Sizzling Sunday: Nasty Business (#BDSM #multicultural #SizzlingSunday)

Welcome back to another edition of Sizzling Sunday, when I share some of my most explicit and erotic excerpts. Today I’ve got one of my favorite scenes from my contemporary erotic romance Nasty Business.

Short Blurb

All's fair in lust and business. "Ruthless" Ruby Maxwell Chen, the deceptively feminine CEO of a huge British business empire, may have met her match in wily, charismatic American entrepreneur Rick Martell. Both are used to winning; neither has any qualms about using sexual wiles to smooth their paths to success.

Mulholland Drive turns out to be a narrow, torturously twisted road that runs along the crest of the mountains above Hollywood. Rick drives much faster than seems safe, yet once again he’s relaxed and in control. The MG careens around curves, hugging the pavement. My whole body hums with excitement. I can’t tell how much is sexual and how much born of our reckless velocity and the wildness of my hair whipping around my face. The wind is simultaneously a slap and a caress against my skin. I feel as though I am glowing. Totally alive.

My sex is humming, too, quivering, throbbing along with the engine of the car. Rick glances over at me. For the briefest instant, his eyes are pools of pure lust. Triumph and fear simultaneously seize me. He wants me. He’s dangerous. Then both emotions are submerged by the answering lust flooding through me.

“Take off your top,” he shouts at me above the wind. “I dare you.”

A silly notion, I think, but I want to do it. I want to feel the wind against my naked breasts. “Keep your eyes on the road,” I call back. I pull my blouse over my head and push it down in the space between the seat and the door so that it won’t blow away. Then I slip my bra straps off my shoulders and peel the cups away from my swollen nipples.

The air dances over my heated flesh, cool, provocative. “Go ahead, touch yourself,” Rick shouts. “You know you want to.”

He’s right, and suddenly I don’t care that he’s there, or what he thinks, I’ve got to pleasure myself. I grip my nipples between index and forefingers, squeezing until the sensation reaches the edge of pain. My cunt contracts as I release them, then contracts again at the exquisite tickling of their stiffness against my palms. The wind lashes my hair against my skin, sweet little stings that make me hunger for more intense sensation. My clit is so swollen that the slightest movement in the bucket seat sends sparks of pleasure shooting through my body.

Rick is yelling something again, but the wind carries his words away. He makes a rude gesture, pantomimes raising my skirt. I’m already in the process, wriggling against the seat belt as I try to pull the fabric out from underneath my bum. Finally, I manage to free my thighs from the skirt’s constriction. Looking straight at my companion, I pull my soaked panties out of the way with one hand, and sink the other one deep inside my hungering pussy.

Oh, I love the look on his face, shock, astonishment, arousal, but the sensations welling up in me are too intense to bear open-eyed. I’m not delicate. I don’t tease myself, don’t play, don’t take myself gradually to the top. No ceremony, no technique. Desperate, I use both hands, working with single-minded fury to bring myself off.

I forget Martell. I forget where I am, racing along a dangerous road at a dangerous speed with a dangerous man. There is no reality but the fire, the electricity, the tension crackling in my cunt like lightning in a thunderhead. I tilt my pelvis, forcing my fingers deeper into my slippery depths. My thighs stick to the leather seats as I rock back and forth. In and out, faster, harder, more, more please just a little more…

The climax is sudden and unexpected. A shattering like glass, fragments ripping gloriously through my stretched flesh. Momentary blackness cloaks the setting sun. When I finally open my eyes, I find I’m slumped in the seat, skirt and bra tangled around my waist, still trembling.

It takes me a moment to realize that the car has stopped. Martell is watching me in fascination, like a cat stalking a bird. He grins when he realizes that I’m back among the conscious. “Wasn’t that fun?” he asks, with heavy irony. Torn and tired as I am, his voice still sets up stirrings in my sex.

I don’t answer. It doesn’t seem to matter. He comes around to my side and opens my door. “Get out of the car, Ruby.” We’ve pulled over into a parking area, a scenic lookout. The checkerboard miles of Los Angeles are spread out below us. Off in the distance, a fiery sunset paints the Pacific. He holds out his hand to steady me, and the touch is enough to send me back into a frenzy of desire.

“Lean against the railing,” he commands. I don’t seem to have any will to resist. “I want to admire the view.”

“You promised,” I protest weakly, as he pulls my sodden knickers down to my ankles.

“Well, you started it,” he replies. “Don’t move, now.”

He leaves me there, bent over the guard rail, my arse bared to the world. Why don’t I get up and cover my nakedness? Why don’t I scream, or run off down the road to find a ride? I don’t understand.

I admit to myself: I’m weak with lust. I want more, and he knows it. He’s using my own desire against me. A breeze tangles my hair in my eyes and trails caresses along the back of my thighs. Where is he? What is he doing?

I hear his footsteps crunching on the gravel, then his laugh. “Just as I suspected, Ruby; you always come prepared. Just look what I found in your handbag?” The sinking sun glints red on the silvery vibrator that he holds in front of my face.

Get your own copy of Nasty Business!

