A sexy Halloween excerpt - and a treat! -- #Halloween #pnr #giftcertificate #69cents

Happy Halloween!

My favorite holiday is finally here! I hope you have plans for tonight—maybe even outrageous ones. In any case, I want to help you celebrate.

Below I’ve got a sexy excerpt from my Halloween paranormal short Rendezvous. For Rebecca, Halloween has always been special, an opportunity for her to cast off her sensible, ordinary self and assume a new look and a new identity: someone extraordinary, sensual and seductive.

When Halloween night finds her stranded by a breakdown in a seedy motel nearly a hundred miles from her friend's annual party, she's terribly frustrated and 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. Gradually, the ghost unmasks Rebecca's secret desires, fulfilling every one.

By the time midnight tolls, Rebecca has come face to face with more magic than she had ever imagined.

Today only, you can get this book for only 69 cents at Totally Bound! And all my other paranormal books are only 99 cents. But don’t wait, because at midnight this offer will be gone like cemetery fog when the sun rises!

Meanwhile, I’ve got a special treat for you. Leave me a comment telling me what you think of the excerpt, or what you’re planning for Halloween. I’ll give a $10 bookstore gift voucher to one lucky person who leaves a comment. (Please include your email so I can get in touch if you’re the winner.)

The costume worked its magic. I was astonished at how regal I looked, and how desirable. The bodice pinched my waist to tiny dimensions, and forced my breasts upwards. The square-cut neckline drew attention to my swelling flesh, barely hiding my nipples. In fact, they were not hidden at all. Though I'd lined the top with muslin as the pattern specified, the tight nubs were clearly visible through several layers of fabric.

I cradled my breasts and used my thumbs to trace circles around those sensitive buds. With each cycle, the spring of tension in my cunt wound tighter. A light flick of my thumbnail sent electricity down my spine and triggered spasms of pleasure. I worried briefly that the juices trickling out of my cunt would spoil the satin. But after all, what did it matter? There was no one to see me tonight, no one to please but myself.

“You certainly do look sexy. Like something right out of de Sade.”

“What? Who...?” I whirled around in confusion, my heart slamming against my ribs. The voice had been close, right next to my ear. Yet the room was empty, unchanged. The same rippling walls, the same thread-bare carpet, the same rusty stains on the ceiling. The rumpled bed where I'd had my tantrum. The almost-empty glass on the dresser.

Ah, the liquor. I must be more drunk than I thought. I turned back to the mirror, searching my face for signs of intoxication, and yelped as something, someone, pinched my nipples.

“Hey! That hurts.” Indignation overwhelmed fear.

“It does, at first. But afterwards, it changes, doesn't it? Afterwards, it feels quite delicious.” I stared at my image, mouth hanging stupidly open, as invisible hands caressed my breasts. Strong hands, gentle hands, hands that seemed to know exactly how to make me shiver with delight. “That's what most people don't understand about pain. It's the gateway to the most exquisite pleasure.”

The voice was a melodious baritone, rich, deep, almost hypnotic. “You fear the pain, but that's foolish. You must surrender to the pain. Let it move through you. Let it wash away your doubts and your inhibitions. Let it open you to ecstasy.”

Firm, unseen lips nibbled at my neck. A warm, wet tongue traced the curve from below my ear to my exposed shoulder, then down to the hollow at my throat. With each touch, extravagant new species of pleasure bloomed in my sex. I closed my eyes and let my head fall back, savouring the delicate caresses and the amazing sensations that they triggered in my cunt.

Then suddenly, something sharp pierced the rounded flesh of my shoulder. I screamed, surprise heightening the agony that gripped me, and tore myself away from the grasp of the unseen intruder.

My reflection made me gasp in horror and wonder. Droplets of blood oozed from several wounds on my shoulder, wounds arranged in the distinctive semi-circular shape of a bite.

I felt an arm around my waist, pulling me backwards against the unmistakable bulk of a male body. I struggled against his seemingly supernatural strength.

“Let me go!” There were fingers at my back, unlacing and loosening the bodice, working their way into my top.

“Is that really what you want?” A hand snaked into the opening I had left in the voluminous skirts—a slight modification I had made to the pattern. After all, what was the point of wearing a sexy costume if it made you inaccessible?

Cool fingertips wandered up the inside of my thigh, smearing the damp of my secretions into my bare skin. My clit ached in anticipation. A fresh flow of lubrication made my thighs damper still. “I think that you actually want something else.” He found his way into my folds and began massaging the swollen bud at my centre.

I moaned and arched backward, my body taking over while my mind whirled in confusion and disbelief.

“Who—what —are you?” He slid two fingers deep into my sopping cunt, making me writhe.

“Does it matter?” Now his thumb beat rapidly against my clit, while his fingers stroked my depths. His other hand pumped my breast in the same rhythm. I felt the first shimmers of orgasm, far away like heat lightning on the prairie horizon.

“I am who I am, and I know what you want. What you need.” He captured one swollen nipple and squeezed, waking echoes of his previous assault. I yelped and twisted, trying to get away but succeeding only in impaling myself more completely on the hand in my cunt. “Let yourself go, Rebecca,” he murmured close to my ear. Lost in a fog of arousal and terror, I hardly wondered that he should know my name.

Don’t forget to leave a comment. You just might win!

Sizzling Sunday: Damned If You Do #Halloween #paranormal #BDSM #giveaway

For Sizzling Sunday today, I have a never-before shared paranormal excerpt from Damned If You Do.

And I’m giving away a copy of the book to one lucky reader. Just leave me a comment to enter.

But if you don’t win...the book is only 99 cents until the end of the month, as part of my Month of Magic!

Shadows filled the bedroom. Mister B had closed the drapes against the bright June sun, and odd as it seemed, the temperature had dropped enough to raise goose bumps on her naked arms. He'd also removed all her belongings from the top of her bureau, on the opposite wall, and spread a cover of black satin over the surface. A crimson candle burned there now, flanked by a black ostrich feather, a silver bowl, and a vicious looking knife with a serrated silver blade. Next to the blade lay a multi-page document, which Wendy recognized as the contract her companion had shown her yesterday.

Mister B stood beside the chest of drawers, wearing a hooded robe of black, embroidered in gold with mystic signs. His trim form practically vibrated with tension. “Come here,” he ordered. “Time is short. We should have done this last night.”

“Let me put something on,” Wendy replied with a shiver.

“No! You must be naked.” Picking up the knife, he reached for her. “Give me your hand. There’s a twelve hour tolerance on the contract date. You must sign before the clock strikes noon.”

“Wait just one minute!” Dodging his blade, she snatched the papers from the dresser. “I haven't read the full contract yet.”

“Bloody hell, woman! Let's get on with it. I've summarized the terms for you—the rest is just legalese.”

He appeared agitated. Wendy's doubts resurfaced. He'd seemed totally normal last night—normal for a sadist, at least— but what if he really was wacko? She didn't like the look of that blade one bit.

“I'm sorry, but there's no way I'm going to sign a contract without reading it thoroughly. If you have a problem with that, you can leave now.”

“No, no–—read the whole damned thing if you insist–—just be quick about it.” He replaced the knife on the table and commenced pacing back and forth in front of the bed.

Wendy seated herself on the edge of the bed and proceeded to review the document as carefully as she could, given the chills that racked her body.

In fact the contract was simple, specific, and far more clearly written than many she'd been offered over her years in the business. Subterranean Services Ltd. promised her annual sales of at least five million copies and annual pre-tax income of at least $500,000, these levels to be achieved within one year of signing and to be maintained for at least ten years. In return, she promised to surrender her Immortal Soul—she noted the capitals with some amusement—upon demand, but in any case no later than two years from the date of signing. She also agreed to obey the Representative of the Provider “in all matters, including sexual” until the transfer of her soul was completed. There was the typical boilerplate about indemnification, jurisdiction, arbitration (“by an Authority to be chosen by the Provider”) and notice. However, there were no provisions for termination.

She'd included slave contracts in a couple of her novels. There was always a termination clause. Of course, it might be that the transfer of one's soul was irreversible. In any case, she wasn't going to sign without engaging in some negotiation.

“This seems reasonable, assuming I believe you can deliver. Which of course isn't a reasonable belief at all.”

“You can count on me, Gwen.” His mellifluous voice dripped with honey, though she still read impatience in his stance. “Did I not prove that to you last night?”

“Last night was an impressive demonstration. As was yesterday afternoon. Still, I suspect that my soul must be worth a good deal more than five million dollars, the aggregate value of this contract.”

“The minimum value, my dear. With your talent, and my support, there's no practical limit—”

“Even so, I'd like to add some wording about termination.” She crossed her arms over her bare breasts, and forced herself to meet his eyes.

“Impossible!” The venom in his exclamation startled her. “Our contracts are irrevocable, by their very nature.”

“Look at it from my perspective, Sir. I'm giving up my free will, in addition to my so-called immortal soul. I have significantly more at stake than you. If you should prove untrustworthy...”

“You can trust me, Gwen.” His oily persuasiveness had returned. “I swear by the Horns and the Hooves that I'll fulfill your heart's desire. Your body's as well.”

“An escape clause, then. Time limited, if you want.” She handed him back the contract. “Otherwise, I'm afraid I can't sign.”

“Damn you, woman! You drive a hard bargain.” His fists clenched then relaxed. “Very well.” He waved a palm over the document, then passed it to her again. “Will this satisfy you?”

New text had appeared on the last page. Wendy read it, her heart racing at this new demonstration of her companion's powers.

“Until midnight on October 31, 2017, this agreement shall be treated as provisional. Before that date and time, either of the Parties may dissolve the contract by stating three times in the presence of the other, ‘I renounce you’. Upon termination, any benefits conferred will be revoked. If neither of the Parties exercises this option before the specified date, the agreement shall endure in perpetuity.” She peered up at the robed figure looming over her. “Four months. I guess that should be enough time to decide.”

“Four months to choose between fame and obscurity, wealth and poverty.” He took both her hands, raised her from the bed, and drew her toward the chest of drawers. His fevered touch dispelled her chills. Her nipples swelled and her clit pulsed. He cupped her breasts for a moment, then slid his hands over her hips to capture her ass and pull her body against his. Under the loose robe, his erection raged. “Four months,” he murmured, licking along her throat with his searing tongue, “to choose pleasure over loneliness.”

* * *

Don't forget to leave me a comment as an entry to my drawing!

Saturday Spanks: Rajasthani Moon -- #SaturdaySpanks #MonthOfMagic #BDSM

Today’s Saturday Spanks excerpt comes from my multi-genre opus Rajasthani Moon. Do you like BDSM? Ménage? Shifters? Steampunk? Multicultural? BBW? This book has them all, and more!

It also has lots of sexy bondage and punishment scenes, at the hands of a sadistic but gorgeous Rajah, and his bandit half-brother.

For example...

At long last, the door rattled and then swung open. Sarita leapt from her seat, crossed the richly-patterned carpet, and sank to her knees in front of the entering Rajah.

“My Lord, I have done as you commanded. The spy awaits you.”

Amir took in Cecily’s shameful state in one astute glance. Amusement was evident in both his voice and his expression. “Excellent work, Sarita. I could hardly have done better myself.” He raised his favourite to her feet and bestowed a kiss upon her lips. She pressed her lithe body against his in an attempt to prolong the embrace, but he gently put her aside and strolled over to confront Cecily.

“She looks extremely fetching in bondage, just as I’d expected.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Cecily glimpsed the other woman’s deepening scowl.

“How are you feeling, Miss Harrowsmith?”

The mockery in his tone was not enough to prevent a surge of renewed lust, which she struggled to suppress. “I presume that’s a rhetorical question, Your Highness,” she replied after a moment. God, but his eyes are hypnotic! “Given that I’m stark naked and trussed up like a turkey about to be roasted.”

“Not entirely rhetorical.” The handsome Rajah circled around to inspect her from the rear. “It seems to me that you’re distinctly damp.” With a chuckle, he swept a finger down the length of her cleft, gathering her moisture. Her inner muscles clenched as sparks struck her clit. When he smeared her juices across her bum, she wanted to sink through the floor. “Based on the available evidence, I’d say that being bound excites you.”

“Nonsense—” she began. Her attempts at a cool, sarcastic response were interrupted by the ferocious slap he landed on her arse. “Ow! Oh…” The sting from his spank vanished, overwhelmed by the delicious sensation of his fingers playing in her cunny. “Oh…ah…”

“And it’s clear that, like many of your compatriots, you find corporal punishment arousing.”

“No—ow! That’s ridiculous…Ow! Ah! Ow!”

He alternated sharp blows to her buttocks with exquisite explorations of her cunt.

“Fondness for punishment is one of the many intriguing cultural phenomena I encountered during my sojourn in your dank country.” He circled her back hole with a slick finger, then probed gently. “I suppose that being exposed to those notions at a tender age might have shaped my own predilections in that regard.”

She tightened her sphincter, trying to keep him out, without success. Guilty pleasure rushed through her as he wiggled his digit just inside the entrance. “Oh—you…uh—you spent time in England? Ah…” Though he pulled out, the effects of his lewd touch continued to ripple through her body. Her sex gaped, hungry, dripping with excitement she couldn’t hide. If only he’d stop chattering and simply take her…

“I was schooled there. Pratan as well. My father believed in the value of knowing one’s enemy.”

“I’m not— We’re not—oh!—your enemy, Your Highness. Ow!”

The Rajah had pinched one of the welts raised by his brother’s whipping. “Hmm. We’ll see. Speaking of Pratan, it looks as though he did quite a job on you yesterday. Perhaps I should refrain from inflicting any further damage on your delectable bottom at present.”

Cecily bit back a moan of disappointment. She hung her head, appalled by her reaction. Her hair tumbled around her face, hiding her shame.

“Fear not, sweet Cecily. I have other ideas about what to do with you—equally nasty and painful, I guarantee.” He gave both her butt cheeks a solid squeeze, waking echoes of her previous beatings, then moved away.

Like all my paranormal titles, Rajasthani Moon is on sale for only 99 cents until the end of October, as part of my Month of Magic. Get your copy of this outrageous full length novel today!

Conjuring Demons - #paranormal #obsession #power #Halloween #MonthOfMagic

First came the flames. Then, the screams. Each cry was distinct to Kyle’s ears—the men’s hoarse yells, the women’s shrieks, the inarticulate wails from the infants. He couldn’t see them, not yet. Sooty smoke billowed up, hiding the plummeting bodies, making his eyes sting. Orange tongues of fire pierced the black cloud. The cries grew louder as the heat intensified.

He took a big swig of cheap vodka. The bottle was already half empty. His head spun and he knew he couldn’t stand, but the awful screams still rang in his mind.

Please, he thought. No more. I can’t take any more. Let me pass out soon. He drank again, his gut churning as the raw liquid splashed into his empty stomach.

He tried to focus on the present—the rough stone pressing against his back, the chill wind biting through his ragged jacket, the faint smell of urine that filled the passageway under the highway. Useless. The sensations of the real world seemed thin and frail, powerless to overcome the horrible scenes in his head.

Every time, it got worse. It took more alcohol to remove him to that state of blissful oblivion. I’m adapting, just like any drunk. Before long, I’ll need a whole bottle to drown out the visions. Eventually, it will kill me. The thought was a relief.

The spells came more frequently these days, and not just during his waking hours. Nightmares stalked him, full of bloody flesh and torn limbs, searing fire or icy floods. He’d claw his way back to consciousness, howling like an animal, trying to escape. He’d been kicked out of every shelter in the city. He upset the other residents too much.

He could always go back to the hospital. Thorazine didn’t completely smother the visions, but it deadened the emotional impact. He could sit for hours, watching disasters play themselves out on the screen of his mind, and not care.

It worked for a while, but then he always ended up signing himself out again. As painful as consciousness was, it was better than the half-life of being drugged. At least, that was what he told himself, on the good days when his curse was in remission. The staff looked relieved when he left. Even the professionals had trouble dealing with his ‘hallucinations’.

“Hey, gimme a drink, will ya?” A voice cut through the screams echoing in his head. The grizzled man lying next to him on the sidewalk smelt like long-unwashed socks. “Come on, please? Us bums got to stick together.”

Kyle handed him the bottle. His hand shook. “Sure, help yourself.”

The old timer took a deep swallow, then grinned at him. “Thanks, kid.”

The flames flared up, hiding the man’s pock-marked face and gap-toothed smile. A woman’s cry rang out, full of terror. “No, please, no more…” Kyle muttered, closing his eyes. The hungry fire continued to dance behind his eyelids, mocking his attempt at escape. He groped for the bottle.

Aside from the ravening monster I felt inside me when I was anorexic, which I’ve talked about in another post, I’m pretty fortunate. I don’t seem to have any personal demons, at least nothing beyond the normal fears that come with being human. That’s not necessarily true of my characters, though, as illustrated by the excerpt above from my M/M erotic romance Necessary Madness.

In Kyle’s case, his “demon” is an uncontrolled ability to see the future. His raw visions show him only disasters, terrible happenings he cannot prevent. The effects of his paranormal talent are scarcely distinguishable from schizophrenia. He has become a miserable outcast, cynical and suspicious. Even love, the solution to all dilemmas in romance, can hardly save him.

Sometimes my demons are actual supernatural beings. And they can be overwhelmingly seductive. Here, for instance, is a snippet from my story “Fourth World”, from the collection of the same title.

I turn to see Jeremy’s hand wandering up her silk-clad thigh. I’m surprised by his daring. Back at school he was always the shy one in our crowd. I was the one who took the initiative.

His eyes are closed, his lips parted. His trousers rise up from his groin in an imposing peak. Mai cups his bulk and squeezes. Jeremy groans. His hand slips under her skirt.

Jealousy sizzles through me. A red mist clouds my vision. “Never mind,” says Mai, her hand on my thigh, her lips fastening on mine.

Her kiss claims me. I try to take control, to thrust my tongue between her ripe lips, but she playfully forces me back, then plunders my mouth with her own. She tastes sweet but strange, the fruity remnants of her wine not quite hiding a metallic element. My cock surges, painful and eager, trapped in my tight briefs.

Blinded by the fall of her hair around my face, I grope for her breast. Her flesh is firm and elastic under my fingers. Her nipple juts through flimsy barrier of her dress. I circle it with my thumb and she moans into my mouth. I pinch the delightful nub and she bites my lip, hard enough to draw blood. I want to protest, to push her away, but she’s far stronger than I expect. Her kiss becomes more heated, more desperate. My pierced lip throbs. Something’s not right, I think, but then her hand settles on my cock and all thought vanishes.

Her fingers skitter across the distorted fabric of my trousers, testing my hardness. She settles her palm over my swollen bulk, squeezing in time with her sucking kisses. I feel the tightening heaviness that tells me I’m going to come. I take a deep breath, trying to gain some control. Her scent floods my nostrils. The need for release overwhelms me. The first spurt of come pulses halfway up my shaft, but then she removes her hand. The urge subsides, becomes just bearable. Her lips graze my earlobe. “Not yet, darling. Save that for me.”

****

Yes, as you might have guessed, Mai is a vampire—but as Harry and Jeremy discover, she’s the type who likes to play with her food.

The most intriguing demons, though, are the ones inextricably embedded in my characters’ nature. In “Fire”, my protagonist has a fire fetish which compels him to commit arson.

These days, I can't even strike a match without getting hard.

It was better than I could have imagined. Pure joy. After years of borrowing other people's fires, I had my own. There were no sirens, no spectators, no official types keeping an awkward eye on me. Just me and the night and the dancing, piercing flames. I lay down in the scrubby grass with my fly wide open and watched greedily as the blaze devoured the feast I had laid before it.

By the time the building had become a charred pile of debris, I was gorged and sated. I called in sick that morning.

After that, second-hand conflagrations couldn't satisfy me. I have to have my own. I try to space them out, keep at least six to eight weeks between them. It's tough, but I don't want anyone to get suspicious.

The first few weeks after a session, I have plenty of memories to keep me going. I can close my eyes and recall every detail, the intricate shapes of the flames, the taste of smoke in my lungs, the searing, intimate caress of the heat on my privates.

I remember the sequence in which the barn or the shed or the deserted fishing cabin collapsed. Sometimes the whole structure explodes, or caves in on itself. Other times, one wall will totter and fall gently, leaving the others standing as though buoyed up by the hot gases, until at last they simply melt away, crumbling to glowing ash. It is always fascinating, thrilling, enough to push me over the edge.

Sometimes, I imagine that I'm inside, during those final moments when the fire declares victory. I lie on the my back, feeling the sparks rain down on my naked flesh, struggling to breathe as the fire sucks up all the oxygen. I know that it sounds a bit twisted, but I come the hardest when I think about the fire consuming me, taking me into itself.

Anyway, after a while, the memories aren't enough. I start to dream of fire. I wake up soaked with sweat, with a hard-on that I can work for hours without finding any real relief. I begin to get irritable, less polite, less persuasive. My work begins to suffer.

That's when I know it's time. It takes me a few days to prepare, and then finally, I have what I need.

****

This tale was recently republished in Rule 34: Weird and Wonderful Fetish Erotica.

Sexual desire can be a personal demon, perhaps the hardest of all to fight. Here’s a bit from my tentacle erotica tale, “Fleshpot”, also part of my dark paranormal erotica collection Fourth World. 

* * * 

Cass was right. It's a disease. She was right to cut the ties, when she found me in the garden shed with sweet Susan the baby sitter, in flagrante. I offer no excuse.

It doesn't feel like a disease, though, when I'm in the throes, my senses drenched in the seashore scent of my latest conquest. It feels like I'm on the edge of a revelation, like this is the fuck I've been seeking all my life, the one that will make everything clear, new, beautiful and real. When I burrow into that mysterious place between her thighs, I'm not just looking for pleasure. I'm seeking some kind of truth, or at least that's how it seems, like this is the time that I'll break through that barrier. I catch tantalizing glimpses of brilliance, just out of reach, shining like the grail in some celibate knight's vision. That's me, on a quest for the ultimate knowledge. Except of course, I'm not celibate.

When the papers came from her lawyer, my transgressions sucked dry by legal language ("extramarital liaisons"), my kids stolen by some judge's whim, I took off. My business— electronics OEM—can always provide an excuse for a trip to Asia. My meetings in Bangkok consumed a day and a half. Since then I've been here in this sleazy coastal resort town two hours from the capital.

I've done it all, in the past two weeks, tried everything. The lithe Thai beauties who twine like snakes around the poles in all the bars and clubs along the walking street. The buxom, pushy Russian girls, with their milky complexions and succulent nipples, ripe to the point of bursting, eager to empty both my cock and my wallet. The lady boys, as slender and graceful as their sisters, even more feminine, in fact, the prick erupting from their hairless, perfumed loins as much a shock to them as to me. I've sampled the exotica on sale here, the dwarfs and the cripples, the grossly obese young woman who nearly smothered me in her lush, unutterably soft flesh. I've been whipped and returned the favor. So far I've managed to resist the fifteen year old boys, but just last night a youth of terrifying beauty who claimed to be nineteen drained me in the men's room of one of the a-go-go places. An acrid mixture of urine and camphor stung my nostrils as I pumped my cum into his agile mouth. And in that transcendent instant, as always, I felt myself on the verge of understanding.

At the moment, I'm taking a break from throbbing music and naked skin of the indoor clubs. I perch on a bar stool at the edge of the pavement, watching the parade of tourists and touts ambling by.

I'm tired. The twins I fucked earlier, in a red-lit, window-less room above one of the bars, exhausted me with their convincing enthusiasm for my body. Nee and Nu were indistinguishable, two toffee-skinned tarts who claimed to be eighteen but might have been anywhere from fourteen to thirty. One sat on my face, the other on my cock. Nee (or was it Nu?) made short work of my hard-on. I exploded into the condom with just a few minutes of massage by her muscular pussy. Nu, though (or maybe Nee?), humored me, letting me lick her bare twat and breathe her low-tide scent for as long as I wanted—until I hardened again, earning laughter and admiration from my two playmates.

****

Maybe the medieval Christians were right. Lust is a demon, one that can consume you body and soul. In the case of my nameless protagonist in “Fleshpot”, he pays off his demon with his life—but willingly.

"La Luxure dans l'art roman" by Bougnat87 -

Own work. Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 via Commons

When does desire become demonic? A fruitful question indeed, for those of us who write erotica.

By the way, except for Rule 34, all the books mentioned in this post are available for only 99 cents until the end of October, as part of my Month of Magic promotion.

Sizzling Sunday: Necessary Madness - #paranormal #gayromance #SizzlingSunday

 

For today’s Sizzling Sunday, I have a long excerpt from my MM paranormal erotic romance Necessary Madness.

Leave me a comment and you could win a copy of this full length novel – perfect for Halloween!

Blurb

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.

Excerpt

Blackest night—no moon, no stars. A chill wind, rustling the piles of dead leaves and far away, the hoot of some bird swooping through the forest. Try to move, try to stand. Agony burns brighter than the sun, in the shattered leg crumpled underneath your body. Clutch at the steel rails, slippery with blood. Terrible, total weakness.

A single eye shines in the distance, diamond white, cutting through confusion. The steel sings underneath your body. The beast growls, hurtling closer. You scream, of course you scream. Your cry is drowned by the thunder of the engine, the wail of the whistle. The rails shake, grow hot as live coals. The eye bears down.

“No! Help!” Kyle dragged himself out of the horrible dream just as the train hit. The headlight dimmed behind his eyelids, then flickered out. The roar of the engine gradually faded. He sat up in the unfamiliar bed, gasping for breath, his bare chest dripping with sweat.

The maple tossed in the autumn breeze outside the window. He heard a bump outside his closed door.

“Kyle? Are you okay?” Even through the door, Kyle could hear the concern in Rob’s voice.

“Yeah. I guess.” A twinge hit his left leg, the faintest ghost of the pain from his dream. “Come on in.”

His host sat on the bed, wearing nothing but snug white briefs. Kyle let his eyes travel over Rob’s sculpted chest, following the trail of blond hair that ran along his breastbone down to his navel. An impressive bulk pouched inside the BVDs. Kyle felt his own cock stir and thicken under the blankets.

“So it happens while you’re sleeping, too?” Tousled and bleary-eyed from his sudden awakening, Rob looked younger. He smelt of mint toothpaste.

“Sometimes. It’s different, though. In the waking visions, I’m a spectator, watching helplessly as disaster strikes. In my nightmares, I feel as though it’s all happening to me.”

“Have you tried sleeping pills?”

Kyle laughed grimly. “They only make it worse. There was one night at Worcester State where I screamed for three hours straight without waking up.”

“God, I’m sorry. I wish there was something I could do.” Rob shifted, turning more towards Kyle. The cop’s hands clutched compulsively at the bedspread. The lump in his shorts had grown.

Kyle remembered what he’d seen the day he’d awakened at St. Vincent’s. Himself, kneeling before Rob, sucking the cop’s dick. A wave of lust washed over him. He decided to be bold. After all, he had nothing to lose.

“There is. Hold me.”

“What?” Rob’s eyes widened.

“Climb under the covers with me. Put your arms around me.” Kyle flipped back the sheets, exposing his naked body to Rob’s hungry gaze. “Please, Rob. I’m so alone.”

“Are you sure?” Rob’s voice shook. The cop stared at Kyle’s rapidly hardening cock.

Kyle stroked himself. His cock swelled in his fist. “Do I look uncertain?”

Rob didn’t wait for a second invitation. Standing, he stripped off his briefs. His rigid, uncut rod sprang out from the stretchy cotton. Kyle’s mouth watered.

The older man stretched out beside Kyle and captured him in a brawny embrace. He was so warm. So strong. Kyle sighed, settling against Rob’s chest, his head on the cop’s shoulder. He tickled the fat nipples, flicking at them with his tongue. Rob shuddered with pleasure. He pressed his meaty thigh between Kyle’s legs.

Kyle’s cock slapped against his companion’s. Their erections rubbed together, the friction kindling delicious sparks. Kyle reached down and captured the other man’s iron dick, squeezing gently.

Rob gasped, then followed Kyle’s lead. He pumped Kyle’s cock in a firm, steady rhythm. The last vestiges of the nightmare melted away.

“Jesus, that feels so good!” Kyle lifted his chin to meet the cop’s gaze. Rob smiled as though he were in heaven.

“Yeah, it does…”

Kyle’s fingers just barely met as they encircled Rob’s shaft. He stroked thumb along the underside, then over the hood, already slick with pre-cum. He licked his lips, imagining the taste, then smeared the liquid along the stalk. The cock in his hand twitched and pulsed.

“Oh, yeah…Kyle…” Rob’s strokes grew faster and more erratic. Kyle followed suit, sliding his fist up and down, the cop’s foreskin stretching tighter with each moment as his cock continued to swell. Once more, Kyle remembered the vision, wondering if it would be possible to swallow such a huge organ. Or to take him inside—the notion was scary and incredibly exciting.

“Kyle, oh, fuck, uh…” Rob was reduced to grunts and moans. His eyes were screwed shut, his firm lips distorted in a grimace of pleasure. He arched against Kyle’s body, grinding himself into Kyle’s fist. Kyle squeezed harder, coaxing the cum up the shaft. Rob’s cock throbbed in his hand like a juicy heart. Kyle slid to the base and fondled the heavy balls, which were tightening by the instant. The cock jerked and trembled against his palm.

Kyle was close, too. For a moment, he allowed himself to really feel Rob’s talented fingers, pulling, massaging, every touch sending waves of delicious sensation surging through him. The man was so strong, so sure of himself, despite his earlier reticence. It has been so terribly long since anyone cared about Kyle’s pleasure.

Dizziness fluttered through him. The world lurched a little. No, not now, Kyle pleaded hopelessly. He felt the pressure build. He hung on the edge. Reality tilted, shimmered. No, no, no…

“Rob,” he moaned. “Look at me. Please…”

The cop heard, even through the fog of his lust. His eyes shot open and Kyle let himself go, falling into those luminous pools of blue. His cock exploded, his cum shooting out over both of their bellies. A train whistle wailed in Kyle’s head, but the world held, long enough for Kyle to feel Rob’s cock convulse and spew hot liquid all over Kyle’s fingers.

“Oh, baby,” Rob panted, fastening his mouth on Kyle’s. Kyle wallowed in the wonderful sensations. Heat and wetness, above and below. Rob’s tongue, Rob’s taste, Rob’s hard body pressed against him. 

Don't forget to leave a comment. And if you don't win - the book is only 99 cents at all outlets between now and the end of October, as part of my Month of Magic promotion! 

The ultimate erotic surrender -- #bdsm #99cents #Halloween #bloodsports

Today is release day for my new dark paranormal tale Underground. This vivid, disturbing and arousing story is perfect for Halloween—not the kiddies’ trick or treat celebration, but the ancient festival of the uncanny and unhallowed on which our modern traditions are loosely based.

You’ll find the blurb and an exclusive excerpt below. Like all my paranormal titles, Underground is only 99 cents throughout October, as part of my Month of Magic. I hope you’ll take a chance and get yourself a copy.

Blurb

The long years before I found Underground and Z seem like some bad dream—an endless series of fetish groups and kink clubs, personal ads and bar hook-ups, as I searched everywhere for someone who could understand and satisfy my particular needs. S&M folk like to believe they're tolerant and accepting. They weren't ready to tolerate me, though.

Z doesn’t need blades or blood to take me where I want to go. His unnatural power alone would be enough. He understands how the ritual excites me, though—the slow glide of metal across my breast or along my thigh, the rush of bright pain, the flare of desire as ruby droplets gather in the knife’s wake.

I never told him about the blades and the blood. He just knew, as he seems to know so much else about me.

Buy Links

Amazon US – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07HYDVL65/

Amazon UK – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07HYDVL65/

Smashwords – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/898486

Barnes and Noble – https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/underground-lisabet-sarai/1129661349?ean=29401558288

Kobo – https://www.kobo.com/th/en/ebook/underground-95

Goodreads – https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/42122221-underground

Exclusive Excerpt

I know how it started, this awful, insane need. I can trace it back to my initiation into kink, to my very first Master.

I was twenty-four, impressionable and innocent, at least of anything involving BDSM. Flooded with hormones and full of sexual energy, I was ripe to be plucked.

He told me over dinner, his face grave, that he had powers beyond those of normal mortals. He was descended from an ancient family who had practiced magic since the Middle Ages, in the deep-shadowed forests of Germany. That story sounds ludicrous now—or perhaps not, given my relationship with Z. At the time, I was ready to believe. His charisma, his intuition, his knowledge of my secrets, all supported his claims. Certainly, none of my previous lovers had seen how I needed surrender.

That first night, he did not even bind me. Instead he willed me into immobility so thorough I might as well have been strapped to his bed. He didn’t beat me or draw blood. He simply fucked me, using his cock to take me over. I lay limp and receptive beneath his massive body, watching the emotions flit across his boyish face, feeling the pleasure build without the slightest effort on my part.

It happened quite suddenly. I sensed a shift, like the sudden yielding when a difficult key finally enters a lock. Our minds connected. His fantasies lay bare for me to see.

He was a pirate, bloodthirsty and crude, raping a maid snatched from her village. He’d make her beg for more before he was done.

He was an evil wizard, entangling an unsullied virgin in the sticky threads of his magic. She’d never escape.

He was a demon, fucking his victim to death and beyond. He grinned, displaying pointed teeth that I knew would rip me apart after he’d filled me with his spunk. His cock swelled in my depths, larger and larger, stretching me to the point of tearing. Mad triumph lit his face as he slammed into me, his very own precious corpse.

I came then, seared by his obscene imaginings as well as the scalding fountain of his cum. Waves of ecstasy poured through me. Yet I didn’t move, did not writhe beneath him or clench around his shuddering cock. Somehow his mind had drained all vitality from my body. I lay helpless and still as unutterable bliss swept me away.

****

Snag a copy of Underground today, for a thrilling, chilling All Hallow’s Eve. And while you’re over at the bookstore, why not buy one or two of my other paranormals? They’re all less than a buck! For blurbs, covers and direct buy links, go here.