Saturday, February 26, 2011

4.5 Stars & Top Pick for Bucking Hard at NOR!

Yeehaw, the first review for Bucking Hard is in!

"This story is jam-packed with emotion. I really enjoyed getting to know the characters. The story flows and I didn't want to put it down. Great story and I'd love to read more from Darah Lace."

Thanks Tigger9 and Night Owl Reviews!
To read more of the review, click here.

Thursday, February 24, 2011

Beautiful Storm by KyAnn Waters

Beautiful Storm
by KyAnn Waters
Ellora's Cave

Adrian Beck lost everything, including his passion for designing beautiful buildings, after 9/11. Self-imposed exile on Long Caye Island gives him the sanctuary he needs to live a simple, uncomplicated life.

Isabelle Clemet, of Clemet Hotels, is ready to rebuild after Katrina. She wants the best to design her new project on the coast in Biloxi, Mississippi. She wants Adrian.

Can an erotic late-night encounter on a secluded beach help a lonely architect rediscover his lost passion?

Click here to read more.

Monday, February 14, 2011

Twelve Days of Love for Valentine's Day!

To celebrate this special day,
I wanted to share
a red hot treat.
is sure to harden Cupid's arrow
and soften your heart.
Happy Valentine's Day!


Eden Riley left her high school geek days far behind. Or so she thought. But when she returns to her hometown and comes face to face with the local heartthrob, sparks ignite like a chemistry set on crack. Super-smooth Nick Lancaster sets her nerves jangling and thrusts her libido into overdrive. But can the former geeky girl overcome her insecurities and jump his sexy bones?

Nothing suits former jock and debate team star Nick more than sparring with the one-time nerd. He’s just itching to get up close and personal with her high-velocity curves and tangle with her on the nearest bed.

With Valentine’s Day fast approaching, all bets are off when Cupid draws back his bow and Nick has only twelve days to convince Eden she belongs with him, in his heart and in his bed.

An Excerpt From:

Copyright © TESS MACKALL, 2011
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.

Jingling bells mounted above the flower shop door alerted Eden that a customer had entered the store. She pushed the stem of a pink sweetheart rose into the small wedding bouquet she had just started and wiped her hands on her green wraparound smock. As she turned, she caught a man’s reflection in the glass doors of the refrigerated case.

She couldn’t help but pause and stare. His tall, lean silhouette appeared to be standing there among all those leggy gladiolas and giant spider mums perched in their vases. He reached up to the service counter with one hand and touched the small African violet sitting near the edge. For a moment it looked as though he’d brushed his hand over the big snowy-white spider mum in the cooler.

Eden moaned slightly, his touch so obviously tender. Warm tendrils of longing tiptoed over her skin. She shuddered with the sensation, mentally chiding herself for giving him even a second thought, much less allowing him to affect her physically.

But Nick Lancaster had always worked his way under her skin, even in high school.

He was wet panties and get-naked-quick in one fine-looking package. Bottled sin. A walking aphrodisiac. And all that with just a “hello”. Why did she torture herself with this insane crush? She wasn’t exactly his type, was she? Eden patted her tummy to remind herself of the paunch that sometimes forced her to unbutton her jeans after she’d eaten. Yeah, it hadn’t disappeared, still there.

Nick tilted his head to the side as if to peek into the back of the shop where she stood watching, his mirrored reflection in the glass doors so damn lifelike she took a step back. An exaggerated sigh blew through the workroom’s open doorway, a sure-fire sign his patience had grown thin. He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and glanced up at the ceiling.

Eden squared her shoulders, inhaled a deep, cleansing breath and stepped into the showroom. Both Nick’s eyebrows quirked when she appeared and he grinned. She nodded, smiled and planted herself on the opposite side of the counter. He looked too damn delicious today in his dark green Polo shirt and navy blazer. Why did he have to be so handsome?

“Hi, Nick. I might have known I’d be seeing you. The countdown has begun, hasn’t it?”

A distinct V formed between his brows, his grin fading into a frown. “Countdown?”

“Yeah, countdown.” Eden gestured toward the large, heart-shaped day calendar on the wall behind her.