Amazon

https://www.amazon.com/Nasty-Business-Lisabet-Sarai-ebook/dp/B00SCC1E7G/

BN

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/nasty-business-lisabet-sarai/1113839670?ean=9781941984789

Fireborn Publishing

http://firebornpublishing.com/store/index.php?main_page=product_bookx_info&cPath=10_35&products_id=61

Character Interview: Ruby Maxwell Chen (#bdsm #feminism #power)

Normally, I host guests on Wednesdays. What with the holidays and all, somehow I didn't manage to book anyone. I figured I'd interview one of my characters to fill the gap. Ruby Maxwell Chen is the heroine of my taboo erotic romance Nasty Business. Since she always has something to say, I'll hand the blog over to her!

Interviewer: Thank you for taking the time to talk with us.

Ruby: It’s my pleasure. I’m happy to have the chance to tell readers my side of the story.

I: Well, let’s begin with some background. You’re the CEO of the Maxwell Companies, a multinational industrial conglomerate. Yet you’re only in your mid twenties. How did a woman so young find herself in a position of such power and responsibility?.

R: My father, Liu Chen, founded Maxwell Companies more than twenty years ago. From a very early age, he groomed me to become his successor. At eighteen, I began a formal apprenticeship. He taught me everything he could about corporate strategy, finance, negotiation – all the skills that I’d need. Of course we didn’t expect that I’d be taking over so soon. After the car accident, though, I had no choice but to step into his position, although it’s incredibly difficult to try to match his business acumen. I do the best that I can.

I: You’re renowned throughout the business community as a tough negotiator. How do you feel about that?

R: I’m proud of my reputation. I’ve earned it.

I: You don’t mind what they call you? “Ruthless Ruby”?

R: (Laugh) As long as my bottom line looks healthy, it doesn’t bother me. A lot of that gossip is simply envy.

I: But – there are rumors that you use your considerable charms to influence your negotiations. That you take advantage, sexually, of your male colleagues.

R: Just rumors. Gossip, as I said. In any case, men have been doing that, taking sexual advantage, ever since women entered the workplace. Why shouldn’t I even the score?

I: Okay... let me change the subject. When you first met Rick Martell, what did you think of him? What were your first impressions?

R: Honestly? I was so turned on that I could hardly talk straight. He’s not particularly outstanding in the looks department, but that man has incredible sexual charisma. Everyone seems susceptible to it, even my straight-laced personal secretary Margaret. It must be something biological. Pheromones or something similar. In any case, I had to keep tight rein on my emotions and reactions during that first interview. Of course, I had met him before, the previous evening, not knowing that it was him...

I: Really? What do you mean?

R: I’d rather not talk about it. For one thing, I don’t want to destroy the suspense for readers.

I: So now that you know Rick better, what do you think?

R: He’s brilliant, but devious. He enjoys playing games, and even more, he enjoys winning.

I: Sounds like you.

R: No comment.

I: Who do you think was the winner in your conflict over the factory in Malaysia? You both swore that acquiring it was essential to your companies.

R: In one sense, neither of us won. The factory turned out to be a poisoned acquisition, laden with hidden debt. We were fortunate that we discovered this before either of us invested. In reality, though, we both won. As you know, if you’ve read the book, each of us learned some valuable lessons about our own desires – and about each other. We were changed by our encounter and our conflict.

I: If it’s not too personal to ask, what did you learn?

R: I came to see that yielding is not necessarily a weakness. And that trust is difficult, but possible. Also, I realized that my self-image as a cynical, hard-hearted dominatrix was a bit unrealistic. I met a real dominatrix and saw how I was only an amateur by comparison.

I: What about love? Any insights in that area?

R: Now you are getting too personal! If your readers want to know about that topic, they’ll just have to read the book. Now I hope you’ll excuse me. I have a board meeting in fifteen minutes.

I: Of course, Ruby. Thank you for consenting to the interview. And good luck with Mr. Martell.

R: You’re welcome. But don’t give the story away!

Do your characters work out? (#exercise #sex #dancing)

A screaming siren wakens me at four-thirty. The sound fades off into the distance, but my heart continues to pound against my ribs. Somebody else bleeding, maybe dying. Another victim.

I try to argue myself out of these dark thoughts and back to sleep, but it’s no use. The rectangle of gray that is my uncurtained window gradually brightens: first to charcoal, then to ash, finally to pearl. I turn my thoughts to Jimmy Ostermann, but they keep sliding away to Tony Pinelli.

Finally, around six, I give up and head downstairs for a cup of coffee. Throwing open the back door, I take a deep breath of the early morning. The air is cool and smells of earth and growth. It’s drizzling, the sticky warmth of the previous day only a memory.

My work means late nights. I don’t usually get out of bed before noon. I hardly know what to do with myself at this time of day. Munching on a piece of toast, I consider the question.

Rainy weather. Good for paperwork: paying bills, filing receipts and so on. Maybe I’ll spend some time looking through those Adriatic cruise brochures I got last week.

