Thursday, May 14, 2020

The next Underlayes adventure... #Paranormal #Fantasy #Humor @GothicMoms

Cover and teaser

Synopsis

Reina and Ricardo have a relationship that’s as close to perfect as one can get. 

Coming home after a romantic honeymoon, they’re ready to settle down and begin their life together. But when Reina literally bumps into someone from her past, their future turns into a thing of uncertainty, and her life begins to unravel. Things are no longer as they seem when this dangerous stranger embeds himself into their lives.

Will this vampire and his bride survive a wizard bound and determined to recreate his obedient mate from a past life? Or will they show him that sometimes the past is best left buried?



Excerpt

Spill the beans woman before I lose my ever-loving mind.” I loved making Kenya wait, she was the most impatient female I knew. Lizzie was turning beat red as she did her best not to laugh. Whether from the expressions on Kenya’s face, or the bright pink lipstick she’d decided to try that seemed to glow, I had no idea. Maybe it was both. Kenya sat back in her seat and crossed her arms at her very ample chest, which drew more attention to the blindingly bright yellow dress she had on. The way she was dressed was a sure sign the two of them must have had a fight about something. It was the only time Kenya pulled out the tackiest looking clothes she could find. And with her exotic midnight sky complexion the neon bright material looked like it was actually glowing in the dark, and it was broad daylight.

Lizzie, did you really have to piss her off today?” I eyeballed her as I asked the question and did my best to hold in the laugh that bubbled up in my throat. Lizzie looked conservative in comparison to her mate. She wore a black leather catsuit which only had one sleeve, the other didn’t have so much as a spaghetti strap which showed off her slightly muscular, milky cream arm. With her blonde hair pulled to the top of her head in a sleek ponytail and cut bangs that hung right below her eyebrows she looked like she had just walked off the Charlies Angels film set. The two of them already resembled night and day as it was, even without Kenya’s added antics. “I mean, come on. How am I supposed to give y’all all the details you’ve been waiting to hear while trying to avoid looking at a Rainbow Brite reject for too long? Is she doing an experiment that neither of us know about? Can supes go blind, and if so what kind?”

Lizzie couldn’t stop the laugh that came from her mouth, which was unfortunate considering she had just taken a huge sip of her extra dead red bubbly. Good thing she had on black. One of the waiters came rushing over with more than a few extra napkins as Lizzie began to explain, “Your friend has a case of baby fever and is doing her level best to pass it on to me.” Was her sultry reply.

So?” That really didn’t explain much, not given their situation, “Lizzie, I thought the two of you worked that out a long time ago. That you were going to start your family right around now. It’s been, what, twenty-five years already, right?” That earned me a scoff and an eyeroll from Kenya.

Lizzie went on to say to me, “Having the baby isn’t what the problem is. The problem is that she wants me to be the one to carry it. That was not part of the deal, and she knows it.”

But you handle pain so much better than I do.” Kenya replied as she did her level best to pout with her arms crossed against her chest. Which only made Lizzie and I laugh that much harder.

Once I was finally able to curtail my laughter I asked Kenya, “So you mean to tell me you over there huffin and puffin over something you have no business being mad about?” when she made no attempt to respond I continued, “Why would you even want Lizzie to carry the baby? She’s part of the Guard you whacko.” I laughed a bit more when she rolled her eyes at that, “Goddess, I really missed this.”

You’re the one that decided to take a ten-year honeymoon.” Lizzie said as she scooted back her chair and stood, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I see my dinner. Don’t spill any details until I get back.”

After she bent down to give Kenya a kiss on her still pouting, bright lips, Lizzie sashayed off to the dancefloor where willing donors were dancing to some new techno beat. We were at Club Vamptasy. That had been my first visit to the club since it had been built while I was still abroad on my honeymoon. Apparently, the royal families created a new bar, or club, in each district as peace offerings after the wars. Well, they called them the wars, but if you asked me it was more like a huge family feud between the vampires, witches, and Rasputins, with a few others caught in the crossfire. Guess it was just one of those ‘all in how you look at it’ things. The clubs weren’t segregated or anything stupid such as that, just each catered to specific factions needs. But everyone was allowed to come and have a good time.