Emblazoned in sparkling gold against the bright red background over the heart’s two humps were the words “Valentine’s Day Countdown”. The number twelve was displayed in bright red and centered inside a pale blue and white wisp of a cloud with Cupid sitting on top, his bow drawn.

Nick focused over her head. “Oh!” Then he frowned even harder. “Well, what was that crack about ’might have known I’d be seeing you’ all about?”

“Nothing. Forget it.”

He pursed his luscious lips and squinted his gorgeous green eyes. “You don’t like me very much, do you?”

“Where the hell did you get that idea?”

It never failed. Every time he came into the shop, they ended up arguing. She always managed to make some snarky comment, and of course, he picked up on it. They’d been at odds since their freshman year of high school. Both had joined the debate team and had never seen eye-to-eye on a single subject.

Slowly but surely they’d gravitated to different ends of the spectrum in popularity too, which hadn’t made things any easier. He, with his Adonis good looks and nothing-but-net shooting ability, naturally floated to the top; she, with her wide hips, pimply face, geeky glasses and penchant for all things artistic, sank to the bottom.

Now here they were, all these years later, no further from that high-school type of relationship than when they’d started. Except Nick had taken over his father’s string of Chevy dealerships and she had moved back home last year, forsaking her managerial position at an up-and-coming art gallery in New York to take over her ailing mother’s flower shop.

Times and situations changed but evidently people didn’t.

“If you don’t want me as a customer, Eden, why don’t you just say so?” He leaned forward, folding his arms over one another on the counter’s faux granite surface, watching her intently.

Lemon drops. He always smelled of lemon drops—and some expensive cologne she couldn’t remember the name of. God, she wanted to reach over and ruffle that thick, wavy black hair of his. Oh shit. Wet panties alert! He managed to do it to her every time without even trying.

And oh how she wished he would. Fat chance.

“I do want you as a customer,” she said succinctly, trying to put an end to the verbal scuffle.

“So? What was that crack all about?”

“Nothing. Just pointing out the countdown is all. I’m a florist. Valentine’s Day is important to me.” Actually, her remark had been a direct jibe regarding his frequent flower-buying miles. He constantly had arrangements delivered locally and wired over a three-state area with each card signed, “Yours, Nick”.

“Your mother is a florist. You’re a stand-in.” He grinned, wet his index finger with his tongue and painted the air with an imaginary mark. “Score one for me.”

Her mouth dropped open. She had a damned art degree in her back pocket. He, on the other hand, had dropped out of college after year two thanks to a bum knee and the fact he’d no longer be able to pump up his already over-inflated ego with the roar of the fans. How dare he call her a stand-in!

“I’ll have you know that I started working in this shop when I was twelve years old. Every day after school, weekends, all summer long too. I’m the one who made those sweet little corsages for all your high-school dance dates. So don’t say I’m not up to the job.”

He jabbed the rigid fingers of his left hand into his right palm—time out. “Chill, girl. Damn. You’re gonna pop a blood vessel one of these days.” He shook his head. “I was joking, messing with you. But I really meant that as soon as your mother was feeling better, you’re gonna be out of here and back to that fancy New York art career of yours.”

Did she detect a note of jealousy? Impossible. Nick Lancaster had it all. Well, except for his divorce, that is. Her mother had told her all about it right after Eden had taken over the shop. Nick had shown up on Eden’s third day to place an order and their customary enmity from high school had picked up right where it had left off.

Eden had related the entire scene to her mother at home that night and was shocked to learn that Nick and his wife, Jenna, had called it quits. He’d caught her dead-to-rights with her masseuse.

The vision of Jenna’s toothy white smile, platinum pony-tail and deep cleavage bouncing up and down right along with the whimsical sashay of blue-and-white pompoms rollicked in Eden’s mind. The cheerleader prom queen sure had screwed up her life. How the hell could she ever want anyone but Nick?

Eden tucked her fingernails into her palms and squeezed, jolting herself back to the present. Who was she to talk? Her judgment where love was concerned wasn’t so great either.

She picked up the order book and scratched out Nick’s name on the appropriate line. “I won’t be going back to New York.”

“What do you mean?” He leaned in closer.