And Tony? Some other part of me interrupts my planning session. You need to figure out what’s going on with this situation, she says. If only to protect yourself. How did Tony’s widow know who you are, or how to find you? Why did she come by, and why did she seduce you? And why did you tell her that Mr. Clean—Andy—intended to shoot you in the hotel room? What’s going on, Stella? You’re a smart lady; figure it out.

This other voice is giving me a headache. Okay, I’ll spend some time on these questions. But bills first, and then a bit of a workout. After that, I’ll sit down and do some serious thinking.

Telephone, electric, gas, dry cleaning account. (My costumes need special care.) Department store charge. (They had a big sale last month, and I do like to dress well.) Maintenance fee for my dad’s cemetery plot. With a sigh, I update the balance and slide my checkbook back into the desk drawer. I can take care of myself, but it feels as though I have been doing it for an awfully long time.

Some stretching will pull me out of this funk. I change into leggings and a jog bra, then carefully unwrap my ankle. It’s still swollen, but a lot less discolored. Definitely better. When I put full weight on it, though, fiery pain shoots up my leg. Okay, so I’ll go easy for today and just do floor work and my weights.

A Supremes CD in my compact stereo, I begin with some leg lifts and sit ups. It doesn’t take long before I’m shimmying my shoulders in time with the beat, singing along with Diana. “Stop, in the name of love,” I moan as I alternate bicep curls with pec presses. “Before you break my heart, think it over.” Old as it is, this music never fails to cheer me up. Three quarters of an hour, and I feel like myself again: Stella Xanathakeos, queen of the strippers, one tough cookie.

~ From Exposure by Lisabet Sarai

Exercise has been part of my life ever since I was a kid. With my coke bottle glasses, clumsiness and flat feet, I was never athletic. However, for some reason my general klutziness didn't extend to dancing.

Growing up, I became used to seeing my mom put a record on the hifi (hey, this was a while ago!) and do stretches and dance exercises. Like me, she had dancing in her blood – she even worked as a professional belly dancer for a while. Sometimes I'd join her. I took dance lessons as a kid and belonged to the modern dance club in high school. I even performed in the school talent show, dancing the role of Bonnie in a number a friend and I choreographed to the theme from “Bonnie and Clyde”. (My eagerness to perform was another paradoxical contrast with my terrible shyness during this period.)

In college I swam laps as well as doing more modern dance. In grad school I swam, bicycled and belly danced. When I got my first job and moved to the west coast, one of the first things I did was to join the Y so I could use their pool. Later, I discovered Jazzercise. I was addicted to this lively, rowdy activity, doing two or three classes a week for more than two decades, even though I had to drive three quarters of an hour each way. (Now I guess it's a bit passé, superseded by Zumba, pole dancing, and the Vixen Workout - which I have to admit sounds like incredible fun.)

Anyway, I've always enjoyed (moderate) exercise, especially when it involves music. When I don't work out for a while, my stress level noticeably increases. Like my heroine Stella, I find that exercise cheers me up and gets my mind off whatever's bothering me.

Of course, for an erotica author, exercise, with its tendency toward minimal clothing and lots of sweat, can serve as an intro or an excuse for characters to get involved in other sorts of physical activity. Gym equipment presents all sorts of opportunities for novel positions and sensations. And given my penchant for writing BDSM, how can I ignore the fact that a gym makes a fantastic impromptu dungeon?

****

I want sex, I need release, but it doesn't seem that I'm going to get it tonight. I stand, stretch, realize that my muscles are stiff and sore. Perhaps from my awkward position this afternoon. Perhaps because I haven't worked out in several days. Then I remember the well-equipped gym Rick showed me during our tour of the house. Just the thing.

I change from my sweat- and sex-damp dress into a sports bra and shorts, pull my hair into a low ponytail, and wend my way down the dark corridor toward the back of the building, where it settles into the hillside. Everything's very quiet. There's no light under Rick's door, or under Margaret's.

It crosses my mind that Margaret was odd and unfamiliar tonight, less diffident, more assertive than usual. She seemed to radiate a happy confidence that overwhelmed her usual seriousness. I guess that she has gotten over her embarrassment about her interlude with our host. I'm pleased at her resiliency.

The gym is even darker than the corridor. Like Rick's office, it has only small windows set high in the wall. I grope for the light switch, turning on the track lights overhead. Experimenting, I find that I can dim them down to a more pleasant, less blinding level.

I start with some stretches at the barre, watching myself in the mirror opposite me. I don't normally spend much time gazing at myself. I know I'm beautiful. But the woman I see reflected back at me tonight seems a stranger. Her petite frame, her small breasts, her delicate ankles, make her seem fragile. With my hair pulled back loosely, I look young. Innocent. Vulnerable.

I have to laugh at this fancy. I know that I am strong and full of power. I shift to one of the stationary weight machines, working my triceps and biceps until they burn. I've stopped watching myself. Next I turn my attention to my quads and adductors, pushing the weights apart as I open my thighs, working against their force to pull my legs back together again.

I work hard, trying to burn my arousal away into exhaustion. Somehow, it's not happening. Every time I spread my thighs apart, I'm acutely aware of my throbbing, swollen clit, hidden in my soaked shorts. I increase the force and pace of my repetitions, determined to be the mistress of my body and my urges. It's almost as though I'm climbing the slope to orgasm. The harder and faster I work, the more excited I become.

