“I want all of it” – #WIPitUpWednesday Her Hero

Hi, everyone! Happy Wednesday! Today we’re so excited to give you all another peek into what we’ve been working on: Her Hero (Boston Doms, Book 6) which will be released THIS FRIDAY, April 28th!

Our heroine, Grace, is trying to convince Donnie that she can handle all of him… even his dark side.

“And what do you want, Grace?” he demanded.

She stared at him, unflinching.

“I want all of it. Every kinky thing you’ve ever done to another girl, I want you to do with me. Every dirty fantasy you’ve ever had in the dark of night that made you blush in the morning, everything you’ve ever tried to convince yourself that you shouldn’t want, that no nice girl would ever want, I want you to unleash on me. I want you to tie me up, strap me down, and show me how very, very good it can feel to hurt.”

Her words were a match that set fire to his blood. His cock strained against his jeans, his pulse beat a furious tempo in his brain. That was what she wanted? What she needed?

Nothing in life had ever come easily to Donnie. He’d never gotten anything that he didn’t have to fight and bleed for, and suddenly this woman, his woman, was saying that his every twisted fantasy was his for the taking… that he could have the beauty and the glory of Grace, and every depraved thing he craved, as well? He couldn’t make sense of it.

She simply didn’t understand what she was asking for.

But he’d show her.

I hope you guys are as excited as we are! If you want to know more about Donnie and Grace, check out our Her Hero page. And if you want to see what the other WIPpers are working on, check right here!

Read the First Chapter of Her Hero Now!

Chapter One


Donnie eased his Valkyrie to a smooth stop at a red light on Harbor Road and shifted his head from side to side, trying to ease the tension that always gripped his shoulders after hours spent on his bike.

Christ, what a perfect day. Unseasonably mild for April in New England, it was all warm sunshine and cool breezes that could have tempted even the most devoted workaholic to play hooky. And as much as he loved his job managing The Club South and overseeing the ongoing transformation of the dilapidated old firehouse into the premiere BDSM playhouse south of Boston, Donnie had never claimed to be that dedicated. Instead, he’d done what his boss, Master Blake, was always encouraging him to do, and he’d delegated, leaving the deliveries, the contractors, and the paperwork in the capable hands of his team while he escaped for the day to clear his head.

Donnie had been up at dawn with his saddlebags packed and his playlist loaded, letting a flip of the coin determine that north would be his direction for the day. He’d been on the road early enough to avoid all the rush hour traffic as he’d cruised from Quincy through Boston, sticking to the highways as far as the Maine border and then detouring for a slow, scenic ride up and down Route 1. Just him, his trusty Valk, and the rocky Atlantic coastline stretching as far as the eye could see. He’d grabbed an early dinner at a seafood shack that was nearly empty of tourists this early in the season, before heading back south. And now, as the last streaks of orange twilight lit the sky, he found himself only two blocks from the place he called home—a room above The Club with a view of the water and the Boston skyline, where a scalding hot shower awaited him. Anticipation and pleasure curled in his gut.

In a life where not a lot had gone right, let alone perfectly, Donnie Nolan knew better than to take this stuff for granted.

As he straddled the vibrating machine, appreciating the salty tang in the air and the crash of the waves just beyond the sea wall, a flash of light in his side mirror caught his attention. He watched with detached amusement as a giant fucking behemoth of a bike pulled onto the shoulder of the road, passing half a dozen cars, and coming to a stop beside Donnie. It was the kind of illegal, douchebag move that gave bikers everywhere a bad rep. Not content with his Asshole status, the guy then edged his bike forward in impatient bursts that had a mom yanking her toddler back from the crosswalk. He then leveled up to Fucking Asshole by revving his engine loud enough for the people standing outside the ice cream shop across the street to crane their heads and look for the source of the noise.

Jesus, what a fuckwit.

Donnie wouldn’t turn his head or give the guy the attention he was clearly asking for, but from behind his own full-coverage helmet, he could see that the other man had swiveled to look at him. Dude had long white hair tied back in a long tail, no helmet on his head, and a taunting smile on his face that got Donnie’s back up.

And that was before he started mouthing obscenities.

The guy was looking for trouble. A race? A fight? Who the fuck knew? And he was trying to goad Donnie into joining him. And for the briefest of seconds, Donnie almost allowed himself to be persuaded. He could imagine swinging his leg over his bike, throwing his helmet off, and decking the asshole. Donnie knew exactly how it would feel when the flesh and bone of his knuckles made contact with the other guy’s face, how the shock of the blow would reverberate up his arm to his shoulder, how all the rational processes of his brain would short-circuit, and a red haze would descend across his vision. He’d be a warrior once more, the tip of a spear, the chief leg-breaker in Mikey Nolan’s personal army, the instinct-driven animal he’d been trained to be. He almost craved the black-and-white simplicity of it. It’s him or me. Gotta fight, gotta win.

And then the light changed, sanity returned, and Donnie gestured the douchebag ahead with an ironic wave of his gloved hand. After you, motherfucker.

