Natalea Jones has had a rough life.
An absentee father. A gambling addicted mother, who seems to show up only when
she needs something—preferably money. Natalea survives her childhood and
teenage years because of her best friend, Drake Harte, and his family. Even
though she’s been in love with Drake for years, she refuses to let her lust
come in the way of their friendship. Life without Drake is not possible and sex
would certainly complicate things.
Drake Harte is not only known as the
most eligible bachelor and firefighter in Gamble Park, Florida, but he’s also
known for sexing the ladies and leaving them. Only he knows the reason he can’t
make a commitment to the women throwing themselves at him—he’s in love with his
best friend. It’s time he either goes for it or moves on.
After Natalea and Drake share a
night of passion, an unexpected event occurs that proves to both of them that
life—and love—are too precious.
Jessica Jayne is a born and raised small-town Ohio girl who moved to the
Sunshine State after graduating from college. She graduated with a bachelor’s
degree in English. What college major could possibly be better than one that
makes you read novels and write about them! Now she is thrilled to be able to
share all the hot stories floating around in her head.
Jessica loves to travel and travel often! She shares her love of
travel with her husband and children. She’s a huge sports fan, especially
football. She loves the Pittsburgh Steelers and the Ohio State Buckeyes! She’s
a wine-making (and wine-tasting) aficionado. She loves all music. And nothing
is better than sunset at the beach!
In the journey of life, she also married a wonderful man and had
three beautiful (and sometimes crazy) children. Life is always an adventure!
Book Title: Chiaroscuro Author: Roxane Crawford Genre: Dark Erotica Release Date: April 21, 2016 Hosted by: Book Enthusiast Promotions
When I tell men what I look for in a relationship, they either run the other way or think a light spanking during sex is enough to get me off. It isn’t.
The only man who ever understood what I need is a man whose name I don’t even know, and whose face I didn’t even see.
My name is Alexandra Sinclair, and I’m a masochist.
WARNING: If you have ANY kind of trigger, this book is not for you.
After a long bath in the decadent bathroom in my suite at the hotel I dial the concierge to inquire about the nightlife.
“What did you have in mind?” he asks me in French.
I haven’t spoken French with a French since we’ve moved from Paris to Weston what seems like ages ago but which is, really, barely 4 years.
The words come easily, and I flat out tell him what I’m looking for. “Anything kinky will do.”
“Then you’ll surely enjoy the masked ball at the Xpose club. You’re in luck; it’s only once a year. I’ll bring you appropriate attire. Size 0, are you not?”
At 5’1’’ and 105 pounds, yeah, size 0, genius. “Yes,” I say.
I’m in my red silk kimono, applying mascara when there’s a knock at my door. I open and the cutest concierge stands before me; tall, blond, with deep, green eyes – a green darker than mine.
I smile instantly, and he hands me a small package. “Do let me know if you’d like something different. I will gladly fetch you something new.”
Fetch? Yeah, I don’t need a lapdog; I want to be the lapdog. “Thank you,” I say. “I’m sure this will be satisfactory,” and as I say the words, I realize with horror that I sound just as pompous as my brother.
The concierge bows, I tip him, and he leaves.
In the package is a pair of silver Troelsens stilettos and matching clutch, a stunning slinky white evening gown, an equally stunning white faux fox scarf, and a white masquerade mask encrusted with zircons. I scoff, insulted that the concierge would hand me fake diamonds, but I realize that a diamond encrusted masquerade mask must not be something readily available, so I forgive him.
I finish my make up with a red lip instead of my usual nude one. My complexion is pale and creamy; with a white dress and a white mask, a nude lip wouldn’t look so sharp.
I stuff my essentials in the clutch, slip on the shoes and the faux fox scarf, grab the mask and get down to the lobby, where the fair haired concierge is waiting at attention. If I can, I’m having some of that blond meat later.
I hop in a cab and ignore the knowing smirk the driver gives me when I tell him where I’m going. He’s in his late twenties, I think. Bit too young for me. I like them about twice my age. Of course, I can make exceptions; musicians, for example. They can be my own age and I’ll happily fuck them. Musicians bring us closer to the divine. To copulate with a musician is sacred.
The Xpose is situated at a dead end. Its door is huge, made of heavy wood, and there are two sconces of real fire illuminating the entry way. Two bodybuilders in white tuxes guard the door, and elegantly dressed, masked patrons are waiting in line. I slip on the mask, give the cab driver a hard hundred and get out of the car.