The lemony scent became downright heady. Have mercy. Her nipples poked at her thin cotton sports bra. Tingles of lust wound their way straight to her pussy. Maybe she should start keeping a supply of clean panties on hand.

He rapped his knuckles on the counter. “Are you listening to me?”


“You looked like you spaced out for a few seconds.”

“Just thinking. Now what would you like to order today?”

He shook his head. “Not so fast. Why aren’t you going back to New York?”

“Mom’s not going to be able to return to work. She’s now on dialysis.”

He glanced down at the floor then back up at her. His usually devilish eyes had softened. “I’m sorry to hear that, Eden. Your mom is a nice lady. I hope her condition improves.”

Eden averted her gaze. He was being nice. And Nick Lancaster’s “nice” wasn’t something she could take. As long as he played the fool with her, she could handle him, but this side? No.

She pressed the pen against the paper. “Thank you. So how many dozen roses? One for each of the Twelve Days of Love? A dozen different women or just one special lady this time?”

He choked with laughter, sputtering, “The Twelve Days of Love?”

She rolled her eyes. “Florist marketing. If you can have the Twelve Days of Christmas, why not the Twelve—”

“Days of Love,” he finished in a sarcastic tone.

Eden perched her hand on her hip and stared at him.

He licked his lips. Lusty butterflies fluttered in her lower abdomen, sending a delicious pleasure-pain to body parts she didn’t even know she had. Her stomach somersaulted. She wondered what it would feel like to kiss him. Damn. She had to stop doing this. They didn’t even like each other. She wasn’t his type—no pompoms. He’d laugh his ass off if he knew how I felt. As long as she didn’t see him, she was fine. But if she had to talk to him, be near him…

He came around to her side of the counter. “How long have we been rubbing each other the wrong way?”

Eden skirted past him and walked over to the display window. She twisted a pot of heavily leaved philodendron so its back side faced the sun. “Forever. I’ve got a wedding tomorrow, Nick. I hate to rush you, but…”

When she turned from the window, he was standing in front of her almost nose to nose. She stumbled backward and he caught her, resting his hand at her waist. He stared into her eyes. How had she failed to notice those little gold flecks swimming in the dark green depths of his? His breath soughed warm over her face—more lemon drops and something else—his unique male scent.

And his hand—was it on fire? He took it away and the temperature of her skin where he’d been touching her plummeted.

“What will you be doing that night?” he asked.

“Wh-what night?” Surprised she’d found her voice, she hurried back to the counter and picked up the order book again.


“Oh.” She shook her head. “I’ll be lucky to get out of here by nine. And love will be the last thing on my mind, I can assure you.”

“No date, huh?”

“I don’t have time for dating. Can we do the order?”

He shoved his hands in his pockets before he moved back over to the counter. “So you didn’t leave any broken hearts in New York?”

Where the hell is he going with this? And why?

“I’m not exactly every man’s idea of the perfect date. Now if you don’t mind—”

“What’s a man’s idea of a perfect date?”

Exasperated, she blew out a burst of air. “I don’t know and don’t care. I have more important things to do these days than worry about the likes and dislikes of men.”

“What’s more important than love? You’re the florist.” He pointed to the Twelve Days of Love calendar.

“Exactly what is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re willing to sell the product of love but you don’t believe in it.”

“And you’re driving a Mercedes but you sell Chevys.”

Nick propped his hip against the counter, grinning. “Nobody’s ever challenged me the way you do, you know that?”

“Nobody’s ever pissed me off the way you do. You know that?”

His expression sobered. He looked wounded. “I don’t mean to.”

Deep down she knew that. Guilt crested inside her. “I guess we’re just oil and water, Nick. No harm done.”

An awkward silence rose between them. They just stood there staring at each other until Eden couldn’t take it another second.

“You still want to place the order?”

“Yeah,” he said, soft and low, in an almost-defeated manner.

A few minutes later, Nick had placed an order for roses to be delivered on Valentine’s Day to seventeen different women. With every name and address he read to her from his BlackBerry, Eden jabbed the paper a little harder with the pen. Her stomach churned at the thought of all those women. In her mind, she pictured them with pom poms, blonde hair and long, tanned legs.

And they giggled.