As the guy disappeared down the crowded street, weaving around stopped cars, Donnie slowly let out the clutch on his own bike, allowing himself to roll forward. He took a deep breath, forcing down the spike of adrenaline that made him want to chase after the other guy and teach him a lesson.

Not fucking worth it, he reminded himself. True strength lies in control.

He’d learned almost half a lifetime ago that when you let someone draw you into a fight, when you let them dictate the terms of a confrontation, you always lost, even when you won.

The Bluetooth speaker inside his helmet played out the first mournful notes of Lynyrd Skynyrd’s Simple Man—the ringtone Donnie had assigned to his friend and mentor Blake Coleman. Donnie pushed away the last vestiges of his annoyance as he hit the button on his helmet to accept the call.

“Evening, boss,” he spoke into the mic as traffic crept along. He noticed with a smirk that his voice was raspy tonight, gravelly from disuse the way it always got when he’d spent the day alone on the road. Yeah, he’d paid a fair bit for a helmet that he could use to make and accept calls, but he could count on two hands the number of people who had his cell number, and even fewer he’d bother to talk to while he was riding. Blake was one of them.

“North or south?” Blake asked without preamble, amusement evident in his deep voice.

Donnie snorted. He hadn’t shared his plans with Blake this morning beyond a quick text to say that he’d be out-of-pocket for the day, but it didn’t surprise him that Blake already knew. Blake wouldn’t waste time asking stupid shit, like “What did you do today?” or “Did you have fun?” because the answers would be, “Riding,” and “Fuck, yeah.” Every single time.

“North,” Donnie replied, feeling a weird warmth in his chest that came from having someone know him that well and give a shit about his welfare. It was a feeling he wasn’t entirely used to, even after knowing Blake for more than a decade. The only other person who’d ever given him that feeling was Grace, and she was…

God. He hadn’t allowed himself to think of Grace in years, hadn’t allowed himself to fully conjure her face or imagine what her life might be like these days. But just when he thought he’d succeeded in scrubbing her from his thoughts, locking every cherished memory in a vault, her name would appear right in front of him, taunting him with what could never be.

He swallowed and forced himself to finish the thought. Grace was ancient history. A closed chapter. Another thing he’d been forced to leave behind.

“Knew it. Elena owes me,” Blake said, with a note of satisfaction in his voice that brought Donnie’s attention back to the present. “You headed west last time, and east the time before that. Figured it’d be north or south.”

Donnie snorted again. “Uh, boss, you know I toss a coin to decide this shit, right? Not exactly the kind of thing you wanna bet on?”

Blake’s chuckle was low and meaningful. “Only if I cared about losing this particular bet, Don.”


“Right,” Donnie said, rolling his eyes as he put on his blinker, pulled into the lot behind the three-story red brick building, and eased into his parking spot.

Given all the years he’d worked for Blake at The Club, first as a bouncer, then a Dungeon Master, and now as a Club manager, Donnie figured he’d seen and done pretty much everything. But somehow even the most vaguely suggestive reference to Blake’s much-younger wife Elena, a woman Donnie had come to think of as his adopted older sister, made him squirm and quickly switch the subject.

“So, are we still meeting tomorrow afternoon? Second floor construction is done, but I want to walk you through the third floor before I give the general contractor the final sign-off.”

Blake hummed a negative. “Tomorrow’s not good. Slay’s got shit to do, and I want him and Matt to be there for this meet. I was down there a couple weeks ago, but the other guys haven’t seen the place since we opened on New Year’s Eve.”

Alexander Slater and Matteo Angelico, both well-respected and experienced dominants who had worked with Blake for years, had bought into The Club a few years ago, just before the opening of the third location, The Club North. Though the transition from sole proprietor to partner had been a bit tricky for Blake in the beginning, Donnie personally felt that Blake was happier now that he could devote more time to Elena and their kids.

“I want them to see how much you’ve accomplished,” Blake continued. “You should be proud.”

Donnie cleared his throat. He wasn’t shy. He knew he’d worked his ass off, and he was confident he’d done a good job, but he had no idea how to handle Blake’s praise. He never had.

“No big, boss,” he muttered.

“No big?” Blake echoed. “That building was ready to be condemned six months ago, Donnie. And honest to God, for a second there, I wondered if we’d bitten off more than we could chew, but you turned it around. In two months, you had all construction on the first floor completed six weeks ahead of schedule, you had over a hundred members lined up before opening night, and now you have us open four nights a week, when we’d only planned to be open three until mid-summer.”

“I had help,” Donnie argued, feeling the tension in his neck ratchet up a notch.

“Yup. An almost-entirely new team that you hired, vetted, and trained. Your staff is pretty damn impressive too.”

Donnie wanted to dispute this, but he was too caught up on Blake’s last words.

His staff. God, wasn’t that a fucking kick? Donnie Nolan, the perpetual fuckup who would’ve won “Most Likely to Serve Hard Time” if he’d bothered sticking with high school long enough to see his senior year, had big responsibilities these days and a fucking staff of men and women who reported to him.