I spend five hundred to get in the club without waiting and am disappointed when I get past the heavy black curtains.
A few masked couples are going at it, sucking and lapping, a girl with a very nice rack and a fox mask is up on a stage dancing around a steel pole, and that’s it. Nothing exciting is going on, nobody’s getting whipped or anything.
With a sigh I sit at the bar and order a Lagavulin. I down it and order another. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a tall, dark haired guy but when I turn my head towards him, he’s gone. Shaking my head, I down my second Lagavulin and look at a couple giving one another hand jobs.
I’ve been to orgies before. Not what I had in mind for tonight.
I stretch my neck, about ready to leave, when a terribly tall plague doctor comes my way. I perk up when he sits beside me, and asks, through his mask, “Not what you expected?”
I gasp; I am not fond of masks which cover the entire face. They’re freaky. “No,” I say.
“What were you expecting?”
His voice is muffled but I can tell his French is perfect.
“More whip. Less cock,” I say, staring into two black pools instead of eyes.
A frisson goes through me. I’ve seen eyes like these before. I don’t like it; I look away.
A gloved finger under my chin forces me to look back into the black pools. The plague doctor cocks his head. “What if I were to give you all whip and no cock. Would you enjoy that?”
A smile comes up without me having to force it.
“Very well,” the plague doctor says, stands, and offers me his hand.
I gladly take it, expecting him to take me to one of the back chambers, but to my surprise, he takes me on stage instead. The girl dancing on the pole bows her head and skitters off stage.
The doctor takes my wrists and what seems like out of nowhere, shackles appear. I look up and see the steel grid there, with shackles and ropes and chains ready for use. I smile some more and a soft chuckle comes from the doctor.
He ties me up, places my clutch and scarf on a small table and bends to look me in the eye. “May I touch you?” he asks.
“Of course,” I say.
“Yell ‘red’ if what I’m doing to you is not enjoyable. Understood?” he asks with the softest voice I’ve ever heard.
I nod, but he repeats, “Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” I say.
The doctor runs a gloved finger along my cheek and I imagine somewhere behind his mask, he’s smiling.
Slowly, the doctor walks around me. I keep my eyes up front.
This isn’t my first whipping. I just hope the man knows what he’s doing. I’d take a harsh, well administered whipping over a long hard **** any day. I’m weird that way.
Soft hands come on my shoulder blades. “Are you scared?”
I say nothing but nod my head.
The doctor grabs a handful of my hair and yanks my head back so far I can’t breathe. My heart starts pumping.
He places his other hand over my throat and squeezes.
My nipples start to tingle.
“You should be.”
He lets go of me only to pat my cheek with a weak little slap.
When I look up at the doctor, he cocks his head and it totally reminds me of the movie Halloween. I cringe despite not wanting to, and the doctor caresses the cheek he just slapped. I can’t believe I’ve become such a wuss; afraid of a mask. But, it is what it is. After what happened to Manny and me, I’m now afraid of masks which cover the entire face.
Without a word, the plague doctor unzips the back of my dress and pulls it apart to expose my back. I wait.
And I wait.
I hear him shift, and I hold on to the binds keeping my arms up. I forgot to ask him what he wanted to whip me with. Was it a whip? A flogger? A belt? A crop? A cane?
Oh****, I hope it’s not a cane I’ve never been beaten with one ofth—
A hit on my back. That’s a belt. I think. We’re good.
I yelp. That guy knows what he’s doing. He’s hitting me hard. Almost too hard. I love it.
Another hit comes, and my skin starts to heat up. So does my pussy.
He hits me again, and again, and once more, and he stops.
I rest my cheek on my arm and wait, hoping he hits again.
An ungloved hand comes up my inner thigh, and fingers probe about my pussy. The doctor’s nose approach. “More to your liking?” he asks, a finger slipping inside me.
I squirm, wanting the finger deeper, but it is removed.
The doctor yanks my head back again. “I believe I asked you a question.”
He speaks softly, which is way creepier than if he’d yell. Yeah, that guy definitely knows what he’s doing.
“Yes, sir. More to my liking, sir. Thank you, sir,” I say, stopping myself before I say, “May I have another?”
“How many more?”
I smile. “As many as you wish, sir.”
He chuckles. “Tell me, please.”
“Six.” I say. A dozen hits is nothing, but I don’t know what he has planned for after. I may need my strength.
The six blows come in what seems to be one giant hit. They cover all of my back, leaving a stinging burn and I end the string of whacks with a little giggle.
I should have asked for six hundred.
The doctor covers my back with the fluffy side of my scarf and unshackles me.
“Already?” I ask, and he nods.
He wraps an arm around me and accompanies me to a comfy club chair, where he sits with me on his lap. “You’re a good girl, aren’t you?” he asks, and I giggle like a stupid air head, nuzzling his black cape.
He cradles me for a while as someone brings me a sip of water. I down the bottle and rest my head on the doctor’s chest, inhaling his cinnamon-y aroma. That man smells heavenly. I let out an appreciative moan and close my eyes.
I caress down the doctor’s chest and feel hard muscles under the cape and whatever he’s wearing underneath, if he’s wearing anything at all. I straddle his thigh and reach further down his stomach but he stops my hand.
“If you need to hump me like a bitch in heat, do so, but do not touch my cock unless I specifically instructed you to. Understood?” he asks softly.
“Yes, sir,” I say, and hump his thigh until I cum. It doesn’t take long.
Some women take forever to cum and treat each orgasm as if it were a transcendent experience. I envy them, sometimes. I cum so often in a day, an orgasm is as transcendent as brushing my teeth. Still, I need them just as much as I need to eat. Maybe even more.
Barely out of breath after my orgasm I straighten and zip my dress back up myself. Yoga for the win. “What now?” I ask, eager for more.
“Now? You go home, and you call me in the morning,” he says, handing me a business card.
For a second I wonder if that’s my Silver Fox from the plane, but discard the thought. Silver Fox was English. The Doctor is… well his French is impeccable so I guess he must be French.
“Are you serious?” I ask.
“I’m leaving Paris tomorrow,” I lie.
“Then you call me before you get on the plane, and we’ll take it from there.”
I stand. “You’re dismissing me?” I ask, heat quickly traveling from my sex to my cheeks. Nobody dismisses me without my wanting to be dismissed.
“I am,” he says, and even has the nerve to wave a hand as if I were a bug bothering him.
I huff, crumple his business card, leave it on his lap, grab my clutch and shoes and stomp out of the club, hailing a cab.
Who does he think he is?
I remove the mask in the taxi and hunt the concierge the moment I set foot in the hotel. I find him, discussing with a couple. He smiles at me, talks some more and, done, comes my way.
“Enjoyed your evening?” he asks, in a voice not even half as pleasant as the doctor’s.
“Oh, I apologize. I thought you might enjoy. May I recommend—”
“No. I want you. I want to suck your **** until you pop in my mouth like champagne and I want you to ***** me until I beg for more. Think you can provide that for me?”
“Why, yes. I live to serve.”
Soft spoken introvert with a weakness for music and melancholy.
Roxane was born in Montreal, Canada, of French Canadian parents and was exposed to the English language at a young age. It was love at first hearing.
Everything I believed was a lie. Everything except for her, the one person I blamed for it all.
MacKayla Simone was beautiful. She was sexy as hell. She was also the setup.
Sex that rocked my world.
Rocked it to its very foundations because the next thing I knew, she and I made the headlines of every paper, every news channel across the country, and it cost me everything.
But that wasn’t the worst of it. That came when I learned who was behind the setup. That was when I understood what it meant to be destroyed absolutely.
I don’t know why I went after MacKayla. She’d been a pawn just like me. But it was all I could do, all I had left. Hell, it was the one thing keeping me from tumbling into the abyss and never coming back into the light.
Find her. Find the girl who’d f*cked me. Find her, and make her pay.
I didn’t know who Slater Vaughn was, but if I had, it wouldn’t have mattered. Not when my sister was in trouble. I would have done what I did anyway. You can judge me. You can call me a whore. But I would have done it anyway.
One night, they’d said. Make him want you, let him have you. Easiest money in the world for just one night of my life.
Only it wasn’t one night because that night obliterated Slater Vaughn, and he came after me. He told me I owed him, and truthfully, I did. Hell, maybe those years in hiding, I’d been waiting for him to find me. To punish me. To make me pay.
Maybe I sought his forgiveness all along.
But now that he had me, how far would he take this game? Slater Vaughn was a broken man. He had nothing left to lose. What was to keep him from taking me with him into his darkness?
About Natasha Knight
USA Today Bestselling author Natasha Knight writes dark romance as well as spanking romance in a variety of genres including contemporary, paranormal, post-apocalyptic, science-fiction and fantasy. She is a #1 Amazon Bestseller in multiple categories forever searching in every story for that single most important element of love. All of her stories contain at least one kinky Alpha male, lots of dirty talk and a well deserved happily ever after.
Synopsis: James “Mac” Maccari’s career in the mafia is at a standstill. As the best solider in his Capo’s crew, all he wants is to be noticed enough to get Made in the Pivetti Crime Family. But instead, his Capo’s interests seem more focused on keeping his solider hidden from the boss, and every other Made man he can. Seemingly stuck right where he is with no chance of going up, Mac doesn’t know what will finally get him the attention he needs to earn his button.
Until she shows up and all eyes are on them …
Melina Morgan survives—that’s just what she does. She’s never been able to depend on anyone but herself to keep her safe and get things done. When a chance encounter puts her in a bad situation with the cops and the mafia, Melina has no choice but to put her faith in the hands of a man that not only infuriates her with his cocky arrogance, but catches her interest, too. Playing pretend in a fake relationship with Mac doesn’t seem all that terrible, until pretend turns real and bullets start to fly.
A man is nothing without his woman …
When the attention on Mac and Melina turns from bad to worse, and someone in the Pivetti Crime Family decides the couple needs to go, they know they’re fighting an uphill battle alone. But making it to the end alive means Mac could get what he’s always wanted, and Melina might find what she didn’t even know she needed.
Together, they’ll make waves the mafia has no choice but to notice …
EXCERPT: GUN MOLL
“A good man always takes care of his girl,” Mac said quietly.
Melina’s eyes opened again at those words. “But I’m not really your girl, Mac.”
“So? I should still take care of you.”
“What if I was?”
“My girl?” Mac asked.
Mac cocked a brow, eyeing Melina as she grabbed a loofa off the ledge of the tub and began dropping dollops of milky colored body wash onto the frilly cloth. “I don’t understand what you’re asking.”
Melina drew the loofa over her arms, covering her slick skin in white suds. “If I was your girl, then what would you do, Mac?”
Mac smiled, leaned forward, and snatched the loofa from Melina’s hand. He ignored her quiet ‘hey’ and started running the loofa up and down her legs with smooth, long strokes.
“Mac, I asked you a question,” Melina said.
“I would spoil you rotten,” Mac said, shooting her a look through his hair that had fallen down over his gaze. “Whatever you wanted, whether you needed it or not, I would make it happen. I’d make damn sure you felt as beautiful as you looked, regardless of what you needed to feel that way. I’d take you out every chance I could just to show you off to the people who can’t have you because you’re all mine. But I’d have my fucking hands on you all night so that they knew to stay away. It’d probably feel like my fingerprints were burned into your skin because I’d be holding you that tight.”
Melina’s tongue peeked out to wet her bottom lip. “What else?”
“I’d always keep an eye on you, even if you didn’t know I was doing it, just to make sure you were good and safe. I’d wake you up in the morning, every single morning, with my hands all over you and my mouth kissing all the spots I could find. I’d make sure that whenever you were stressed out, or something was on your mind, bothering you, that you could take some time away from life and the world to be just you again. Simple stuff, you know.”
“Simple.” Melina scoffed. “Right. That sounds more like worshipping, Mac.”
Mac didn’t see the difference. “If a man cares enough, worshipping his woman should be the simplest, easiest, and most obvious thing for him to do every day, doll. She should be the most important thing on his mind. The first and last thing he considers every day and night.”
Melina’s gaze flitted from Mac’s face and then down to the bubbly water. “Oh.”
Oddly, it bothered Mac like nothing else that he could tell Melina had never been given the pleasure of having a man treasure her like she should be treasured. No one had every loved her enough to worship the very ground she walked on, or had seen her for the beautiful gift she truly was.
It nagged in his chest.
Poked at him like a needle.
Over and over.
Like a damned tattoo was being penned permanently to his skin, reminding him that Melina deserved someone who would treasure and treat her the way she should be cared for. Didn’t he have enough going on where this girl was concerned without adding something like that to the pile as well?
Mac sighed, shaking off the strange feeling. “I suppose it doesn’t matter, anyway.”
Melina sucked in a quiet breath before asking, “Why not?”
“You’re not mine, doll. Or at least, you don’t want to be.”
Melina didn’t respond, but she wouldn’t meet Mac’s eyes again.
He continued washing her stress away.
Mac didn’t need a response.
Bethany-Kris is a Canadian author, lover of much, and mother to three young sons, one cat, and two dogs. A small town in Eastern Canada where she was born and raised is where she has always called home. With her boys under her feet, snuggling cat, barking dogs, and a hubby calling over his shoulder, she is nearly always writing something … when she can find the time.
To keep up-to-date with new releases from Bethany-Kris, sign up to her New Release Newsletter here:http://eepurl.com/bf9lzD
Josie Wright has always been a bookworm, spending every free moment with her nose buried in a book. While others were out partying, she spent her evenings with Heathcliff, Sydney Carton or Snape. Romance, fantasy, thrillers – you name it, she read it.
Thanks to the Kindle, she finally arrived in the 21St century and discovered the Indie literature world. Josie has been lost to it ever since. With her love for the written word and her promiscuous feelings for countless book boyfriends, the next logical step was to start writing. The voices in her head and her imaginary friends wanted out to play and so she wrote her debut novel “That One Night”, that’s to be released early summer 2015. And the good news is, there are more voices and imaginary friend where Ben and Frankie came from.
Josie is a financial expert by day and a writing junkie by night. The rest of the time she’s a bit of a hippie, a bit of a goth and many things in between. Josie loves to spend time with her husband when she can tear herself away from her book boyfriends. She loves video games, movies, good food and even better music. She’s addicted to chips, long baths and shoes. Oh, and books of course. Definitely books.
That was the motto that Drew lived by in all things, including his love life.
He’s a player, pure and simple.
He’s learned the hard way that women aren’t all hearts and flowers. Sometimes their sexy bodies and beautiful faces are just a pretty shield to hide the crazy, and he’s so freakin’ over crazy.
Been there, done that. He has the divorce papers to prove it.
Karma hits like a bitch.
Aspen needs a break. A long one that doesn’t include anything with a Y chromosome. Not even one as tempting as her new neighbor who just moved in across the street. Men are trouble with a capital freakin’ T, and she has the ankle monitor to prove it.
The last man she gave her heart to was a police officer. A man whose life was dedicated to protection, and he was supposed to protect her heart—not break it.
She decides right then and there that she’s done with being the better person.
Everything happens for a reason.
A rash decision—undoubtedly regrettable, undeniably unforgettable. In the heat of the moment, Aspen’s actions with a tire iron and her ex-boyfriend’s brand new SUV land him in the ER getting stitches and have her seeing the inside of a jail cell for the first time.
It’s just her luck that the whole town is there to witness the result of her poor decision, including her police officer brother and the neighbor that already made it more than clear she was more trouble than she was worth.
House arrest never looked so good.
Hide your crazy.
Drew enjoyed the show, though. For the first time in a year, he’s thinking about his life, and how it would be a lot more enjoyable with a woman like Aspen at his side.
Maybe crazy isn’t so bad after all.
I slammed my fingers down on the keyboard, insanely annoyed that I now had to tell how fun the product was, despite the fact that the person I’d had the fun with was a douche bag.
A knock sounded at my door and I turned to glare at it.
“Who is it?” I yelled.
“You know damn well who it is. It’s the same person that’s been knocking at your door for the last twelve hours,” Drew growled.
“Go away,” I ordered him.
I could hear him sigh through the door.
“In my eyes, the marriage Constance and I had was over,” he started.
I picked up the nearest thing to me, which happened to be a half finished water bottle, and then launched it at the door.
He left, but not without one last parting comment.
“I still have a few things left in that box that I want to try on you. When you’re ready, let me know.”
I glared at the box he’d just spoken about, and went back to my review.
If you’re looking for a fun, awesome thing to do with your significant other, this is the thing for you. It offers many benefits; but most importantly, it gives you time with your significant other. And, might I add, it’s totally fucking worth it. I’ve used it three times in the last two days. It’s like he’s here.On a side note, the vibrator is not very proficient. It offers about two hours of battery life before they need replaced.
Not that I used it for two hours or anything.
Oh, who am I kidding?
I would’ve used it longer if I hadn’t run out of batteries.
I’m a married mother of three. My kids are all under 5, so I can assure you that they are a handful. I’ve been with my paramedic husband now for ten years, and we’ve produced three offspring that are nothing like us. I live in the greatest state in the world, Texas.