Yep, she was definitely wasting panty moisture on thoughts of Nick. Her five-foot-four, big-hipped frame capped off by average-sized breasts would never stand a chance against all those big-busted beauties. Even her soot-black hair was a sharp contrast to what Nick wanted.

“All right. I think I’ve got everything. I have your credit card on file. How about the card? The usual ‘Yours, Nick’?”


He sounded dejected. She would too if she’d just spent seventy bucks a pop on seventeen different women. No. That wasn’t it. Nick had money. Apparently their antagonistic relationship had gone a bit too far today.

Maybe this was his last order. How would she feel if that was the case?

“Thanks, Eden.” Nick headed for the door, stopped short just as he reached it, waited the space of a few seconds, then opened it. The bells jingled. He continued to stand there with his back to her. A car alarm blared out in the street. He closed the door and marched back to the counter.

Eden just knew he was going to cancel the order and that would be the end of Nick and her silly schoolgirl crush. Head held high, she braced herself for whatever he was about to say.

“I think it’s a case of practicing what you preach,” he said matter-of-factly.

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re right. I should drive a Chevy and you should believe in love.”

His shoulders relaxed and he let out a long breath as if he’d been holding in what he’d said. And now that he’d spit it out, he seemed relieved.

“We’re back to that?”

“Yes, and I think we should do something about this,” he twirled his finger in front of him, “this oil-and-vinegar thing we have going on.”

“Water. Oil and water. You mean try to get along?”

“Whatever. And exactly. After all, it’s that time of year. The Twelve Days of Love.”

She smiled. “Okay, Nick. I’ll try if you will.”

Maybe they could get along. Of course, it wouldn’t help the physical side of things as far as she was concerned. But he didn’t come into the shop more than a couple of times a month. It might be nice not to feel so angry and wet when he left the next time.

“Good. I’ll pick you up at your mother’s house at seven.” He strode toward the door.

It was as if the floor fell out from under her. She grabbed the countertop. Blood rushed to her head and her heart drummed so loudly she thought surely the vibrations would bring the roof down on top of her.


Nick spun on his heel. “Seven o’clock. Jeans will be fine. Twelve days, Eden. Twelve days of practicing what you preach. I’ll be driving a Chevy when I pick you up too.” He yanked the door open so the bells jingled, grinned, offered her a little salute and closed the door behind him.

Buy Link:

Friday, February 11, 2011

Bucking Hard Released Today!

Bucking Hard
Woohoo! Bucking Hard is out today at Ellora's Cave! If you enjoyed Saddle Broke, return to Grayson, Texas to meet Bradi and Mason and catch a glimpse of Lindsey, Clay and yes, Evan.

To celebrate, I'm giving away a FREE copy of Bucking Hard. Just post a comment on this post anytime over the weekend, and I'll draw a winner at noon on Valentine's Day.


All her life, tomboy Bradi Kincaid has wanted two things—a career as a veterinarian in her hometown Grayson, Texas…and Mason Montgomery. Problem is, he’s her best friend and according to him she’s “one of the guys”. Convinced he’ll never see her otherwise, Bradi comes up with a sure-fire plan to get over Mason—flirt a little, dance a lot and get laid.

What Mason imagines doing to Bradi is just all kinds of wrong. But the woman on the dance floor isn’t the girl he grew up with. She’s hot and sexy and turning him on. Him and every other man in the bar. She’s also had too much to drink and is unaware of the trouble she’s inviting. He does what any friend would, he steps in, then sets out to teach her a lesson.

But before the sun rises, Mason discovers Bradi has a thing or two to teach him.

This story contains spanking, biting and some “tie me up”, bucking-hard sex.

An Excerpt From:


Copyright © DARAH LACE, 2011
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.

Mason crested the hill overlooking the creek and reined in Rocky, his favored mount for riding the range. He’d heard the bawling calf a quarter mile away and figured he’d find it stuck in the mud. He hadn’t expected to find Bradi Kincaid. In fact if he’d known she’d already ridden to the rescue, he would have headed the other way.

But here she was not ten feet away, ass in the air, up to her knees in green slime and mud, her arms around the struggling calf’s neck, and she still managed to light a fire in his gut. And dammit, that was just all wrong.