And it was all thanks to the guy on the other end of the phone, who’d somehow seen a spark of potential in a punk-assed, muscle-bound delinquent who was never supposed to amount to anything. Words, never Donnie’s strong suit, failed him just then, but he vowed to himself that he’d never give Blake a reason to regret taking a chance on him.

Blake smoothly covered Donnie’s lapse. “So, I’m thinking we’ll meet the day after tomorrow. Wednesday afternoon or evening. I’ll let you know once I confirm with Slay and Matt, yeah?”

“Yeah. Sounds good. See you then,” Donnie agreed, before disconnecting the call and finally shutting off his bike.

The sounds of traffic from Harbor Road seemed even louder after Donnie removed his helmet and tucked it under his arm. It was fully dark now, and as he crossed the parking lot and opened the back door, he made a note to himself that they needed to bump up the lighting in this lot ASAP. It was entirely too dark out here for his peace of mind.

He climbed the short flight of stairs to the main floor, where one of the bouncers would normally be stationed on an open night, unzipping his leather riding jacket as he went. Tonight, the lights were low and the rooms on this level—a large bar, a dance floor, and three demonstration rooms—were deserted. All the construction workers had gone home hours ago, and none of the staff were scheduled.

He debated a detour to the stockroom, to make sure Andy had received and organized the liquor delivery properly, but the lure of his own space, the third-floor suite Blake had insisted he remodel before any of the other rooms, was too strong. Shower, hydrate, bed, in that order.

He’d just put his foot on the first step to the second floor when a creak above alerted him that he wasn’t alone.

Instinctive caution, born of years spent under the thumbs of first his alcoholic asshole father and then his psycho cousin Mikey, had him looking around for a weapon. He placed his helmet on the table near the main entrance and dipped his hand into his pocket, threading his keys through his fingers. He climbed the stairs quickly and quietly, keeping his feet on the thick carpet runner that ran down the middle of the treads. The Club hadn’t had any trouble with security at any of its locations in a long while; not since drug kingpin Chalo Salazar had been given a two-year prison stint and managed to win himself an extra year for bad behavior, and Donnie didn’t anticipate any trouble now, but it was always better to be prepared.

“Master Nolan? Sir? Is that you?”

The plaintive whine had him stopping in his tracks three steps from the top. Oh, Christ. Suddenly, he was almost wishing for one of Salazar’s goons to appear.

“Julie. You’re here late.” He made his voice as distant as possible as he shuffled up the last three steps, dropping his keys back in his pocket.

The petite brunette stood in the middle of the second-floor foyer, biting her bottom lip nervously, her eyes cast to the floor. She wore a short black dress that clung to her curves like a second skin and some strappy, death-defying heels—the kind of thing that the girls normally wore when they were off-duty, and at The Club to play or to participate in a demonstration.

“Yeah. I, um… I just finished up,” she said, waving behind her in the general direction of the office, which was located at the front of the building, directly above the main entrance.

Donnie pursed his lips at this outright lie. Julie was a waitress and bartender who worked (and played) almost exclusively downstairs. There was no reason for her to be hanging around the office at all. Still, he hesitated to call her out on it. He was pretty sure her real reason for being there had to do with seeing him, and the hopeful glances she was sneaking him from under her lashes only confirmed it.

He’d first noticed a change in her behavior a few weeks back, not long after she’d volunteered to participate in a Shibari demonstration with him. From his perspective, it had been a purely professional thing. Though he’d had to touch her quite a bit as he demonstrated the correct roping and knotting procedures, he’d remained as aloof and clinical as possible; his usual MO during demos. But despite his precautions, she’d somehow gotten the wrong idea. She’d started popping up wherever he was, calling him Sir in a breathy voice, and giving him shy smiles that seemed calculated to entice any dominant who was in the market for a long-term submissive.

Unfortunately for her, Donnie was in the market to rent rather than to own. All of his relationships could be better measured in hours than in years. But even if he had been looking for something more permanent, even if he weren’t her boss, Julie just wasn’t his type.

Donnie frowned and tried to put his finger on what bugged him about the girl. She was pretty enough, for sure, with long brown hair, brown eyes, and the petite, curvy figure he’d always enjoyed on a woman. But there seemed to be something hiding behind her eyes—a sort of calculation, like she was trying to project the image of the type of sub she thought he wanted.

Maybe some guys got off on the whole “I’ll be whatever you need me to be!” vibe, but Donnie wasn’t one of them. Christ, if there was one thing that he hated about the BDSM scene these days, it was the drama, the over-the-top fantasy that so many people seemed to be looking for. He knew that real dominant/submissive relationships, like the kinds that his friends Matteo, Slay, Dom, Tony, and Paul had with their partners required work and compromise, and he’d seen firsthand what it had taken for Blake and Elena to negotiate their rocky start.

Step one was to be honest with yourself and your partner about what you needed. If you weren’t ready and willing to do that—and God knew, Donnie wasn’t fucking ready to share his deepest, darkest desires with anyone—you had no business getting involved in anything complicated.

That was why, if Julie kept up with this shit, Donnie was gonna have to figure out how to say “No fucking way” in a diplomatic manner that spared her feelings, while leaving no doubt that they would never have an association beyond a professional one.