At Club Vamptasy, the snack bar was literally on the dance floor. Human donors of every variety swayed to the beat with their necks and wrists exposed. If a vampire wanted to take a more intimate vein they had to do so in one of the private rooms in the back. I hadn’t been to a private room or the snack bar yet, didn’t have a need. I had already fully fed before I left home. To each their own and all that, but I’d much rather feed at home than in public. Guess a part of me would just always be a tad bit shy. Though my mate did tend to bring out my wild side; which was part of the reason I left him at home. The other part was that he was out catching up with his own friends.

I don’t think I could have stopped smiling had I wanted to as I my eyes locked onto Kenya as she watched her wife sink her fangs into one of the women on the dance floor, “My Goddess, does the euphoric feeling ever go away?” I absently asked her.

No.” Kenya laughed slightly before she continued, her eyes still glued to the female she loved, “Do not get me wrong, we fight, which you already know. But the love? That just grows so much stronger. I have heard horror stories of wrong mates being matched by fate, but that is not the case for us.”

I shuttered at the unexpected chill those words made shoot up my spine, “Yeah, I really hope those are just rumors.”

Completely ignoring me, Kenya puckered up her lips for a kiss as Lizzie sashayed her way back to where we sat, “Reina, can you tell your friend over there to put those bright ass lips down? I am not getting that neon mess on me.” Lizzie said as she plopped down in her chair. The three of us couldn’t help but all laugh.

It felt good to be back home, though the more I recapped my honeymoon, the more I missed my mate. Since Lizzie was part of the royal guard, the waiter kept us topped off with only the top shelf mixtures. The alchemist had done a fabulous job of creating all types of alcoholic beverages mixed with blood that we could consume without getting sick, as long as we didn’t go overboard with it. They held no nutritional value whatsoever, but they tasted good and being able to get tipsy was more than a little bit of fun. But, they did make us have to use the restroom, something we normally only did maybe twice a day. Me more so than others as evidenced by the squeaky chorus of, “Again?”, I received from Lizzie and Kenya when I excused myself from the table.

The place wasn’t jam packed, but it did have a decent enough sized crowd that I had to say excuse me several times before I finally made my way to the restroom. There was less of a crowd there, sense most were still leery of the new drinks. Altogether the daunting task took probably less than two minutes.

I was headed back to where me and the girls had been seated when a rather large hand grabbed my upper arm and spun me around, “Josephine?”, he said once we were face to face. His voice was deep and gravelly, and sent chills down my spine, and not in a good way.

Uh, no. You’ve got the wrong girl.” I said to him with a nervous laugh as I tried but failed to shrug him off, which should have been easy. He wasn’t a vampire, or a shifter, so he wasn’t stronger than me. I closed my eyes for a second to gain my composure and in that small amount of time I could sense that he was a warlock (and no, a warlock isn’t just a male witch, but more like a war mage. And can be either a male or female), but something about him and his magic were just off. If felt crazed, erratic. “Dude, seriously, I’m not whoever you think I am.”

Josie, baby, it’s me.” Desperation laced his words and pulled at my heartstrings even though he truly gave me the heebie-jeebies. The silent tear that shed down from his eye swirled with magic and strangely had sparks shooting up the birthmark on my hipbone.

Hey, Rena. We got a problem here?” Bruno, one of the barrel-chested, brutal looking members of the royal guard came to the rescue just as the stranger was about to pull me closer to him. Bruno grabbed the male’s hand away from me while he said to me, “You just go ‘head wit da girls and finish y’alls night whiles I have a word or two with our new friend here.”

Right before I walked off I said to Bruno, “Don’t be too hard on him, he just thought I was someone else.” I almost changed my words when I looked down and saw a magic burn mark on my arm where he had been holding onto me.

Are you okay?” Kenya asked once I made my way back to the table.

Yeah, no, I don’t know. That whole little encounter just felt…wrong. Maybe we should just go.” As we parted ways I couldn’t help the eerie feeling that I’d seen that mystery male before, and would again.



About the Author

T. A. resides in Detroit, Michigan with her five children, and the rest of her dysfunctional family, where she was born and raised. She started her writing career in the midst of a very hard time in her life and is now a best-selling author. Her debut and award-winning novel, Witch Wars, and the world of Underlayes, was born from a mind that desperately needed an escape, so she created one.