They were best friends, for Christ’s sake. Practically raised in the cradle together. They’d fished and hunted side by side, ridden drag to bring up the tail end of cattle drives. And they’d gotten into more trouble than a switch could whip out of them. She was his best bud, one of the guys.

So why did his dick suddenly become a divining rod every time she was near?

She wasn’t unattractive. But Bradi was nothing like the women he preferred. She wasn’t sleek or polished or sophisticated. Her fingernails were cut close to keep the dirt out instead of long and meticulously painted to match her outfit. Her dirty blonde hair was either in a ponytail or a braid, and as far as he knew, had never been streaked, colored or cut to the latest fashion. And she might carry ChapStick in her front right pocket to ward off the blistering Texas sun, but that was the extent of her makeup.

Bradi was Bradi—natural, earthy and blessed with athletic grace that made ranch work look easy—and more often than not these days left him wondering what that lithe and flexible body would be like in bed.

“You gonna sit there all day, or are you gonna help me?”

Leaning forward to rest his forearm on the saddle horn and hopefully hide his growing erection, he tilted his head to one side and smirked at the picture she made. “I don’t know. You look like you’re doing just fine on your own.”

She blew wispy bangs out of her green eyes and gave him a withering glare over her shoulder. “Throw me a rope.”

“Where’s yours?” He looked around for her horse but the only other animal in sight was a cow waiting for Bradi to rescue her calf. “Wait, don’t tell me. You were riding Dahlia.”

That damn horse had a habit of leaving Bradi high and—his gaze wandered over her again—not so dry. Covered in muck, the front of her faded yellow T-shirt was wet and clung to her breasts. Breasts he’d known she possessed but never really noticed until two weeks ago. His gaze locked on the words peeling across the chest. Not that he cared what they said with her nipples prodding so diligently through her bra.

Mentally castrating himself, Mason sat up and reached for the coiled rope attached to his saddle. “When are you going to take that piece-of-shit horse to the glue factory?”

“Just shut up and throw me your rope.”

Ignoring her demand, Mason swung the lasso and sent it sailing over the calf’s head. He pulled the rope taut, wrapped it around the saddle horn, and directed his horse to back up. The little bull cried louder as the mud slowly relinquished its hold. As soon as the calf’s legs found firm ground, he dug in, resisting the pull of the rope.

Bradi laughed and reached for the calf just as it wrenched to one side and kicked. Twisting, she dodged a hind leg, but her feet were still stuck in the mud and she went to her knees. Another kick and brown sludge splattered her chest and neck. “Shit.”

Mason chuckled. “Yep, I imagine so.”

Shooting him another scathing glare, she struggled to stand. “You’re an ass.” Able to finally extract one leg and then the other, she trudged out of the creek toward the calf. “Give me some slack.”

He signaled his horse forward and Bradi deftly slipped the rope from the calf’s neck. The bull bolted for its mama and together they ambled up and over the high bank then disappeared. Looking back at Bradi, Mason wished he hadn’t.

She’d moved up the creek and knelt in a spot of grass to wash the mud from her hands. Tight faded denim hugged her heart-shaped ass and his hands itched to palm those mounds. She stretched to wet a bandana, causing the waistband of her jeans to dip lower, and a strip of hot-pink lace played peek-a-boo between it and her shirt.

His jeans tightened as his cock strained against his fly. He’d never thought about what kind of underwear Bradi wore—she was naked in his recent fantasies—but if he had consciously thought about it, he wouldn’t have figured her for the lace panty type. Last time he’d seen her in her panties, she’d worn white cotton with a Barbie logo. They’d been six and he’d wanted to brag about his Ninja Turtle briefs.

As she rose, he looked away to gather the rope. He stowed it behind him and turned to find her standing beside his horse with her hand out. Fuck. She wanted a ride. And god, he wanted to give her one.

“Well?” She thrust her hand higher. “Give me a hand up.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He hadn’t thought this far ahead when he’d decided to stick around and help, and his brain certainly wasn’t working now. All he knew was he couldn’t have her sitting behind him, her tits rubbing his back, legs spread… Fuck. “You’re covered with mud.”