Words, diplomacy, feelings.


He’d rather beat the shit out of something any day.

There had only ever been one woman he could talk to without restraint, without the words getting twisted halfway between his brain and his tongue. Grace.

Jesus, Nolan, he chastised himself. Resurrecting ghosts twice in one night? Focus.

“So, um, have you eaten? Dinner, I mean?” Julie asked nervously, when it became clear that Donnie wasn’t going to pick up the conversation.

“Yep,” he confirmed. “A while ago. I’m getting ready to turn in.”

He folded his arms across his chest and waited for her to take the hint.

She didn’t.

“Would you maybe want to, you know, hang out?” she persisted. “I noticed that you hardly ever stop by the playrooms unless you’re giving a demo. We could maybe practice the cane thing you’re doing tomorrow night?”

Donnie sighed. No way to avoid it. He ran a hand through his chin-length blond hair and dove in.

“Think you got the wrong idea,” he said stiffly. “We ain’t gonna hang out. I’m your boss.”

“Oh.” She blinked. “But, um, is there a rule against employees hanging out? Because I heard through the grapevine that Slay was Alice’s manager and they, um… you know.”

Donnie suppressed a growl. How much clearer could he be? Yeah, everyone knew the story of how Slay had met and fallen hard for his wife, Allie, back when she’d worked the main bar at The Club, but that didn’t fucking matter.

“I’m not Slay,” Donnie said flatly. “I don’t get involved with my employees.”

“Oh,” Julie said again. She looked momentarily crestfallen, but then rallied and took a step closer to him. “Because I wouldn’t tell anyone…”

“Not the point,” he said, his low voice brooking no argument. “I need you to keep your behavior professional, or there will be consequences, up to and including termination.”

“T-termination?” she stammered, licking her lips nervously. “No! I can do professional. I, uh… I understand. I love this job. I need this job, Master Nolan.”

Donnie nodded and felt a faint stirring of pity. He knew what that felt like.

“Good,” he told her. “I’m relieved to hear that.” And then, something compelled him to add, “Listen, Julie, lots of the girls here, and at The Club Boston seem… nice. Friendly. If you need someone to talk to…”

Julie bit her lip and Donnie trailed off as someone started pounding on the door below.

What now?

He saw Julie’s eyes flash in surprise, and as he hurried down the stairs, she followed.

The banging had increased in volume and tempo by the time he made it to the first floor, and was accompanied by a man shouting in garbled English.

“Don! Open up, man! Oh, fuck, Donnie! Open the damn door!”

“Stand back,” he clipped at Julie, who nodded with wide eyes before moving around the corner into one of the demo rooms.

Once she was out of sight, Donnie unlocked the door and threw it open… only to have the guy who’d been shouting fall directly at Donnie’s feet.

The man pushed himself to his hands and knees on the hardwood floor and glanced up. Donnie automatically stepped back into a defensive position, reaching for the stupid keys in his pocket and wishing, not for the first time, that he hadn’t stopped carrying his Glock when he’d left his cousin’s employ. The dude’s face was a bloody mess. His nose was unmistakably broken, his mouth distorted, one dark eye swollen shut, and his clothes, which seemed to have started out as a high-end suit and silk shirt, were shredded, not like they’d been ripped or worn out, but…

Oh, motherfucker.


The man had been beaten and sliced, right through the fabric of his clothing, into his skin in dozens and dozens of places all over his body. With no more than a cursory glance, Donnie knew they were shallow wounds—bruises delivered by hand and cuts from a straight razor, precisely calibrated to scare, to scar, to hurt, but not to kill. And he knew, just as well as he knew the brown eyes he saw in the mirror each morning, that this poor fuck-up had been forced to count the strikes himself while a bunch of neighborhood punks who desperately wanted to be badasses had held him down by his hands and ankles. There would be one blow or cut for each thousand the guy owed. A gruesome, permanent accounting of his debt because that was the kind of twisted justice that Mikey Nolan found amusing.

Donnie ground his teeth together. His cousin had worked this guy over thoroughly, and Donnie couldn’t help but feel bad for the sap. But it had been years—God, more than a decade—since he’d had anything to do with Mikey’s shit. So why the fuck was this guy here? And how did he know Donnie’s name?

Donnie felt a sense of foreboding settle in his gut.

“Donnie,” the man pleaded, tears and blood making tracks across his skin. “Help me!”

Donnie narrowed his eyes and looked closer, beyond the bloody wreckage of his face, trying to place the connection. There was something… But it wasn’t until the man let his head fall forward with a sob, until a thick hank of dark brown hair fell across his forehead and obscured his swollen eye, that Donnie felt the flare of recognition. He knew that hair. He remembered eyes just like that…

“Christ. Pedro? Is that you?”


Caillate, Gracia Maria! You’re not coming with us. Not today. And stop whining.” Donnie’s best friend propped his foot on the built-in seat of the scarred wooden picnic table and combed his fingers carefully through his mop of brown hair, his eyes trained on his reflection in the darkened window of Sully’s Grab ‘n Go next door.