The novel was inspired by her love of all things paranormal and how she wanted it seen. “We live in a diverse world, shouldn’t all of the characters in books, even paranormal also be diverse,” she says. “I saw so few paranormal books with a diverse cast until I read L. A. Banks. You know, with more than one or two diverse characters thrown in for good measure. Mine have it all, too.”


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Wednesday, May 13, 2020

Real Vikings - #AthelingChronicles #HistoricalFiction #Review

The Cold Hearth cover

Blurb

"The sons of Cnute are dead men." The dying words of his brother's assailant travel across the North Sea to the English Midlands.

Harald, the king's second son, receives the warning while rebuilding a hall where he hopes to farm and lead a peaceful life with Selia, his Frisian wife. But as the hall nears completion, they learn the family who lived there before them all perished in a single night of bloodshed. Could the grounds be cursed?

Now the threat of unknown enemies casts a long shadow. Should they distrust the brooding Saxon neighbor or the two weapon-bearers they hired for protection? Should they suspect either of the two women they have taken on with the other hirelings? Only their Jewish warrior friend, Ravya ben Naaman, seems above suspicion.


Excerpt

But come, Harald.” Erral motioned to the open doors. He gave orders to a thrall to see to our horses.

Beornstan and Kipp dismounted and followed.

May your hall be blessed,” I said, crossing the threshold. Open-shuttered windows along the two sides let in a goodly amount of light. Many folk inhabited the hall, standing, sitting, or preparing the meal. Children played, and a few elders sat watching. The robust aroma of roasting meat encouraged my stomach to rumble like thunder in the hills.

Conversation among the adults stopped at my entrance, leaving only the joyful cries of the children to fill the hall. I believe Erral must have given a meaningful and menacing look to his folk, for talk resumed as my host took me round to meet everyone. Though a few of the older men— uncles by blood or marriage— barely covered their hatred for all things Danish with the demands of hospitality, most were friendly and welcoming. Wihtlac, the brother-in-law, greeted me warmly and presented his motherless but well-fed young daughters. I met Erral’s sister and her husband, other in-laws, cousins, married and widowed aunts. The mood grew in spirit; I believe most were honored to receive a son of King Cnute— for whether loved, feared, or loathed, my father was still ruler over them— and I am sure more than one wondered if they were greeting a future king. And no one wondered more than me.

Erral ushered me toward an elder-woman who sat on a bench in a corner where there were no drafts. She wore a coarse woolen blanket like a shawl, green kirtle, and leggings. Her thin, white hair was braided and coiled tightly, crowning a wizened, tired face furrowed with creases and grooves that spoke of sun-baked toil and cold hardship. Her eyes revealed the clouded, milky-blue dullness I had beheld on others who could no longer see.

Ealdemoder,” Erral said. His grandmother looked up at the sound of his voice. “I have brought a guest. This is Harald.”

Your health, Ealdemoder,” I said.

And yours, son of kings.”

I had expected her voice to be higher pitched and frayed, but she spoke in soft, measured tones, smooth like worn leather.

Come closer.”

I dropped to one knee before her and leaned in. She reached out with a hand, found my shoulder, and followed it with her fingers until she reached my face. She felt the shape of my jaw and chin, cheekbones and brow before lowering her hand. Her touch was gentle, as if she reached across the gap between the dead and the living.

Is it not frightful what the old and unsighted can get away with?” She laughed whole-heartedly and Erral with her.

When I realized that I had been made the brunt of a jest, I laughed as well. “I think you have a strong, pleasant face, Harald, son of Cnute. No scars yet?”

Scars I have aplenty, Ealdemoder: I am missing a finger, there is a serpentine scar on my forearm, the mark of an arrow high on my chest, and a good-sized rent on my crown.”

You have been busy.”

No, my enemies have been busy.”

Just so. Give us your hand— I’ve already had my way with your face.” The old woman’s lips formed a sly smile.

If I had not enjoyed her wit, I would have felt like fresh meat for the pot. I rested my left hand, the one with the missing finger, palm upward on her bony thigh. She explored the contours and calluses of my hand with care.