“Um, yeah. I kinda noticed that.” She stared up at him with expectant green eyes. Why hadn’t he ever noticed the flecks of gold or the ring of black that reminded him of the sun coming through shadowed forest trees? At his lack of response, her hand fell to her side. “You’re going to make me walk?”

“I don’t want that shit all over me.” Damn, he felt like an ass. He was an ass. He couldn’t let her walk. He’d just have to survive the ride home…and make sure it was a short one.

Before he could offer his hand or an apology, her eyes flashed with anger. And maybe a bit of hurt? “God, Mason, when did you turn into such a pussy?”

She spun around and the metallic whir of a zipper crawled up his thighs and into his balls. Lust rose high but panic shifted into overdrive. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Taking off my clothes so you won’t get dirty.”

Oh, hell no! There was no way— Shit. She hooked her thumbs into the waist of her jeans, starting the downward motion that revealed a hint of one cheek.

“Just get on the damn horse.” He pulled his foot from the stirrup and stuck out his hand. “But I can’t take you home.” His place was closer. “I have things to do.”

A long second passed, then the zipper made a return trip up. His dick jerked in disappointment as she latched on to his hand, shoved her boot into the stirrup and swung herself onto the horse behind him, mimicking his irritated tone. “Things to do.”

The warmth of her body seared his back as she settled into place. His gaze dropped to one side, taking in the slender thigh nestled close to his. The thought of those long legs wrapped around his waist made his balls ache. If she had any idea what she was doing to him, she’d be glad to walk home. Hell, she’d probably run.

But Bradi wasn’t wired that way. He doubted she ever thought about sex. She’d never dated in high school and she never talked about anyone in particular at A&M. The only conversation they’d had about sex was short-lived when he confided his loss of virginity to Katrina Forbes and Bradi made it clear right away the subject of sex was off-limits.

The odds of her still being a virgin at twenty-five were slim, but somehow he couldn’t imagine her having sex with anyone.

Anyone but him.

Buy Link:

Thursday, February 10, 2011

Taken by Nicole Austin

by Nicole Austin

Bound, gagged, blindfolded—Danielle has been taken.

Under the skillful hands of an anonymous stranger, the lines between fear and anticipation, reality and fantasy, anguish and carnal tension are blurred. The thin edge separating pleasure and pain has distorted, reshaping into something that confuses Dani while simultaneously stimulating the scorching demands of her body.

Forced pleasure may bring sexual freedom, but the violent lust Dani craves comes with a hefty price that may be more than her husband is able or willing to satisfy.

This story contains a whole lot of fantasy about and a little reality involving forced sex.

A sequel to the free
Naughty Nooner, Erotique.

An Excerpt From:


Copyright © NICOLE AUSTIN, 2011
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.

“Be a good girl, do as I say, and I’ll make it good for you.”

Dani took stock. She didn’t know that deep, rumbling voice. Didn’t recognize the woodsy cologne combined with his decidedly masculine scent. Wasn’t familiar with the touch of those large, work-roughened hands.

She shivered as the lines between fear and anticipation, reality and fantasy, anguish and sexual tension all blurred. There was only now and her stranger who was going to rock her world.

A cold, thin, pointed object pressed against the hollow of her throat, drawing Dani’s full attention back to him. “Don’t move, blondie,” he ordered. “Wouldn’t want to slip and cut your soft skin.”

The icy blade of a knife slid down her sternum, passed through her cleavage and continued to her navel as he sliced open her scrub top and bra. That had to be one hell of a sharp knife.

Not wanting to be cut, Dani forced down the powerful urge to arch her back, thrust her breasts into the light caress. With the slow glide of the blade over her sensitive skin, everything else faded away. There was only her body and the chilling touch that rolled her beneath sensual waves of desire.

He didn’t pause to part the material, instead continuing his downward stroke, sliding beneath the edge of both pants and panties, moving at an angle from navel to her right hip. After repositioning the knife, he repeated the action at her left side.

Grasping the ruined garments, he pulled them apart, tearing the remaining cloth to expose first her breasts and then her pussy. He sucked in a hard breath as cool night air swept over her bared flesh, pebbling her areolas and elongating her nipples. She knew the view he was treated to, as the stimulation would’ve turned the rosy peaks a dark shade of red.