“But why?” A little girl, whose dark, serious brown eyes took up nearly half her face, perched on the edge of the wooden table top, her short legs kicking back and forth. In truth, the girl never whined, but she also never gave in without a good reason. A fact which drove her brother crazy but made Donnie laugh.

“Because you’re too little, mija.”

“Little! I’m eleven! And I can help. I can carry things. I notice things! It’s not fair you guys get go places and have fun without me.”

“Donnie and I are seventeen. We’re men now. We’re gonna be working for Mikey, for God’s sake. You’ve gotta stop following us around like a puppy. It’s weird.”

The impatient, superior big-brother tone made Grace’s eyes narrow, and Donnie stepped in as he always did, pushing himself out of his slouch against the building and searching for the words that would make her understand.

“Gracie, there are different ways to be helpful. The place we’re going today, the guys we’re gonna meet… it might be dangerous.”

The full force of those shining eyes—eyes glowing with hero worship, and more excited than anxious at the prospect of adventure—swung toward him, and he found himself momentarily stunned. All he could think was, “Holy shit. Someday she’s gonna fucking OWN a man with those eyes. She’ll break hearts.” And he’d felt a quick, confusing clench of anger in his gut at the prospect of Grace ever bestowing that look on anyone but him.

“So what if it is?” Grace challenged. “You’ll protect me. You said you’d always protect me.”

Donnie nodded, because yeah, of course he would.

“But that’s why you can’t be there. The two of us would be distracted, worrying about you.”

He could see the lightning-quick calculation behind those eyes, and knew she’d reached the right conclusion when her shoulders slumped in defeat.

“When you give an intelligent explanation like that, I can’t really argue,” she sighed.

Intelligent explanation? Him? A weird, warm feeling curled in his chest, and Donnie absently tried to rub it away.

His friend hooted. “Right, Don’s Mr. Intelligent. So smart he didn’t need school no more.”

Donnie flipped him off behind the girl’s back.

“Maybe while we’re gone you could work on your drawing? I keep asking you to do a sketch of me,” Donnie teased her.

Her cheeks flooded with color and she shook her head. “No way.”

Her brother snorted, not looking away from his reflection. “Oh, bro, consider yourself lucky. She sucks. She did a picture of me the other night. Made me look like a fucking donkey, with this big, stupid smile.”

Grace’s eyes met Donnie’s, and she grinned. Donnie didn’t know shit about art, but he knew enough about Grace’s talent to be sure that if she’d drawn her brother like that, it was totally intentional. Donnie smirked.

“Time to get back inside the house, Gracia,” her brother said, turning away from the window. “We’ve gotta go, and if Papa catches you out here alone…”

Donnie frowned. They were in the Diaz family’s own backyard, but even so, Grace wasn’t supposed to be outside unsupervised. The nuns at St. Bridget’s had fewer rules and restrictions than Mr. Diaz did for his only daughter.

Grace sighed and jumped down from the table, looking so lonely and dejected that Donnie jammed his hands in his pockets and looked away before he did something stupid, like try to give the kid a hug.

But Grace had never let him off the hook that easily. She threw her arms around his waist and squeezed, pressing her cheek against his chest for the briefest of moments. The smell of her—the faint tang of cinnamon chewing gum that he always associated with his Grace—filled his nose.

“Come back safe, okay, Donnie?” she asked, turning those bright, solemn eyes up at him, and he was helpless to do anything but nod. Then, after a quick glance at her impatient brother, she turned back to Donnie, rolling her eyes as she pulled away. “And take care of Pedro.”


He’d pictured Pedro the way he’d always looked—perfectly mussed hair, round-cheeked baby face, laughing brown eyes, as tall and wiry as Donnie had been at eighteen. But in the intervening years, Donnie had grown, gaining several inches in height and at least forty pounds of solid muscle. Whereas Pedro, Donnie saw, as he helped the man unsteadily to his feet, seemed to have shrunk. He was skin and bones beneath his fine clothing, his shoulders were stooped, and he flinched when Donnie wrapped an arm around his waist and guided him into the bar area.

Donnie hadn’t seen Pedro Diaz in nearly a dozen years. Last Donnie had heard, Pedro had been middle management in Mikey’s “organization,” which was the highest rank Pedro was ever likely to attain, given that he wasn’t blood family. He’d assumed the guy was doing well—as well as a man who’d chosen to sell his soul could be—but even though Donnie lived minutes away from the old neighborhood, he’d made a point never to go back and check on them. He’d only set foot there once in the past decade. That was Mikey’s neighborhood, and always had been. It was safer for everyone who lived there if they weren’t associated with Donnie, the cousin who’d disgraced the family by walking away, and it was crucial to Donnie’s survival to forget they existed.

Didn’t mean Donnie hadn’t thought about his friends over the years, though. He’d imagined P getting married, maybe to one of Donnie’s own cousins. More than once, he’d forced himself to confront the fact that Grace was likely married now too, and he hoped the lucky fucker deserved her. He’d read in the paper that Mr. Diaz had died a few years back, and he’d grieved for Pedro and Grace. And right now, as he looked at the pathetic battered man, he could hear the echo of Grace’s voice in his head, telling him to take care of Pedro. So, whatever bullshit Pedro was involved in, however he’d incurred Mikey’s wrath, Donnie couldn’t bring himself to turn his former friend away.