A strong hand.” She turned it over, caressing the knuckles. “You have the love of a good woman, do you not?”

I had not expected such a turn. “My wyf, Selia— my treasure.”

Refreshing to hear a man speak so of his wyf. Erral, too, loved his dear wyf.”

I sensed Erral’s discomfort as he shifted his stance.

She was a fine, happy woman, my granddaughter. She died much too young, but many do. Have you met her beautiful children?” She released my hand.

I have. They are indeed worthy of your pride.”

Ealdemoder,” Erral said. “Supper is ready. It is time for food and drink.”

Fine. Snatch the young man from my clutches. If he stays much longer, I’ll become wet in the loins, and that hasn’t happened in years.”

Erral and I laughed together at the old woman’s brazen humor.

Enjoy the meal, Mother,” I said.

And you, Harald, son of kings.”

As Erral and I made to leave, I heard her add, “Keep her safe.”

What was that? I asked, turning.

Your wyf,” the old woman said, her gaze set at nothing, “they will kill her, too.”

Review by Lisabet Sarai

Vikings are popular figures in the romance genre. They’re typically portrayed as the ultimate alpha males: bossy, quarrelsome, fearless, a bit gruff, with few civilized graces. More often than not, they overcome the resistance of the heroines with their sheer physicality, seasoned perhaps with some rough charm and (not infrequently) a spanking.

Although I understand the appeal of these “Viking” heroes, they’re basically indistinguishable from the billionaires, the rock stars or the Navy SEALS that populate other romance sub-genres. They’re pure fantasy, wearing a not-very-convincing historical mask.

Garth Pettersen’s Vikings, in contrast, are the real thing – and they break a lot of stereotypes. For instance, there’s the popular notion that the Vikings swept down in vicious hordes to conquer foreign lands, raping and pillaging their way across the country. In contrast, Pettersen shows us the canny alliances and necessary compromises made by Cnute, the Danish king of Engla-lond during the 11th century. Certainly there were battles, but Cnute cemented his power by marrying the former queen of the country and promising to put her offspring on the throne.

Then there’s the supposed power differential between dominant males and subservient females in Viking romance. In the The Cold Hearth, many of the women characters have an encouraging degree of agency. They advise their sons and husbands, engage in political intrigue, even make war. In this period, women are free to choose their partners. Rape is not unknown but the law requires compensatory payments by the rapist if he is apprehended.

Harald “Harefoot”, King Cnute’s second son and the hero of The Cold Hearth, is courageous and skilled in the military arts. However, he shows none of the arrogance, ambition or volatility we’ve come to expect from the Vikings of romance. Instead, he demonstrates the qualities of a true leader: patience, fairness, generosity and a tendency to think before he acts. His most powerful motivation is his love for his wife Selia. He deplores the weaknesses of his brothers who crave the throne, but his own aspirations are more modest and reasonable – a comfortable and prosperous homestead, a beloved companion, children and peace. Alas, when you’re the son of a king, peace is difficult to come by.

Garth Pettersen manages to bring medieval England to vivid life. I don’t know much about this period. I was surprised and delighted by some of the unexpected aspects of this fascinating novel: the openness about sexual matters; the relatively egalitarian relationship between men and women; the mostly unspoken but ever-present tension between Christianity and the old gods; the degree to which society was governed by explicit laws as well as implicit customs; the multi-cultural nature of the population, which included Danes, Saxons, Normans, Jews and probably many other groups. We don’t tend to think about the language our heroes speak. When Harald and Queen Emma travel to France to confront his treacherous step-brothers, Harald can barely understand them because of linguistic differences. I thought this was brilliantly realistic.

One other aspect of the setting made a deep impression. The Cold Hearth shows us a sparsely populated world of natural abundance. Harald’s England is green and forested. Wild game is plentiful. The land is fertile and with hard work yields its bounties. Life was difficult in the early middle ages, but humans lived in harmony with the earth.

This book clearly involved extensive research. The author’s introductory notes do an excellent job placing the characters in a historical context. The Old English and Old Danish terms scattered through the text provide a sense of authenticity without being confusing. They never felt gratuitous, especially since the author provides a glossary at the start of the book.