“Now that’s a pretty sight. Perky, responsive nipples and a shaved, pink pussy that’s all nice and wet. You’ll fetch a fortune at auction.”


Dani’s chest tightened and her heart thudded against her ribs. What the hell was he talking about? Human trafficking? Sex slaves? People weren’t auctioned. Not in this day and age in Western Europe. Maybe decades ago in someplace like Thailand or an Arabic nation. But she was safe from such horrors in France, right?

Of course, she wasn’t naïve to the horrors of this world. No one was truly out of harm’s way anywhere. Horrible people wrought atrocities on unsuspecting innocents every day.

The sobering thought nearly pushed her into a full-out fight or flight response, but then his fingertips closed on her nipples, rough and demanding. They pinched, rolled and tugged the sensitive nubs, creating jolts of erotic pleasure-pain that followed a network of nerve endings straight to her engorged clitoris. Regardless of what was going on in her mind, her body responded to the stimulation.

Dani arched, the gag failing to suppress her moan. Hoping not to draw attention to her actions, she shifted one thigh against the other, her motions limited by the ankle restraints. Dark laughter let her know her captor hadn’t missed the telltale movement.

“Ah. So you enjoy the bite of pain with your pleasure, blondie. Good to know.” Skilled fingers teased her skin with light touches that made her yearn for more. “One of the perks of my job in procurement is that I get to sample the merchandise before it goes on the auction block. Test out the wares, so to speak. Damn, blondie. I can’t wait to shove my cock past these pouty lips.”

Something brushed over her top lip, which tingled, yearning for more. If he were planning to fuck her mouth, he’d have to take out the gag first. Then she’d have a chance to turn the tables, use her teeth—

“I know what you’re thinking.” The sharp point of the knife pressed into the tender skin just below her right ear, traced a line down her neck and over to the opposite ear, the implied threat unmistakable. “Don’t forget that I am in control. You use those teeth and your punishment will be severe.”

Friday, February 4, 2011

Are You Ready To Go Wild?

One of my fellow belles, Juniper Bell, has gone a little wild and would like you to join her!
Tips from Wild, Alaska on how to survive a long, hard winter:

1. Throw a party
2. Make it last all weekend
3. Follow one rule – “Anything goes, nothing counts.”

On Friday, February 4th, you’re invited to Wild Nights 2011.

Let off a little steam, crank up the heat, and see what happens
when Lars Nordegren pulls out all the stops to get Katia Pollard to say “yes.” 

Lars loves Katia. Katia loves Lars. Lars wants to marry Katia. Can he convince his free-spirited lover that marriage will be as fun as her sexually adventurous single days?

Never before has Katia been tempted to give up her carefree ways. She’s deeply in love with Lars, but she doesn’t know if he can handle her wild side—or needs.

But Lars is a hard man to resist. The former Olympic champion won’t give up—not when he knows just how to please her.

The people of Wild, Alaska know the best way to survive winter is to let off a little steam. When Lars’ buddies hit town for Wild Nights, a notorious winter festival with one rule—“anything goes, nothing counts”—he jumps at the chance to prove he’s the perfect man for Katia.

He vows to win her over, even if it takes four rugged Alaska men and one wildly erotic night in a sauna.

Note:  Features an extended ménage (M/F/M/M/M), anal play and references to bondage experimentation and sexual escapades of all types.  

An Excerpt From: GO WILD
Copyright © JUNIPER BELL, 2011
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.

Storm-dark eyes demanded her response. In bed, when he got that look, she knew there was nothing for it but to bend over, spread her legs, whatever it was he’d demanded. Ecstasy always followed. Lars knew how to touch her like no one else, knew what she liked, what she needed.

But he didn’t know everything.

“You’re trying to put me in a box,” she said, loud enough to surprise a magpie in the woods. It fluttered to a higher branch.

“How? Why?” He actually looked mystified.

“You’re telling me who to fuck, and how, and when, and why. I don’t want a ‘why’, Lars! I want to fuck who and when I want. For whatever reason.”

“Katia, I know you’re a wild child. I know you like sex in all sorts of different ways. That’s one of the things I love about you.” He dropped his ski poles and pulled her toward him, thrusting his thigh between her legs. An instantaneous, irresistible urge to rub herself against him took over. She pictured his thigh naked, each massive muscle perfectly defined and sleek. On its own, her groin ground into him.