Finally, I have to stop. I lie back in the apparatus, panting. The room smells of musk and sweat. With a pang, I recognize the odor not only of my perspiration, but of his. Rick's. Damn. I close my eyes wearily, willing my body to relax. Damn, damn, damn.

There's a sound. My eyes fly open. I am no longer alone. For the briefest instant, I think that it's Rick, and my heart accelerates as though I were still working the machine. Then, with an inner smile, I realize my error. Raoul.

"Ruby!" he says in that soft Latin voice. "Sorry, I didn't mean to intrude. I had no idea that there was anyone here."

He has obviously come for his own workout. He wears a loose pair of shorts, nothing else. My eyes trace the curlicues of hair on his muscled chest. I smile. He smiles, sniffs, strolls over to stand between my spread thighs.

"I was having trouble sleeping," I tell him, knowing that he's reading other messages in my body, in the air. "Exercise is usually a good way for me to get rid of tension."

"Maybe I can help," he says, almost whispering. His hands on the tops of my thighs, he leans over and kisses me full on the lips. It's a simple, uncalculated kiss, no hidden agendas, no power trips, just texture, wetness, warmth. It's an invitation.

I accept. As he bends over me, I raise my legs and clasp them around his waist. I can feel his delicious hardness, pressing against me through our clothing. He gives a soft laugh, pulls up my bra and takes my nipple in his mouth. Lovely, to feel that texture, warmth, wetness against that sensitive flesh.

He gives me long minutes of bliss. When he stops, my nipples are round and rigid as ceramic beads. "Let me go for a moment," he says, and I release the clutch of my legs.

He stands and with a grace I find in few men, removes his shorts. I can't help but marvel at his beauty. Muscles that swell rather than bulge, curves that flow under his bronzed skin and lush fur. His cock juts proudly from a jet tangle at his groin. I have a sudden, uncharacteristic impulse to kneel at his feet and take him reverently into my mouth.

Before I can evaluate or act on this impulse, though, he seats himself on a recumbent stationary bicycle and leans back against the seat, one bare foot in each stirrup. His cock stands straight up, swaying a bit as he moves. It's simultaneously silly and wonderfully lewd.

He grins up at me. "Care to come for a ride, Ruby?"

~ From Nasty Business by Lisabet Sarai

****

Later in this same novel, I set a long femdom scene in this same personal gym. Weight benches are great for bondage, I discovered. And the mirrors that line the walls of many gyms mean that both the dominant and the victim have an excellent view of discipline's effects.

Lately I haven't been working out as often as in the past. A hip replacement and a fractured knee have made me less flexible and a good deal more conservative in my routines. And I have such a long to-do list, I sometimes feel that I can't spare the time.

That's crazy. I know how delicious it will feel to get away from the computer, do some stretches, and shake my booty to some classic rock. If it's good for Stella and Ruby, I know it'll be good for me.

Oh, my anti-hero! (#heroes #stereotypes #eroticromance)

 

Stereotypes are seductive – and to some extent, they sell. A fair fraction of the readers of erotica and erotic romance want heroes who are six feet plus in height, ruggedly handsome, well-muscled, well-hung, brave, strong, rough yet tender, and indefatigably virile. And honestly, I can't blame them. There's nothing wrong with a bit of wish fulfillment.

I've written heroes with a capital H myself, especially in my earlier books. I mean, a nice bod and a pretty face are not to be sneezed at. But they're not enough. Call me perverse (many people have), but I find intelligence to be the most essential aspect of a sexy hero. Furthermore, I'm willing to accept less than stellar physical qualities if my hero is a clever, imaginative, horny genius who's smart enough to understand what will truly turn the heroine on.

I admit it. I've got a thing for nerds. When “The Man from UNCLE” was popular, I had the hots for skinny, intense Ilya Kuryakin, not the dashing alpha guy Napoleon Solo. I was hopelessly in love with Mr. Spock. (After all, think about making love while in the throes of a Vulcan mind-meld.) Near the top of my sexy, romantic movie list is "Earth Girls are Easy", featuring gangly, geeky Jeff Goldblum as a

brilliant alien. A more recent example of a sexy nerd is Clive Owen's short, unshaven, and amazingly ingenious character in the bank robbery thriller "Inside Man".

It's fairly easy to understand why I feel this way. Growing up, I was the egghead, the bookworm, the too-smart girl whom everyone made fun of. The only guys who could deal with me were the ones who were at least as smart as I was. They weren't on the football squad; they weren't voted Best Looking or Most Popular. But they had that something that could start my motors. It was intoxicating, yes, arousing, to have a conversation with some of these guys, especially when I got out of high school and into college. We understood each other, and I began to discover that despite their definite nerdish qualities, they were enthusiastic and innovative when it came to sex.

Actually, research has shown that in defiance of their public image as socially challenged losers, nerds are more successful than the general population in finding mates, staying with them, and producing

children. Of course, that is not necessarily going to endear them to readers who are seeking the ultimate sexual fantasy, but it's something to consider!