Overall, I found reading this book a joy. I suspect that there will be a fourth book in the Atheling Chronicles, in which a reluctant Harald will briefly assume the throne. I’m putting myself on Mr. Pettersen’s mailing list so I don’t miss it.

About the Author

Garth Pettersen is a Canadian writer living in the Fraser Valley near Vancouver, BC. When he's not writing, he is riding horses or working with young disabled riders. Garth's short stories have appeared in a number of anthologies and in journals such as Blank Spaces, The Spadina Literary Review, and The Opening Line Literary 'Zine. His story River's Rising was awarded an Honourable Mention for the Short Story America 2017 Prize, and his fantasy novella River Born, was one of two runners-up for the Windsor Editions (UK) Short Fiction Prize. Garth Pettersen's historical fiction series, The Atheling Chronicles is published by Tirgearr Publishing. All three books available at most online outlets (The Swan's Road, The Dane Law, and The Cold Hearth).

Buy Links


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Tuesday, May 12, 2020

Review Tuesday: A Stolen Heart by Kayelle Allen - #ScienceFiction #SpaceOpera #ReviewTuesday


A Stolen Heart cover

A Stolen Heart by Kayelle Allen

Luc Saint-Cyr is an immortal warrior, a master thief, a savvy businessman, and the loyal supporter of Pietas, king of the Ultras. He plays the role of dedicated Sen’dai – teacher and guide – to his Deshai, young apprentices in the Thieves’ Guild. One thing he’s never been, though – has never considered being – is a father.

When he rescues a kidnapped half-human, half-alien three-year-old from the clutches of corrupt officials within the Guild, however, he can’t resist the desire to protect and nurture the brave, clever and endearing child. For centuries, Pietas has been promising Luc a lifetime he can live for himself alone. Gradually he comes to realize that he wants that life to include being “Senthys’ Daddy”.

The Half-Kin child, spurned by the feline mistresses of his native planet, turns out to be a pawn in a desperate intergalactic plot that involves Luc’s oldest enemy. Immortals know that loving a Mundane will only bring eventual pain when the human’s short life is over. If his ambitious nemesis Phrei has her way, though, Senthys might not live beyond his childhood.

Kayelle Allen has been writing tales of the Tarthian empire for at least fifteen years. One of her earliest novels in this universe, At the Mercy of Her Pleasure, featured Senth as a young man, an exceptionally adept thief practicing his craft in the service of a sexually enhanced “Better”. In her recent work, Ms. Allen has been filling in the back stories of Senth, his half brother Khyff, and Luc Saint-Cyr himself. She has woven a complex set of relationships with Pietas, the “Bringer of Chaos” and his domineering sister Destroiya. I don’t know this for sure, but I have a sense that the author is continually discovering, or creating, these connections as she explores her own fictional worlds.

The results are sometimes fascinating, but equally often struck me as confusing and distracting. The core conflict in this book is the disconnect between who Luc is and the feelings he has for Senthys. Ms. Allen does a wonderful job depicting the child’s remarkable abilities and winning ways, and exposing Luc’s softer side as he falls in love with the boy. Obviously she needed an external threat as well, and Phrei’s attempts to obtain the technology for teleportation fills the bill. However, many of the scenes between Pietas and Luc seemed gratuitous. Their centuries-old relationship and the ambiguous feelings they have for one another are interesting in their own right, but did not seem to belong in this book. Even more aggravating were the repeated references to Six and Mahikos (characters from the Bringer of Chaos series). I haven’t read those books, though I’ve followed Ms. Allen for a long time and indulged in many excerpts. The relevance to this novel seemed tenuous.

Balanced against these annoyances is the author’s skill at developing complex and satisfying characters. I particularly enjoyed Shohn Lexius, the full Kin security agent who has left Felidae because she doesn’t agree with its gender politics. Flea and Gnat, two senior, veteran human members of the Guild whom Luc enlists in the fight against Phrei, are equally delightful. Ms. Fasra, Senth’s beloved teacher from Felidae makes a late but memorable appearance. Even the androids have surprisingly well-defined personalities.

Overall, I enjoyed A Stolen Heart. However, I think I would have liked it even better if the author had been more selective about dragging in references to other tales of the Tarthian empire. The richness of her fictional world is impressive. An attempt at tying all the historical threads together in a single book is bound to fall short.