His eyes lit with fierce satisfaction. “See that? You’re just as crazy about me as I am about you.” He planted his hands on her ass, then manipulated her up and down against his leg until she moaned. “You can’t run from what we have.”

She tore herself away, stumbling because of her skis. He grabbed her so she wouldn’t fall. “Stop that.”

He came after her, intent and relentless. The sexy bastard knew what he did to her. Knew how to keep her coming back for more.

“Look, Lars. This isn’t going to work.” She scrambled for the right words. “I can’t marry you. The answer is no.”

His storm-blue eyes flickered, but other than that he didn’t look one bit daunted. He kept coming at her. “Why? Because of Jimmy?”

“No! Well, sort of.” She shook him off, and this time he let her ski a few yards down the path before he stopped her.

“Sort of? What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means the answer is no. I can’t marry you.” She said the words as firmly and clearly as she could. It hurt like surgery, but it had to be done.

Lars rubbed a ski glove across his forehead, leaving a streak of white. She longed to brush it off, but stopped herself short. She couldn’t do this if she touched him. Touching him made her lose her senses. “Is it Wild? Living in Alaska? The cold?”

“No, none of that,” she said, taken off guard. “I like it here. No one’s telling you what to do or pushing you around. No one’s judging you. You can do what you want.”

The look of relief on his face tore at her heart. “I thought Alaska would drive you away from me.”

She shook her head. “No, it didn’t. It isn’t. It’s not Alaska.” A glance around the still woods gave her a quick vision of snow turning blue in the deepening dusk and velvety darkness settling among the trees. The beauty of it speared her heart. Leaving Lars would mean leaving Wild. She’d have to go back to the world of cities and her aimless existence.

Setting her jaw, she planted her ski poles and shoved off.

Of course, Lars chased her. “Then what? Give me an answer I can understand.” He slid next to her and they skied side by side. He had to keep brushing branches away with his pole.

”Oh, for God’s sake. Why do you have to be so persistent?”

“Because that’s who I am. I’m a competitor and I never give up.”

“This isn’t a race!” But she found herself skiing faster nonetheless.

“No, it’s more important than a damn race. I’ve never felt about anyone the way I feel about you. I thought you loved me.”

“I do. But I don’t want to be married.”

“Because marriage is a box.”

“Exactly.” Finally, he got it. Hope fizzed through her. Maybe they could just go back to how things were.

“You don’t mind it when I’m making you come three times in one night.”

“Of course I don’t.” The power of his body gliding next to her gave her the shivers.

“You don’t mind it when I tie you up and fuck you until you scream for mercy.”

“No. I love it!”

“But it’s not just sex. Everything feels right when I’m with you. When we’re together.”

“But we are together. That’s why I came here.”

“So why not get married? That’s what comes next when people feel the way we do.”

Katia’s eyes stung from the wind in her face, or maybe the realization that he didn’t get it, after all. Up ahead she saw their house. Lars’ house. The one she couldn’t stay at anymore. She stopped, panting, and waved a ski pole at him.

“Why can’t you leave things the way they are?”

“The hell with that.” He lifted her up with one hand on the back of her jacket, like a giant cat with its prey. “You want me right now, don’t you?”

“Yes! But you don’t understand.” Those last words came out as a wail as he clicked off the bindings on her skis. They clattered against each other as they fell to the snowy ground.

“Then make me understand.” He let her feet touch the ground again, but kept his grip on her parka. With a flick of his free hand, he unzipped her snowpants. The rush of cold air made her breath catch. He plunged his gloved hand between her legs. Tears sprang to her eyes as the rough friction of the performance leather, custom made for an Olympic champion, brushed against her clit. She went from zero to wildly aroused with one flick of his finger.

“Oh god, Lars. You’re killing me,” she moaned. The underbrush rustled as some tiny alarmed creature scurried to safety.

She writhed against the leather at her crotch, but his hand kept dancing away. The warmth of it radiated through the glove. His refusal to move against her the way she craved drove her right to the edge.

And he knew it, the bastard.

Buy link: