

Kyle stopped smiling. “What kind of information?”

The cop gave a casual shrug, as though trying to put Kyle at ease. “Well, we can start with your name. I assume that it’s not John Doe.”

“Kyle McLaughlin.”

“Date of birth?”

“November twenty-first, nineteen eighty-nine. I’ll be twenty next weekend.”

“Address?”

“Uh…I’m sort of between places at the moment.” Kyle cursed his weakness. All he wanted was to hide.

“Hmm.” The cop grinned, apparently trying to reassure him. “What was your last address?”

Kyle swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. “Worcester State Hospital. Acute ward.”

“I see.” The sergeant nodded quietly and wrote something in his notebook. Kyle expected a why as the next question. Then he remembered. This guy had seen him in the grip of his curse. He wouldn’t need an explanation.

“Where will you go when you’re released from here?”

Exhaustion settled on Kyle like a leaden blanket. He sank back into the pillows. “What does it matter?”

Murphy chuckled. “Well, I’d hate to have to come and round you up again the next time we do a sweep.” Then it seemed that he really saw Kyle, saw his complete lack of hope. He placed his hand on Kyle’s forearm, careful not to disrupt the IV drip. His eyes were like a summer sky. “Look, I can see you’re in pain, and I don’t just mean from the ulcer. I’d like to help, if I can.”

Delicious heat blossomed in the bare skin under the older man’s palm. Unshed tears made Kyle’s chest hurt. It has been so long since someone had touched him with any sort of tenderness or concern. “No one can help me,” he said. “Even the shrinks can’t make the pictures go away.”

“How long have you been having these—hallucinations?”

“Since I turned thirteen. The older I get, the worse they become.” Tears welled up, to his extreme embarrassment. He turned away, trying to hide them from his inquisitor. A gentle hand cupped his chin, bringing him back to meet Murphy’s sympathetic gaze. “I don’t know how much longer I can stand it.”

“You’re schizophrenic?”

“That’s the current diagnosis. But I don’t think so. The usual drugs don’t work. They deaden my emotions, but they don’t kill the visions. And when I’m not having a spell, I’m more or less sane.” He stopped, familiar guilt overwhelming him. Sane enough to search the papers, looking for, and eventually finding, accounts of the disasters his dreams prefigured. Disasters he could see but not prevent.

Kyle scanned Murphy’s face, trying to read his expression. Some struggle was going on inside the man. His lips were set in a grim line and his brows knotted into a scowl, but his eyes shone with excitement. He still clasped Kyle’s arm, his fingers tense now, digging into the flesh. Kyle placed his own pale hand on top of Murphy’s in a gesture of reassurance. The policeman started as if he’d been burnt.

Kyle felt the shock too, electricity sizzling between them. Murphy snatched his hand away, staring down at his shiny leather boots. When he looked back at Kyle, he seemed to have made a decision.

“I might not be able to do anything to help with your hallucinations, but I can give you a safe place to stay, at least until you recover.”

“I don’t know…” Kyle began. He didn’t want to get mixed up with this cop. The signals were too strong. The man’s sheer physicality unbalanced him. Already, he felt that queasy sensation that presaged his visions. Powerful emotion often triggered his crises.

“No arguments. I live alone. I’ve got plenty of room in my apartment.” The quiet authority in Murphy’s voice sent a delicious thrill up Kyle’s spine. He shivered. Murphy’s tone softened. “Seriously, Kyle, I don’t want to see you back on the streets. Stay at my place for a few days, a week. Give yourself a chance to heal.”

Murphy’s hand rested on Kyle’s thigh, stroking it through the sheet. He seemed unaware of what he was doing, but with every moment, Kyle felt his own resistance melt further.

Buy Links

Kinky Literature: https://www.kinkyliterature.com/book/917-at-the-margins-of-madness-a-tale-of-power-and-love/

Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/B09QQG683R/

Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/B09QQG683R

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/at-the-margins-of-madness-lisabet-sarai/1140911192?ean=2940165754531

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1127718

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/at-the-margins-of-madness-a-tale-of-power-and-love

Apple Books: https://books.apple.com/us/book/x/id1606236845

Add on Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/60179575-at-the-margins-of-madness

I hope you’ll visit the other authors participating in today’s Book Hooks!