Anyway, some of my heroes – actually, my favorites – definitely don't fit the classic hero mold. The character of Rick Martell in Nasty Business is perhaps the most anti-heroic protagonist I've ever created. Physically, he's short, wiry, a bit rumpled, with a droopy, disreputable-looking mustache. He's manipulative, sneaky, dishonest, arrogant, and more than a little sexist. At the same time, he's a brilliant engineer and a wily strategist who matches every one of Ruby's maneuvers as they compete for a critical business deal. 

You almost hate Rick, when you see the way he takes advantage of the women around him. And yet, like Ruby, Margaret and Luna, I can't help finding him peculiarly attractive. He's simultaneously insightful, able to discern and use the desires of others for his own purposes, and blind when it comes to understanding his own emotions. He's brash and egotistical, not recognizing his own vulnerability, underestimating his opponents. Ultimately, though, he learns a lesson or two under Ruby's lash.

Want to meet him? Here's a quick snippet, after Rick's first attempt to get the upper hand in his dealings with Ruby.

***

I remember to grin and give poor Margaret a wink as I exit from Ruby’s office, but to be honest, I’m a bit shaken. I’m both amazed and annoyed. Annoyed that Ruby rejected my carefully prepared pitch. Amazed that she was able to. That she could be so icily professional, so scrupulously correct, after last night’s scene in the taxi. Clearly I underestimated her.

Women find it hard to resist me. It’s just a fact, something that’s been true since I was in my teens and my old amah ambushed me in the garden and gave me my first lessons in the fleshly arts. By now, I almost take it for granted.

I’m sure that it’s something primitive, biological. I know that I can’t take the credit. I’m smart, but no genius; rich, but no Bill Gates. As for my looks – well, let’s just say that at best I look innocuous, at worst, disreputable.

Yet I can walk into a crowded room, and every woman there will sense my presence. It’s mutual, too. I can hear the intake of their breath, feel the heat of the blood rising in them. Catch hints of their delicate musk as I sniff the air like the predator I am.

I should mention that I have an unusually acute sense of smell. Maybe that’s the source of it all, some trick of the wiring in my lower brain that gives me this delicious advantage.

Some people might think it’s unethical, that I should try and use this quirk of my personal chemistry to enrich myself. But each of us plays the hand we’re dealt. Why should I handicap myself by renouncing my greatest gift?

Ruby wants me. I know she does. Which makes her chilly reception during our interview all the more incredible. I’ve never met a woman with such self-control.

Now that our interview is over, the nervous tension that I kept at bay in her presence washes through my body. I literally am shaking. Margaret eyes me curiously.

“Are you unwell, Mr. Martell?” she asks. I get the feeling that a part of her wishes that I would expire immediately.

“Not at all, Margaret,” I reply. “Never been better. Ms. Chen and I had a most stimulating meeting.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” she says frostily, and returns her gaze to the document she’s editing. She pretends to ignore me. I can feel her heat, I can smell her arousal, even from across the room.

I watch her for a few moments, admiring the graceful curve of her neck, the creamy skin of her bare forearms. I smile, recalling the way her nipples rose so smartly at my slightest touch. Margaret, at least, is not immune to my charms. But I decide to spare her any further attentions, for now.

“Thank you, Margaret. I’m sure we’ll meet again soon.”

She does not reply. Her lips are pressed together in grim determination, but her flushed cheek tell the true story.

***

Yes, Rick isn't exactly the most admirable guy on the planet. But I'll tell you a secret: I love him. If I met him in the flesh, I'd never be able to resist his anti-heroic charms.

Sunday Snog 232: Nasty Business (FF) (#LGBTQ #BDSM #oral)

I have something different for today’s snog—a very raw and intense FF oral excerpt from Nasty Business. That novel’s main plot follows a M/F relationship, but there is also a F/F BDSM subplot.

After you’ve finished my excerpt, head over to Victoria’s for more Sunday orality!

If you enjoy lesbian erotica, read on!

“You're so beautiful, Margaret,” she murmurs, dipping once again into the well of honey between her legs. “I want you so much. Don’t you want me?” She holds her hand out to me, appealing, almost waif-like. Without thinking, I take her proffered fingers into my mouth.

Her taste is simultaneously strange and familiar. Pungent, salty, rich, wild, embarrassing, and forbidden. My own juices spill over in response. She sees the evidence of my excitement and smiles at my silent answer. Lightly, she gathers a droplet from my thighs and licks it off her finger. Her eyes close as she savors me, and I am reminded of some flaxen-haired medieval angel, consumed by mystic ecstasy.

Sudden, fierce lust shatters my dreamy composure. I want her, want to take her, use her, devour her. Slipping off my chaise, I kneel at her side and take her face in my hands. Then I suck her into a long, violent kiss that leaves us both breathless. With one hand I am twisting her nipple, while the other probes her drenched pussy. I’ve never done anything like this before, and yet I know what I am doing, know from touching myself how to touch her.