Monday, May 11, 2020

He's not willing to share... #EroticRomance #BikerQueen #FionaMcGier



Blurb

Tough-as-nails businesswoman by day, Alexandra is a biker queen by night. When a large Russian man inserts himself into her life, she follows her instincts to some explosive sex. But he's not willing to share her with her gang, and she's not willing to give up other men.

When two of her bikers are killed, Dmitri is the main suspect. How far is he willing to go to keep her to himself? And has she really fallen in love for the first time ever -with a murderer?

Note: Lisabet reviewed this book years ago, when it was first published: 
 
A good deal of the book is devoted to the wild, delicious sex that Alex and Dimitri share. I was impressed by the variety Ms. McGier included in the sex scenes, despite the fact that all were heterosexual and vanilla. Her protagonists have a phenomenal capacity for pleasure that reminds me of my younger, wilder days.

Overall, I really enjoyed Only One Man Will Do. It’s a sexy and satisfying romance— especially recommended if you’re tired of doormat heroines! I strongly identified with Alex. I too believed I could never be happy with just one man. For once, I was glad to be proved wrong, and so, ultimately, is she.

Excerpt

This is the first morning after Alexandra invited Dmitri to spend the night with her -after they destroyed some of her office furniture and her business suit in her office. She has to meet her dad briefly, so Dmitri will have to leave. But what about the evening?

Dmitri took a big swallow of his coffee before he spoke. "Does this mean you're throwing me out after breakfast and -" his dark eyes glittered like coals, "More world-class fucking?"

Alexandra leaned back in her chair and sipped her coffee slowly. "Depends. The only plan I have is to meet Dad. I'll only be there for a couple of hours. After that, I'd like to grab some dinner, then go hit some biker bars. I get antsy this time of year, when I can't just hop on my bike and ride. I hate having to drive in my SUV to go party, but it's impossible to stay on the road on a Harley with this much snow and ice. I hate March! I'm so tired of cold and snow!"

"Are you inviting me to tag along?"

Her hazel eyes sparkled with amusement. "Do you think you're up for it? I'm well-known in the places I hang out in. The guys will want to test you, to be sure you're good enough for me. You might end up in a few fights before the night is over."

He poured himself more coffee and after stirring milk into it, looked deeply into her eyes. "Will the night be over after the bars? Or am I invited to once again, share your bed? Or is that what you expect I'll be fighting for, when the other bikers are testing me?"

Alexandra laughed. "You're really something, you know that? No, the night won't be over after the bars. And yes, you'll be getting tested by other men. You can pretty much assume that I've fucked most of the guys in the bars. I've been riding with my gang for a long time. I hand-picked who's allowed to ride with me."

He nodded. "The women too?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Are you asking me if I swing both ways?"

"I might be."

"Why? You wanna watch?"

"Watching someone else make you come is not my idea of a good time." He growled as he got up. He moved quickly to stand in front of her and pulled her hands to get her to stand up. One hand quickly moved behind her to cup her butt cheek, pressing her into his cock. His other hand tweaked her nipple then trailed up her neck to rest under her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes.

"Don't you like to share?" She felt like she was poking at a dangerous animal.

He growled again, shaking his head slowly. "No!" His hand moved back into her hair to pull her head forward as he crushed her lips with his.

She whimpered as he moved his hips back, to allow him to force his cock between her legs. She squeezed her upper thighs together, feeling him harden even more from the pressure. "Bedroom?" Her voice was a hoarse croak, her throat raspy from panting.

They only made it as far as the living room before he bent her over the back of the couch and eased himself into her again.




Hey, when you're attempting to seduce a woman who loves sex as much as she does, you'd better be prepared to satisfy her in a big way, and often!

To find out more about me and my books, you can visit me.
Website-blog is first page - http://www.fionamcgier.com


Scroll down to find links to all of my books.

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Note: If you have a Kindle, download the Mobi version. Then send it as an attachment to an email, to your kindle. You'll get a request from Amazon, wondering if you really want this book. Say yes and it will appear on your Kindle.

Also note: this book is on sale through May 31st, for 60% off cover price, so for only $1.20.