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A race across the moors -- #MFRWHooks #Steampunk #Victorian #Giveaway

 

Happy Wednesday! For today’s MFRW Book Hooks blog hop, I’m dipping into my steampunk novel The Journeyman’s Trial, Book 2 of The Toymakers Guild series. Here’s a bit I haven’t shared before. It’s a bit long... but hopefully exciting enough to keep you interested.

Just to thank you for reading – I will give away a $5 bookstore gift certificate to one reader who leaves me a comment. Be sure to include your email so I can find you if you win!

Blurb

If she builds it, will they come?

Technically brilliant and thoroughly wanton, Gillian Smith has found her vocation: designing innovative erotic devices for the Toymakers Guild. Lust is a lubricant to creativity at Randerley Hall. But what happens when two Toymakers fall in love?

If you like intelligent, lusty women and kinky steam punk sex toys, pick up a copy of The Journeyman’s Trial.

 

The Hook

Rafe and Samson swept past them in a thunder of hooves. The mare sprinted down the hill after them at a terrifying rate. Gillian held on for dear life. As they reached flatter ground, she tried once more to rein in her mount. Instead, the bloody beast only galloped faster, trying to catch up with the stallion ahead.

The bitter wind plucked at Gillian’s clothing and whipped her hair against her face. “Rafe!” she cried. “Damn you, Rafe, she’s out of control!”

Perhaps fifty feet ahead of her, the wiry journeyman turned back with a grin. It wasn’t clear he could hear her, but he must have gotten the gist of her complaint. “Relax!” he called. She could barely make out his words. “Let her have her head. She knows what she’s doing.”

Gillian wasn’t inclined to obey, but she had little choice. Clinging to the saddle horn and tightening her thighs against the horse’s flanks, she let Dorothea carry her across the moors.

Little by little she lost her fear as the fleet-footed mare sped through the darkening afternoon. As her nervousness abated, her excitement grew. To move so fast – it was rather thrilling, after all. Her heart raced in time with the hoof beats striking the turf and her breath came in gasps.

Rafe circled back until he was galloping beside her, the strides of their horses synchronised despite the rapid pace. If she reached out – if she dared to let go for a moment – she might even touch him. A new kind of exhilaration seized her, triggered by his closeness and the persistent pressure of the saddle against her splayed sex. She’d never been one to take risks, but Rafe – Rafe clearly had a wild streak. It called out to her. An unexpected laugh bubbled up from her chest. The wind snatched it away.

The ground swept by in a blur. Her unruly hair stung her cheeks. She couldn’t stop laughing. Rafe flashed her another grin. Strong, lithe, utterly at ease, he leaned over Samson’s neck, touched his heels to the horse’s sides and urged the stallion into a faster gallop.

Gillian mimicked his actions. To her delight, her steed also accelerated.

“Sky’s going to open any minute,” he called over his shoulder. “But I have a place...”

A cold droplet slammed her in the face, followed by another. In seconds she found herself riding into what felt like a swarm of frigid needles. She bent low, almost prone on Dorothea’s neck, her fingers buried in the mane. The mare picked up speed, clearly as uncomfortable as Gillian in the sudden deluge.

By now it was pouring so hard that Samson had become a dark shadow ahead, glimpsed through a grey cascade of rain. Water dripped from her sodden hair into her eyes. Her heavy wool jacket, soaked through, encased her torso like a corset of ice. Her skirt stuck to her thighs, which were sore from the effort of holding on.

The cottage seemed to appear out of nowhere, a jumbled pile of stone huddled at the base of a knoll, flanked by a rickety-looking wooden shed. Rafe slowed Samson to a walk. The magnificent beast came to a stop in front of the hut, its chest heaving from exertion, steam rising from its flanks despite the cold. Dorothea circled the stallion, then paused, panting and shuddering.

Rafe leapt off his horse and grabbed Dorothea’s bridle. “Hey, girl! That’s a good girl!” Rain had plastered his dark hair to his forehead, but in the gathering dusk, his eyes shone.

The mare immediately grew calmer. Gillian drooped in the saddle, blinking raindrops off her eyelashes, shivering and miserable.

Rafe reached for her hand. “Just swing your leg over her back and drop. I’ll catch you.” As she toppled off the horse into his arms, his strength sent little tendrils of warmth through her chilled body, but that soon dissipated as he set her on her feet.

“I need to see to the horses,” he said, nodding toward the shed. He pressed a key into her palm. “Get inside where it’s dry.

The obviously deserted cottage scarcely looked waterproof. However, a stout padlock secured the warped plank door, which yielded to Rafe’s key. The hinges groaned as it opened, revealing not the damp, musty, vermin-infested interior she’d expected, but a snug, neat space with clear signs of human occupation. To the left stood two rush-bottomed chairs and a rough pine table, flanked by a set of shelves holding pots and bowls. On the right there was a wooden bedstead covered with a red wool blanket, a tin trunk at its foot. Rush matting covered the packed earth floor. The far wall boasted a stone hearth. Though cold now, it held charred remains that looked recent. And wonder of wonders, several split logs sat piled to one side, along with a basket of apparently dry twigs for tinder.

Gillian stumbled into the dim room, falling to her knees in front of the grate. Though her hands shook with cold, she managed to prop one of the logs up against the wrought iron and stuff some of the tinder underneath. She found a covered terracotta jar of matches tucked into a natural alcove on one side of the chimney. Her teeth chattered as she tried to get one to light. After a dozen failed attempts, she tore off her gloves and tossed them aside. Finally she succeeded in igniting the twigs. A tiny flame strained upward, licking the underside of the log.

Wearied by her efforts and still racked by shivering, she half-collapsed in front of the hearth, watching the flickering red-gold filaments twine, merge and grow.

“Oh, well done, Jill! A fire’s exactly what we need!” Chill, damp air swept into the cottage as Rafe pulled open the door, then subsided as he shut it behind him. “Are you all right, then?”

He knelt by her side. His garments were as soaked as her own, but somehow he seemed to radiate warmth.

“I – I’m – so cold...” She wanted to throw her arms around him, to clutch him to her chest and bask in his heat, but she didn’t have the energy.

“Better get these off.” Without ceremony or hesitation, he started unbuttoning her jacket.

His touch shocked her out of her lethargy. “Wa – wait! What are you doing?”

He swept his damp hair off his forehead and smiled. “You’re drenched. You’re shivering so hard you can hardly talk. If you don’t shed those wet clothes, you’ll catch a fever or worse.”

“I – we – we scarcely know each other...” She crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself. The sodden wool of her sleeves almost froze her palms.

“Gillian – we’re both members of the Guild. I can’t believe you’re pleading modesty!”

Indeed, what was wrong with her? Since she’d come to Randerley, she’d been naked, or nearly, more times than she could count. Why was she acting so weak, so cowardly, so ordinary?

“I – I don’t know – I...” Tears shimmered on her eyelashes.

“Hey there!” He stroked the wet tangles covering her head with a hand so gentle it made her chest hurt. “Don’t cry, Jill. You’re a bricky tart, just exhausted, that’s all. Look – tell you what, I’ll go first.”

Get your copy today!

Kinky Literature – https://www.kinkyliterature.com/book/618-the-journeymans-trial-the-toymakers-guild-book-2/

Amazon US – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09MQV4Y86

Amazon UK – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B09MQV4Y86

Smashwords – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1118032

Barnes and Noble - https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-journeymans-trial-lisabet-sarai/1140567579?ean=2940165096259

Kobo – https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/the-journeyman-s-trial-the-toymakers-guild-book-2

Apple Books - https://books.apple.com/us/book/x/id1597807423

Scribd - https://www.scribd.com/search?query=9780463505649&language=0

Add on Goodreads – https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/59740783-the-journeyman-s-trial

I hope you'll visit the other authors participating in today's blog hop. And don't forget to leave a comment! There's $5 in books up for grabs!

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I want to make this last – #NewRelease #99Cents #MFRWHooks

At the beginning of 2022, one of my publishers closed its doors, and my favorite of all the romances I’ve written became unavailable. Now my sweet and steamy BDSM erotic romance novel The Gazillionaire and the Virgin is back in a new edition, with a new cover and a bonus Valentine’s Day story. Furthermore, the book is only 99 cents until the end of February.

Also, I’m running a contest over at my blog with a $10 gift certificate prize. It’s open until next weekend, so I hope you’ll go over and enter now: https://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com/2022/02/my-most-romantic-book-is-back.html

Blurb

She’s the billionaire. He’s the virgin. Still, he knows how to make her melt.

When Silicon Valley entrepreneur Rachel Zelinsky meets reclusive genius Theo Moore, she has a single objective —a deal to incorporate his AI software into her company’s popular virtual world. She finds Theo to be arrogant, sensitive and socially awkward, but his aura of power speaks to her carefully-hidden submissive side. Confused and aroused, she falls under his geeky spell.

Theo Moore can’t be bought. His past battles with poverty make him deeply suspicious of the billionaire CEO, though Rachel’s voluptuous curves and brilliant mind embody his ultimate fantasy. Too bad his knowledge about sex derives from extensive research and a stash of kinky porn rather than real-world experience.

Rachel may be Theo’s first lover, but Theo is her first true Master. One word from him, one touch, and she surrenders to bliss. It seems that love and complementary desire may harmonize their differing values, until Rachel’s unwitting violation of Theo’s trust tears them apart.

 

The Hook (Rated R)

When I wake up, it’s dark and I’m starving. The mattress rocks as I stand up, but Rachel doesn’t budge. Her succulent breasts rise and fall with her even breathing. I notice the marks from my belt are already fading. I don’t know whether I’m relieved or disappointed.

I pull on a tee shirt and a pair of gym shorts and head for the kitchen. I know I’ve got some chicken breasts in the freezer. With some couscous and a salad, they’ll make a decent supper. Probably not up to Rachel’s standards, but she’ll just have to make allowances.

The damp, rumpled quilt on the dining room table and the ropes scattered over the floor give me a slightly queasy sense of satisfaction. I can hardly believe it happened, but here’s the evidence. I—no, we—actually did it. Can’t tell Dr. Hopkins about this, of course. Although he’s pretty laid back, I suspect there may be limits to his tolerance. No, this will have to be our secret—mine and Rachel’s. My smile’s so broad my cheeks hurt as I coil up the lengths of cord and stash them in a drawer. The emergency release process shortened them, but they still might be useful in the future.

The future. I ponder the possibilities as I putter around the kitchen, putting the chicken into the microwave to thaw, whisking together olive oil, lemon juice, basil and tarragon for the marinade, tearing romaine leaves and slicing vine-ripened tomatoes. Did Rachel and I have a future? Was there any way I could fit into her high-flying, super-charged, billionaire executive life?

We connect sexually. I have no doubts about that, not anymore. Despite her position, or maybe even because of it, she has a natural desire to submit, a desire that I can apparently satisfy. And make no mistake, I’m happy to oblige—to push her to her limits, and beyond. I’ve never felt the kind of power and certainty I felt this afternoon. And that was just the beginning. There are so many things I want to do to her—with her. I’m getting hard again as a parade of X-rated images runs through my mind.

But sex is not enough. Entertaining as it might be to fantasize about a life with Rachel as my 24/7 slave, I know that’s ridiculous. We come from different worlds. We have different values. Rachel measures everything in dollars and cents.

That’s not fair. I arrange the chicken in a baking dish, dump in the marinade, sprinkle chopped garlic over the top, and leave it to sit for ten minutes. From what I’ve seen so far, she also values creativity, innovation and hard work, just like I do. She’s super-smart, energetic, funny. And brave. It took guts for her to take me to Home Depot. I’m sure she realized I might have had a total melt-down. Hey, I almost did.

She’s a lot braver than I am. Would I ever have admitted my interest in kink if she hadn’t found my stash?

Vinegar, oil and Grey Poupon make a quick, tasty salad dressing. Too early to pour it over the greens, though. I put the chicken in the oven, setting the timer for half an hour.

Now the cat’s out of the bag. And she didn’t run away screaming—quite the contrary! It’s pretty likely she’s going to want more.

So now what? She lives almost an hour away, even if there’s no traffic. She runs a billion dollar company. She’s glamorous and self-confident, with a taste for luxury. And me? I’m just a nerdy computer scientist with a touch of Asperger’s and a penchant for bondage. People scare me. Change terrifies me. There’s no way I belong in her universe.

Even if she wants you there? A startling notion. Dr. Rachel Zelinsky always gets what she wants.

The rich aroma of roasting chicken makes my mouth water and my belly clench. The water for the couscous is boiling, so I dump the yellow grains into the pot, cover it and take it off the stove. Time to set the table, then I’ll go wake my guest. I like that notion, actually. I’ve never had a guest for dinner before.

“God, that’s smells incredible!”

I jump, almost dropping the glass salad bowl. “Jeez! Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“Sorry.” Rachel extracts the bowl from my grip and places it on the counter, then wraps her arms around me. She’s warm and rumpled and smells of sex. “You must have been lost in thought.” She lands a quick kiss on my lips and gives me a squeeze. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“I can’t.” My cock rises in reaction to her proximity. She rubs her belly against my hardness, provoking me. I dig my fingers into her lush ass, through the tee shirt she’s donned. I can’t help it.

Teasing, she twists away. “You could have fooled me! This looks scrumptious, at least as good as anything my own cook makes. And I have to say, I feel hungry enough to eat the proverbial horse. Is it ready yet?”

She’s so annoying. And appealing.

“Almost. Here.” I thrust a handful of silverware at her. “Go set the table.”

“Yes, sir.” She’s out of reach before I manage to slap her cheeky posterior. Even spoken in jest, the word makes me grin. I could definitely get used to hearing that, especially from her.

I want more. I want to make this last. I just have to figure out how.

 

Only 99 cents until the end of February!

Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09SDY5XJ5/

Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B09SDY5XJ5/

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1132432

Other stores coming soon!

Add on Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/60397753-the-gazillionaire-and-the-virgin

Audio (WordWooze):

https://www.amazon.com/The-Gazillionaire-and-the-Virgin/dp/B075WZS3TN/

https://www.audible.com/pd/The-Gazillionaire-and-the-Virgin-Audiobook/B075X1XN87

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

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Sneak Peek! The Journeyman’s Trial, out next week! #SteamPunk #VictorianNerds #MFRWHooks #MFRWAuthor

For most of this past year, I’ve been working on The Journeyman’s Trial, the second book of my steam punk erotica series The Toymakers Guild. I’ve finally finished; at 92K words, the novel is the longest thing I’ve ever written. It’s scheduled to come out next Wednesday, the 8^th of December, so today I thought I’d give you a taste. This excerpt, which actually is Christmas-themed, is rated PG. I will warn you that is not true of most of the book!

I’ll be posting a much spicier excerpt for the Steam Hop next Tuesday. Meanwhile, enjoy!

Blurb

If she builds it, will they come?

Technically brilliant and thoroughly wanton, Gillian Smith has found her vocation: designing innovative erotic devices for the Toymakers Guild. Lust is a lubricant to creativity at Randerley Hall. But what happens when two Toymakers fall in love?

The Guild’s tribe of talented, uninhibited engineers has embraced Gillian as one of their own. Edward Thorne, the perverse genius who founded the Guild, undertakes to train her in the skills she’ll need as a journeyman, from practical mind-reading to transcendental orgasms.

As Gillian labours to impress the charismatic Master, her enigmatic fellow journeyman Rafe both entices and frustrates her. Their passion seems to go beyond mere appetite, but in Randerley’s promiscuous and permissive environment, does love make any sense?

When the Toymakers receive a commission to equip London’s most exclusive brothel with the latest sexual technology, Gillian has the chance to demonstrate her formidable abilities as well as to help Rafe exorcise the demons of his past. She doesn’t realize she’ll be forced to choose between Rafe and her future in the Guild.

If you like intelligent, lusty women and kinky steam punk sex toys, pick up a copy of The Journeyman’s Trial.

 

The Hook (PG Rated)

Christmas at Randerley was a more sedate affair than Gillian had expected, partly because the Master had invited the entire household. As the apprentices and journeymen gathered around the gaily decked tree on Christmas morning, they were joined by Henderson the butler, Mrs Jones from the kitchen, her scullery boy Jim, Pete Murphy, and a compactly built young woman with a crown of ash-blond braids, wearing a grey uniform with a white collar and apron. Gillian had assumed that the steam-powered robots that hurtled up and down Randerley’s corridors handled all the cleaning, but perhaps this girl was responsible for the more complicated aspects of domestic management.

The Master, with his characteristic discernment, noticed Gillian’s curiosity. He gestured at the young and rather pretty stranger. “I gather you’ve not met Emily. She joined us a few weeks ago.”

Given that Gillian had spent the bulk of her time over the last month working in the laboratory, her failure to notice the new maid was not that surprising. She gave the young woman a warm smile. “I’m pleased to meet you, Emily. I’m Gillian Smith.”

Emily’s eyes focused intently on Gillian’s face. After a short pause, she nodded and returned the smile, but not the greeting. Gillian glanced at the Master.

“Emily comes from a village west of here,” he commented. “A childhood fever left her unable to hear, and she’s quite reluctant to speak. However, she can understand what we say by reading our lips.”

A deaf-mute servant! That was certainly convenient for protecting Randerley’s secrets! Gillian’s initial sympathy for the maid quickly transformed into admiration as the girl circulated among the Guild and household members with a tray of eggnog. Emily moved with quiet grace, a self-assured presence that made her a delight to watch. Very likely she knew that she was fortunate to have found work here. Gillian did not doubt that the Master paid her generously.

Rafe sidled up and slipped an arm around Gillian’s waist, distracting her from Emily’s trim figure. He planted a quick, nutmeg-flavoured kiss on her lips, but somewhat to Gillian’s regret did not take further liberties. More quickly than she would have liked, he released her. Slipping his hand into his trousers pocket, he extracted a box about three inches long and half as deep, wrapped in brown paper and tied with green twine.

He offered her the diminutive parcel. “Happy Christmas to you, Jill.”

“Oh, Rafe! That’s very sweet of you, but really, you should not have gone to the trouble.” Guilty embarrassment made her blush. In fact, she’d been so focused on her work that the question of Christmas gifts had never even entered her mind.

She shifted the package from one hand to the other. It was unexpectedly heavy. What could it be? She hoped he hadn’t spent a lot of money on her. Thankfully, the box was the wrong shape for a ring. Last night she’d told him she loved him. The declaration had been sincere, but still, she couldn’t possibly accept a ring as a gift, given the implications.

“Open it,” he urged.

Gillian glanced around the drawing room. Everyone seemed engrossed in their own conversations, sipping their eggnog and nibbling the gingerbread fingers Mrs. Jones had provided. The Master sat on the chaise near the tree, Amelia at his right hand and Roderick on the left. Both of them half-turned toward him as if to catch some words of wisdom. Jia was ensconced in one of the wingback chairs by the fire, with Ian perched on one arm, Tug on the other, and Archie on the ottoman by her feet. Lucy gestured dramatically as she related some funny story to Pete Murphy and Emily. The groundskeeper chuckled, while the tidy little maid nodded and smiled.

No one was paying any heed to her and Rafe.

With a touch of trepidation, she pulled on the end of the twine. The bow came loose and the paper unfolded, revealing a box of unvarnished wood. She turned it over several times, as Rafe grinned. “What is it?” she asked finally.

“Check the front panel,” he told her. Sure enough, there was a barely visible depression near the bottom edge on one side. She centred her thumb in the dent and pushed away from her. The thin wooden sheet slid upward along a pair of grooves. Nestled in the soft red wool lining was a miniature hourglass.

She extracted the instrument and cradled it in her palm, a bit puzzled. “It’s lovely,” she told him. The sand inside was white as the snow outside. “Thank you.”

“I made it especially for you. Blew the glass and brazed the enclosure.”

“You made it? Oh my!” She examined the item with more care, noting a few minor imperfections that marked it as handmade. A comfortable warmth settled in her chest and her residual guilt evaporated. “Your versatility continues to amaze me, Rafe. But why?”

“I wanted to give you a Christmas gift.”

“No, I mean, why an hourglass?”

Taking the artefact from her, he turned it on its end and placed it on a nearby occasional table. Sand flowed smoothly from the top orb to the bottom through the narrow waist. “To continue your lessons in patience,” he told her, arching an eyebrow. “For instance, I won’t touch you again until all the sand has collected in the bottom.”

Gillian burst into laughter. “That’s hardly a lesson,” she countered. “I doubt it will take more than a minute to empty the top chamber.”

“Well, that depends.” He lifted the device, fiddled with a tiny thumbscrew between the two globes, then set it down again. The flow of sand slowed to the point that it was almost imperceptible. “Now what do you think?” he asked. “Can you wait until the sand runs out?”

Gillian gazed into his dark eyes, full of love and challenge. “You rogue!” She licked her lips. “Can you?”

She yearned to grab him, despite their very public situation. She wanted to drag his mouth to hers and run her hands along his muscled back, down to his firm buttocks. He could tease her, could pretend he’d mastered his own lust, but now she knew better.

Pre-order at Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09MQV4Y86

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

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