Luna whimpers under my assault, arches her body and tries to force my fingers deeper insider her. “Oh, yes, please, yes…”

“You like this, Luna?” She can’t answer, she’s too far gone, but I know that I am giving her what she wants. I’ve found the slippery nub of her clit. I roll it between my thumb and forefinger, kneading and twisting, pulling until her hips rise right off the chaise trying to follow. I am not gentle; she does not want gentleness.

I release her clit, giving her a moment’s respite, then press my palm against her mound and push all four fingers into her cunt. She screams and I feel the shudders gathering in her flesh. I remove my hand completely. She whimpers in frustration, then sighs as I slip my index finger back into her folds and wiggle it playfully.

Her depths are lined with slick velvet. As I explore her, she shivers and moans. “More, please! More!” I lean down and take a cherry nipple between my lips, marveling at the nubby texture of the swollen flesh against my tongue. So sweet, so juicy, I cannot help biting down on that lush morsel. Luna yells and writhes against my hand. She grabs it by the wrist and tries to force all my fingers into her soaked cunt.

“Nasty girl,” I say, pulling away from her. Her nipples pout insolently. On a whim, I slap one breast with an open palm. My own skin stings as I watch hers redden. Her eyes are closed, her lips half-open. As an experiment, I lay stinging blow on the opposite breast. Her pelvis jerks and grinds in response.

She wants it hard, wants it rough. I see this with sudden clarity. And I want to give it to her. “Knees up,” I say brusquely, amazed at the authority in my voice. “Feet on the chaise, thighs spread wide. And don't you dare to touch yourself.” Luna hastens to obey and I know that my intuitions are correct.

The undersides of her thighs are a creamy gold. I remember Liu’s leather strap and wonder what marks it would make on that succulent flesh. I’m just looking, not touching. Luna rotates her hips obscenely, inviting me.

“Little slut,” I whisper, “be careful what you wish for.” I lean down and hold open her lower lips, breathing deeply. Her fragrance makes me ache. I can see her clitoris, shiny with her secretions. It juts out, yearning, just below the champagne-colored down on her pubis.

Saliva gathers in my mouth. I’m hungry for her. I capture the sensitive little nub between my lips. She shudders at first contact. Then I sink my teeth into her, at the same time forcing three fingers deep into her vagina.

Luna lets out a long wail of pain, pleasure, or both. Her muscles convulse around my hand. Hot liquid drenches my fingers. For long minutes her flesh quivers around me, as I continue to worry her clit with my mouth.

My own sex quivers in sympathy. I am far from climax, but I am incredibly aroused by this woman, and by what I am doing to her. I remember Liu telling me that power was the ultimate aphrodisiac. I did not understand him then, but I think I am beginning to see what he meant. I slide my fingers out of Luna’s sex and lean back, watching her.

Luna’s breathing has slowed. She opens her eyes and gazes at me with something like adoration. “Oh God! That was wonderful,” she murmurs. “Thank you.” She reaches for me. “Now let me please you…”

I pull away from her, rising to my feet. “Not here. Let’s go to your room.”

“Of course,” she says, leading the way into the dim interior. I gather my clothing as I pass, some part of me realizing that I want to keep this a secret, for now.

Her room faces the hillside. This late in the afternoon, it is quite dim. She lights several candles and I catch the scents of vanilla and clove. She stands before me, eager and strangely innocent. I ache with desire for her, desire fed, strangely, by the notion that she is Rick’s lover.

“Luna.” My voice is quiet but commanding. “Eat me.” I seat myself on her bed and spread my legs wide. I am barely in position before she is kneeling before me. Delicately she parts my fleece and leans forward, breathing in my aroma. She sighs in delight.

I thrust my fingers into her tangled locks and raise her face to mine. “What are you waiting for?” I draw her face into my crotch. She needs no further encouragement.

Her tongue is hot and agile. I can feel every motion, every gesture. She swirls it around my clit, spreads my labia with broad, wet strokes, makes little plunging thrusts into my cunt. I grind my sex against her face, soaking her with my secretions, smothering her in my heat. My forcefulness only makes her more eager. She nips at me like a little dog, then lovingly licks and slobbers all over me.

I tremble, on the verge of orgasm, hovering there for long frustrating minutes. She senses my imminent climax and works harder. I try to relax, to let go of my thoughts, my stubborn inhibitions. I feel guilty, keeping her from satisfaction by not taking my own.

She doesn’t seem to mind. Taking a moment for breath, she gazes up at me, face slick with my juices. Her angelic smile refuels my lust. “I told you to eat my pussy, slut,” I tell her, forcing her head back down. Her pliancy thrills me. She attacks my cunt with renewed vigor, until I’m twisting and screaming under her mouth.

I’m so close now, I need just one push to topple me into oblivion. Then she gives me that push. Without preamble, she reaches between my splayed thighs and slips one wet finger deep into my anus. It’s pain and it’s bliss. It’s a violation and ultimate intimacy. It’s enough to make me explode, finally and utterly. 