Saturday, May 9, 2020

Dark desires flourish ... #BDSM #femdom #suspense #SaturdaySpanks


Saturday Spanks banner
 
It’s Saturday – so let’s have some BDSM fun with a Saturday Spanks post!

This bit of femdom comes from my erotic thriller Bangkok Noir. In fact this book is quite dark and raw – one of the few books I've written that does not have a HEA - but this particular scene is enlightened by mutual lust.

Blurb

Dark desires flourish in the glittering City of Angels

Diana Fanning, aka the Professor, runs The Academy, the only genuine BDSM bar in Bangkok. She's the first person police colonel Apichat Weeranwongsakul consults when a bar girl turns up brutally murdered, tightly bound, with clamped nipples and every orifice stuffed with sex toys. The colonel figures the killer might be one of her customers. But he has his own secrets. He needs Diana to satisfy his shameful dreams of being beaten and abused.

Meanwhile, a mysterious American named Sam stalks Nok, the lovely natural dominant who is the Professor's star performer. Nok is used to being the one in charge. She can't understand why she craves the discipline Sam administers.

As more women are slaughtered, always in kinky circumstances, the Professor finds herself in an exclusive world catering to the perversions of Bangkok's wealthy and well-connected. Simultaneously looking for evidence and satisfying her own lusts, she doesn't realize until too late that the power she's used to wielding won't save her from becoming the serial murderer's next victim.


I made him wait for several minutes, while I became familiar with the belt. It was smooth and supple. I held it to my nose and breathed deeply; my cunt quivered in response. Leather always has that effect on me. I slipped the belt between my legs and ran it back and forth between my pussy lips. Lubricating it. The sensation was delicious. I found myself hoping that my victim would break quickly, so that I could experience some personal relief.

My first stroke took him by surprise. The leather whistled through the air and landed squarely across both buttocks. A scarlet trail erupted in its wake.

Apichat choked back a cry of pain and shock. I came around to look at this face. There were tears in his eyes.

"Too much?" I asked softly.

"Oh no, Ajarn. No. It just that it has been so long."

"So I should continue, then?"

He raised his eyes to mine. "Please, Ajarn."

My second stroke sliced clean and sharp across his shoulders. His body shook with the force of it, but he remained silent. The third blow painted red patterns across the backs of his thighs. His muscles clenched each time I struck, but still he made no sound.

Ten strokes. Twenty. His skin began to look as though he had been barbecued. I paused to check his state, a bit worried. His eyes were closed. His tousled hair was matted against his sweaty brow. His breathing was deep and even. And his russet-colored cock was rigid as stone.

"Enough?" I whispered in his ear. He shook his head.

"More," he croaked hoarsely. "Please, more."

I gave him twenty more strokes. His buttocks twitched and his back arched each time the leather kissed him. My arms and back began to ache. I'm not young any more. Still, he offered his body to me, mutely asking for my power, my pain.

Finally, it was I who couldn't take any more. I unfastened the handcuffs. He crumpled to the floor.
 
Was he unconscious? I crouched beside him, rolling him over on his back.

"Colonel? Are you all right?"

He opened his eyes and smiled, though his voice was a weak whisper. "Oh yes. Thank you, Ajarn." He let his eyes close again, exhausted, but his face was calm and relaxed.

There he was, simultaneously so vulnerable, and so strong. With that cock of his still rearing up between those sinewy thighs. I had no choice.

I reached for his trousers and rummaged once more in his pockets. As I hoped, I found a condom. I straddled his skinny body and lowered my slippery cunt onto his swollen organ.

His cock convulsed as my heat engulfed him. "Don't come, slave," I warned, "or I'll beat you some more." He said nothing, but I could swear that he struggled not to grin. Leaning over, I forced my nipple into his mouth. "Suck on this, slave, and be grateful. Maybe after I climax, I'll let you come."

He answered by arching his back, driving his cock into my depths. Unexpectedly, that was enough to push me over the edge. I plummeted down, down, flying through a void where there was nothing but pleasure. Pleasure swirled around me, shimmered through me.

I felt his teeth sink into my breast. His nails scored my buttocks. Dimly I heard grunts, sensed renewed heat as he exploded inside me. Pleasure, the sweet pure pleasure of lust long denied, washed every other sensation away.

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