 

Back List Blast:: Nasty Business (#bdsm #erotic #hea)

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Opening the door, I offer her a hand. "Get out of the car, Ruby." She does not resist. Her palm is sticky with her dried juices. When she releases my hand, I hold it to my nose, inhaling deeply. My mouth waters in anticipation. "Lean against the railing. I want to admire the view."

Ruby looks simultaneously embarrassed and defiant. "You promised, Rick..."

"Come now, Ruby. You started this. You want this." The first statement is not strictly true, but the second clearly is. She does not protest further, but obeys my command, facing the steel rail and looking out over the city spread below us.

The curved top of the guard rail reaches her mid-thigh. "Hands on the railing, please. Bend over." Silently Ruby complies. Her skirt is still tangled around her waist. Her bikini panties hang loosely on her hips, stretched and stained from her earlier exertions. I reach for them, pull them down to her ankles and off. She shivers when my hand comes in contact with her bare flesh.

I've seen Ruby's ass before, of course, that night in the cab. Up close. But it was dark, and though I could see the details, it was hard to get the whole picture, as I do now.

The late afternoon sun gilds her paleness to warm gold. The glow underscores the shadows, the crease where her thighs begin, the crevice between her cheeks. Like her breasts, the fluid curves of her buttocks are perfect. They swell toward me, lush and full. I have a nearly overwhelming urge to palm and stroke them. I imagine spanking them, the marks of my fingers blossoming red in the wake. I see myself holding them apart as I plunge my cock into her depths. My erection tightens another notch at this mental image.

But I do none of these things. I merely stand behind her, admiring her nakedness, allowing the shame and the suspense to build in her. A car races by, swings around the curve and is gone. She twitches at the sound, but remains where she is. Where I have positioned her.

What now? God, I'd love to take her right here, out in the open like this. My cock screams for it. She wouldn't stop me, not now, not after that orgasm, guilty proof of her lust for me. But that's not enough. I want her to ask me, to beg me to fuck her. I want her to admit to me how much she wants me. Needs me. And she's not there yet, I'm certain. Today was just the first step.

I want to use her, though, pleasure her and humble her at the same time. Fingers are not enough. Again, I wish that I had kept her little whip. Then I have a thought; perhaps she brought it herself.

Stealthily, I walk over to the car, reach in and grab her purse. The twinge of guilt when I snap it open is quickly replaced by my triumph over what I've found. Not the flogger, true, but something as good, or better. An elegant stainless steel vibrator, slender and feminine. It's about the diameter of a lipstick tube, and perhaps three times as long. Just the thing.

"Ruby," I say, walking back to her bent figure and holding the dildo up for her to see. "Look what I found. As I expected, you are always prepared." She turns and tries to glare at me, but desperate hunger overcomes her rage. "Do you want it, Ruby?" She looks out over Los Angeles, stonily silent. I don't press her. She's given enough, earned some reward.

With one hand, I reach between her splayed thighs. I brush my fingertip across the silky hair on her mound, just the barest of touches. A shudder runs through her body. With the same fingertip, I part that fur, seeking her clit. It practically jumps out to meet my finger, rigid and slick. At my first touch, she whimpers and presses her pubis against my hand. Teasing, I pull away, but then I give her what she is seeking. First and second fingers grasp the taut little knob between them, squeezing, while the rest dabble in her soaked folds.

Ruby moans, arches backward to open herself to my hand. I slide my fingers back and forth in her sex, spreading her wetness from the sensitive button at the apex to pucker of muscle at the back. When I graze that spot, her whole body jerks. High voltage. I try a fingertip there, working against the resistance I find. "No," she sighs, or maybe "Oh", as my well-lubricated digit slips partway inside her. I wriggle inside her, feel her clench down on my finger. Imagine that she's doing that to my cock, and almost lose it right there.

I twist the bottom of the vibrator. The motor is nearly silent, but the vibration sends a buzz up my arm and down into my groin. Oh, Ruby—

"Open wide, babe." I stroke the toy lengthwise through her folds, twice, lubricating it thoroughly. She jerks as the humming metal comes in contact with her engorged flesh. Then I take the dildo away and count to fifteen. She's quivering all over. I touch the tip to the whorl of her anus and leave it there. She trembles violently. For a moment, I think she will come just from this external stimulation. That's not enough for me though. I want to penetrate her. To screw her. I rotate the dildo slowly while applying steady pressure. It begins to slide into her anus. "Argh!" she cries, pushing her hips backward. Her sudden movement embeds the shaft deeply in her butt. She jerks forward again with another cry, almost pulling the toy from my grasp.

"Let me," I say, reaching my right arm around her hips and cupping her mound in my palm to steady her. She grinds herself against me. With the other hand I grasp the vibrator and begin a slow stroking. She relaxes slightly, allowing me to support her, opening herself so that I can enter her.

It's incredibly hot, watching that shiny rod disappear into her dark hole then reappear smeared with her fluids. Once, twice, a dozen times I plunge the thing into her. My cock gets harder with each thrust, until the throbbing becomes pain. I can't stand it any longer. I leave the vibrator jutting obscenely from her anus and unzip my fly. My erection springs from my pants, eager for action.

I rub it against her satin-smooth rear cheek. I can't help it. Somehow I expect her to object, but she is too far gone, quivering in time with the motor lodged in her butt-hole. I resume my thrusts with the dildo. Now my own pelvis is thrusting in time. My cock is lodged comfortably between her flesh and my pants, reveling in the freedom and the friction.

Dimly I hear a car pass, realize that it has slowed before moving on, but I don't care. I'm close to coming, and I sense that Ruby is too. I fuck her ass harder, faster, imagining all the while that it is my cock buried in that tight darkness. She moans and twists under the weight of my body. The come boils in my balls.

"Ruby," I whisper in her ear, "you're such a magnificent slut." I push the dildo in to the hilt with one hand, pinch her clit with the other. Her scream echoes through the hills. She clamps my hand between her thighs, nearly breaking my wrist. Her orgasm shudders through her in huge waves. As she crashes against me, I feel the cum rising in my stalk and spraying over her buttocks and back. A fountain of exquisite pleasure. I stagger, would fall but for her form braced against the rail.

A Few Bits of News

Hello, everyone!

Turns out I'm going to Europe for ten days in the middle of the month (business and pleasure).  So I've been running around like a crazy person, trying to get everything done before then - blog posts, editing of new books, reviews, etc. Not to mention "work" of course!

Anyway, I wanted to share a couple of tidbits with you.

First of all, my kinky romantic erotica novel Nasty Business is now available in print. If you're old-fashioned, and like to hold a real book in your hands, you can get your very own copy here:

https://www.createspace.com/5398034

Second, the amazing Violet Blue has featured not one but two of my books in her "Kink Your Kindle" column:

http://www.tinynibbles.com/blogarchives/2015/05/kink-your-kindle-a-sci-fi-space-opera-paranormal-horror-hot-crime-noir-erotic-ninjas.html

You might find out about some other great books, too!

Finally, I just learned that my F/F collection Her Own Devices will be available next week. I hope to have the cover to share in the next few days.

Sunday Snog #159: Nasty Business

It’s Sunday, so of course I’m going to share a kiss from my new release, Nasty Business. Enjoy!

After you’ve read my snog, hop over to Victoria’s for more sweet and sexy Sunday kisses.

“You’re a scoundrel, Rick. A scoundrel and a traitor. Why didn’t you tell me that you knew my father? That you had him convinced you were his friend?”

“I was his friend,” Rick begins. I cut him short with a baleful glare.

“Some friend! Friends don’t take advantage of each other. Friends don’t lie to each other. Friends keep each other’s confidences.”

“What are you talking about?” He sounds confused and defensive.

“The foundry, of course. It was my father who brought it to your attention, showed you its potential. He intended to acquire it for The Maxwell Companies. Then you turn around and stab him in the back by stealing the deal away from him.”

“How…?”

“Never mind. I should have realized a lot sooner that you had inside information, and put two and two together.”

“Liu and I planned to go into business together. The foundry was going to be a joint project.”

“Oh? Why should I believe you?”

“Because it’s true. I can show you the preliminary documents, if you want. Then came the accident, and everything got put on hold. The next thing that I know, you’re talking to Baktar and I’m completely out of the picture. I guess I was pissed off to find myself being ignored. I decided that I needed the fab for myself.”

“Why didn’t my father tell me that he had a partner in the deal? He never even mentioned you.”

Rick gives me a harried look. “I don’t know, Ruby. He talked a lot about you. He planned to send you to Malaysia to do a final inspection of the plant. He wanted me to join you there, to give you a technical briefing.” This, at least, was confirmed by the email I had read. “Maybe he wanted you to form your own conclusions about me. Maybe he thought you’d be jealous, if you knew that he was mentoring me.” A ghost of a grin flits across his irregular features. “He did say that you were hot-blooded, and had a fierce temper…”

“Did he indeed?” I say ironically, trying to keep the misery out of my voice. I’d thought that I knew my father so well, that I was privy to all his secrets. The revelation that he kept things from me, that he had other confidants, is painful. I lean forward, deliberately allowing Martell a glimpse of my cleavage, and look him in the eye. He licks his lips nervously. “So, was he right about me, Rick?”

“I don’t know, Ruby,” he replies softly. “I don’t know you well enough to say.” He pauses, raises his eyes to mine. “But I’d like to.”

I can’t comprehend how it happens. One moment he is standing there across from me, with the desk safely between us. The next, he’s beside me, pulling me to my feet. Kissing me. His wiry arms snake around me, pulling me to his chest. His lips are firm on mine, exploring rather than demanding. His scent swirls around me, dizzying me. The embers smoldering in my sex leap into flame.

“Rick…” I begin, but the taste and texture and presence of him overwhelm me. My objection melts into an inarticulate murmur of pleasure.

He kisses with his whole body. His hands are everywhere, stroking my arse, teasing my nipples. His knee finds its way into my crotch and sets up a rhythmic pressure that soon has me swollen and dripping. He is swollen, too. Brazenly, he rubs his rigid cock against my thigh, as he plunges his tongue more deeply into my mouth.

“Ruby,” he murmurs, alternating words with nibbles and licks. “I want you so badly. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.”