“Sit here,” he said, heaving Pedro onto one of the wooden barstools. “Calm yourself. What do you need, man? Hospital?”

“No!” Pedro gasped, leaning heavily against the bar. “No hospital. No cops.”

Donnie nodded, not surprised. He ducked beneath the pass-through, collecting ice in a clean towel and opening the first aid kit they always kept on hand beneath the bar, before turning to assess the damage.

The lacerations on Pedro’s body would heal with time and some antibiotic goop. Ice would help control the swelling on his face, and it didn’t look like he needed stitches. The greatest threat to his health right now was in failing to pay back whatever debt he’d managed to accrue.

“Here,” Donnie said, holding out the makeshift ice pack, while he wet a second towel under the tap.

Pedro took the ice and gingerly held it to his swollen eye. “Don, I need your help,” he said, attempting to draw a deep breath against ribs that were probably bruised, trying to control the tears streaming down his broken face.

“Yeah. So you said,” Donnie agreed, cutting under the pass-through once more. “But, bro, if you managed to cross Mikey somehow… I don’t know how you think I can help you.”

He approached the other man and braced one hand against his back while grasping his nose with the other. He waited until Pedro gave the barest nod of assent, then set Pedro’s broken nose back into place with one deft movement and secured it with strips of sterile tape from the kit.

Pedro barely flinched. “Still got the touch with that, huh? Must be, what, the third time you’ve done that for me?” he asked, his voice thick with pain.

Donnie nodded. “Don’t get much practice anymore,” he said. And he hadn’t missed it.

He wiped his hands off on the towel and took the stool next to Pedro before continuing.

“You know better than anyone that I dragged myself out of Mikey’s shit, kicking and screaming. If I get involved again, it’ll be a death sentence. We’ve been through a lot, man, so if you need a place to spend a couple nights, you’ve got it. And if you need some cash—and by that I mean a couple of thousand, enough to get you out of town, not enough for… this,” he looked pointedly at the dozens of small cuts up and down Pedro’s torso, which had to sting like a sonofabitch. “I’ll get it for you. But, P…” He deliberately let his voice go lower, firmer, so there would be no confusion on this score. “There is not a single thing in Heaven or on Earth that will get me involved with Mikey again.”

Pedro’s eyes, stark with shock and misery, met his.

“They’ve got Grace, man. They’re holding her… until I pay my debts.”

And Donnie’s world turned red.


“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” Donnie muttered, as the phone rang inside his helmet. He was weaving the Valkyrie through the light city traffic in a remarkable impression of the douchebag on the Harley from earlier, and he couldn’t care less. He’d been hyper-focused since the moment P had spoken his sister’s name, and not a fucking thing existed but Grace and his need to get to her.


He’d barked orders like a sergeant, clearing away obstacles. He’d called in a favor from Lucas, a guy who worked with Slay doing what they called “off-the-books security jobs,” which seemed to run the gamut from global terrorism prevention to rescuing kittens from trees, and had found someone who could patch Pedro up and give him a place to crash until he’d healed. He’d gotten Julie, who had still been cowering in the demonstration room, out to her fucking car, and out of his hair. And he’d grabbed the wickedly sharp Ka-Bar knife from the box on the top shelf of his closet just in case. Its weight against his thigh felt comforting.

The one obstacle he hadn’t been able to surmount was finding out where Grace was being held… and how the hell he’d get her back.

“I fucked up, Donnie,” Pedro had admitted. “Moving money, making book, it got old. And I got greedy. I wanted to grab some money—enough to last me a good, long while—and get the fuck out. New guy started cutting into our territory, a young kid named Javi. I never got a handle on who he was working for, but shit started getting chaotic. I thought I could take advantage of it. I lied and told Mikey that Javi had stolen our money…but Mikey found out. I gave him back the money I stole, every penny of the 750 large. But he says he wants me to pay him back double, to atone for my sins or… forfeit Grace.”

Typical Mikey, handing out penance, knowing full well that there was no way for a man like Pedro to come up with three-quarters of a million dollars.

“How’s Grace gonna get him the money?” Donnie had asked.

Pedro had looked at him in disbelief, as if shocked that Donnie was so far gone from his years in Mikey’s shit that he couldn’t figure it out for himself.

And then he had, and his blood had grown cold. “Sex?”

Pedro had nodded. “Far as I know, Grace’s still a virgin, Don. I don’t know if she’s saving herself for marriage to Prince Charming, or if she just drank too much of the good-girl KoolAid that my dad passed out, but I’ve never seen her with a guy. She’s never even dated. And if Mikey has his way, her first time is gonna be sold to the highest bidder and broadcast online.”

Over Donnie’s dead body.

The ringing in his headset finally stopped and a slurred voice answered. “H’lo?”


Just one word, just the man’s name, but it was enough to get his older brother from happy drunk to allll worked up.

“I can’t talk to you! What the fuck are you doing calling me, Donnie? You’re dead to us, remember. Jesus, I have kids.

Funny how Donnie had been very much alive last year, when Joe’s son Declan had been diagnosed with a rare form of cancer and needed a bone marrow donor, wasn’t it?

“I’m coming to the house,” he said simply.

“No, Don! Fuck. Just… No. Meet me somewhere else,” his brother begged. “A bar… or…”

“Better open the door,” Donnie said. “The longer I stand outside banging, the more the neighbors are gonna get an eyeful. And we wouldn’t want them to get the wrong impression, would we, Joey?”

“You’re killin’ me, man,” Joe whined.

Donnie snorted and disengaged the call. Killing his brother was just the beginning. If those assholes harmed Grace, no one would be safe.


When he arrived at his brother’s house a few minutes later, he pulled his bike around to the back, near the rickety old garage, and left his helmet on the seat. He climbed the rear steps two at a time, and the back door opened before he could knock.

“Get in here!” Joe told him, pulling Donnie into the kitchen and making sure none of the neighbors had seen. “Christ, you have no idea, Don…”

His brother was tall and whip-thin, with thinning, sandy hair that had once been bright red. There had been a time, when Don was a kid, that he’d thought Joe was the bravest of the brave, always looking out for Donnie, protecting him from the worst of his father’s booze-soaked beatings.

Now, Joe’s hands shook with fear.

“Let’s get this over with,” Donnie said without preamble. “Mikey took Grace Diaz to pay Pedro’s debt.”

Joe didn’t look surprised, but somehow he seemed to grow even more nervous.

“What do you know about that, Joe?” Donnie asked.

Joe licked his lips, but instead of answering, he turned pleading eyes to Don. “Why’d you have to get involved now, Donnie? You haven’t been back to this neighborhood in years. Why now, huh? Why not just… stay gone?”

A fair question. He hadn’t seen Grace Diaz in nearly twelve years; not since he’d been nineteen and she’d been a wide-eyed thirteen-year-old. For all he knew, he’d passed her a hundred times at the grocery store or riding the subway, and hadn’t even known. Would he even recognize her as a woman?

It didn’t matter, though. Grace was the best part of him—his conscience, his beating heart. The only part of his childhood that he could remember without feeling disgust or shame. Just subconsciously knowing that she was okay, that she still existed in the world, had meant that he could keep existing too.

But Joe didn’t need to know any of that shit.

“You owe me, Joe.”

He hadn’t wanted to say those words. You didn’t hold a kid’s life over his father’s head. That wasn’t a debt you ever called in…

But for Grace, he was calling it.

Joe shook his head and drew a shaky breath. “I need a drink. Have a seat. We’ve got… shit to discuss.” Joe gestured his hand at the Formica table in the corner, then sat down and poured himself three fingers of Irish.

Jameson’s. Just like their dad had drunk.

Donnie took a seat at the table and glanced around the kitchen. The only time he’d been here, a year ago, Joe’s wife Karen had had a pot roast in the oven, and the whole place had smelled homey and inviting. Their three kids had been running around, bouncing off the walls, even Declan. But tonight, the house was… quiet. Stale.

No car in the driveway. No kids making noise.

Suspicion clenched in Donnie’s gut and he got up to open the refrigerator. Joe sighed, but didn’t move to stop him.

Empty, except for a pitcher of water and a bunch of condiments in the door. It looked like Karen and the kids had taken off… or Joe had sent them away.


“Where is she, Joe?” he demanded.

“I… I’m not saying shit,” Joe replied. But his eyes darted left, to the small bedroom off the kitchen.

Christ Jesus, she was here.

Donnie strode across the room, his eyes on his brother, but Joe didn’t move except to pour the whiskey down his throat and pour himself another.

“I didn’t wanna be mixed up in this shit, Don. You know how Mikey is,” Joe whined.

Yeah, Donnie knew. That’s why he’d walked away years ago rather than spend his life as Mikey’s lackey. Joe had chosen differently.

Donnie turned the knob, but the door was locked. He ran his hand above the door jamb, rolling his eyes at his brother’s stupidity when he found the fucking skeleton key on the first try. To Joe’s credit, he clearly hadn’t been trying very hard. It was almost like he’d wanted someone to find Grace.

He pushed the door open, and entered the cool, dark room.

The room was empty except for a twin bed in the corner, where a woman lay curled on her side away from him, covered by a thin blanket. He crept toward the bed slowly, his mind rapidly cycling through the best ways of transporting her. Was she drugged? How could he wake her?

Long, long, strands of familiar dark hair covered her face and he reached out a hand to push them aside, but he actually found himself hesitating. God, what did she look like now?

The hesitation was nearly his downfall.

The woman on the bed, who had been breathing so deeply just a moment ago, leapt into action, grabbing his wrist and yanking him down, then delivering a powerful knee to his gut, before lunging upright and delivering a sharp blow to the back of his head that made him see stars.

Only instinct had him reaching out, ducking her flailing fists, to grab her around the waist and pull her back on the bed.

“Let go of me, asshole!” the woman screamed as she thrashed and flailed. “Or I swear to God, I will extract your motherfucking dick through your motherfucking nose!”


Without wasting another moment, Donnie lifted one knee and straddled her on the bed, sitting across her thighs to neutralize her legs. He grabbed her hands in each of his and bore down, until her arms were braced above her head, and still she would not yield.

“Let. Me. Go!” She reared up, trying to knock her head into his.

Christ, she was amazing. Every twist of her head against the pillow had him smelling cinnamon, and every flex of her muscles reminded him that she was here. She was okay.

A weight on his chest he hadn’t realized he was carrying seemed to loosen.

“Grace,” he said. “Grace, baby, it’s me.”

Her thrashing stopped, and only the sound of harsh breathing—hers and his—filled the room.

“D-donnie?” Her voice was small, tentative.

“Yeah,” he said.

He cautiously released one of her hands and brushed the hair back from her face.

His breath stuttered.

The only light in the room came from the streetlight shining in the window, but as her gorgeous eyes came into view, he wondered how he could ever have doubted that he’d recognize her. He’d know those eyes anywhere. But the rest of her…

The last time he’d seen Grace, she’d been on the edge of womanhood. She’d lost the sweet, rounded look she’d had as a little girl, but she’d still been stick-skinny, all knobby knees and braces. But now…

He swallowed hard.

She was all curves, from the pleasantly rounded hips and thighs between his knees, to the sweet, full curve of her breasts as her chest heaved under his. And damn if, all spread out on top of her like this, his dick hadn’t taken notice. Time seemed suspended as he returned his gaze to her face, to those full lips that parted and begged to be kissed, to be bitten hard. He could imagine himself wrapping that hair around his wrist, and holding her down as he fucked her until she screamed…

She was staring up at him the way she always had, with full-on trust, like he’d hung the moon… and suddenly he felt like the sickest prick on the planet.

Control yourself. This is Grace.

“Get her out of here,” Joe said from the doorway, resignation in his voice. “I told you I’d help you, but we need to figure out a plan.”

Donnie nodded without turning his head, and heard Joe shuffle away.

“If I let you go, are you gonna extract my motherfucking dick through my motherfucking nose?” he asked, unable to look away from her face.

She giggled, and then her eyes filled with tears. For all her tough talk, she’d been scared to death, and he knew it.

“I’ll try to restrain myself,” she whispered.

He smiled. Then he let go of her hands and eased back. But before he could stand, she stopped him with a hand on his cheek.

“I knew when you found out you’d come, Donnie. I knew you’d keep me safe.”

He closed his eyes against the warmth that seared his chest, a sensation he hadn’t felt in years. That, coupled with the arousal that hadn’t completely abated, had him biting back a moan.

He’d keep her safe from Mikey, but who was gonna keep this woman safe from him?

“My fantasies are dark. Too dark for you.” – A Guest Visit with Jaye Peaches

We are so excited to welcome the one and only Jaye Peaches to the blog today to talk about her latest, Captivated. Jane had the privilege of reading an early version of this book a few months back, and she absolutely raved about how unique and enthralling it was! I can’t wait to read it!!

Here’s the blurb!
Waking up in an unfamiliar bed in a room she doesn’t recognize is disturbing enough, but Anna Hadley becomes truly alarmed when she looks into the mirror and sees the face of another woman staring back at her.

Her confusion intensifies when a man—who apparently believes she is his wife—suddenly knocks on the door and scolds her for spending so much time by herself in the bedroom. To top it all off, it quickly becomes clear that the man has some very specific, very old-fashioned ideas regarding the proper way a husband should deal with a disobedient bride.

In spite of everything, the threat of having her bottom bared for a sound spanking arouses Anna deeply, and even as she searches for clues that might explain what happened to her, she cannot help becoming more and more attracted to her supposed husband.

It isn’t long before she earns herself a punishment, and when he reddens her backside and then takes her hard and thoroughly she is left spent and satisfied. But knowing she could find herself back in her own body at any moment, can she dare to fall in love?

Publisher’s Note: Captivated includes spankings and sexual scenes. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.

What a gripping premise!! Ready for a sexy excerpt?

“A month of getting to know you, Anna. Just you and me.”

“I’d like that,” she said softly and she traced the leather stitching with her trembling finger.

The engine purred and David settled into his seat. “Now, as I drive you home, why not relax. Lift up your skirt, take down your panties, and masturbate.”

Her head snapped around. “What?”

“You heard me.”

She stared out of the window at the traffic and pedestrians, battling the flurry of nerves his preposterous idea had concocted. “No,” she giggled half-heartedly. “This is a joke.”

“No joke.” He flicked on the radio to a jazz station. “Forget about your worries, Anna. Come for me. Go on.”

The music danced around the sports car and drowned out the noise of the street.

“Would you order Henrietta to do this?” she asked.

“No. I’m not ordering anyone. I’m asking you to do something that you need to do. Let out those frustrations.”

How the hell did he know what she wanted? Only yesterday, he thought she was somebody else. “You’re very sure of this need in me.”

“Would you like me to say it again?” The car pulled up at a junction and he turned to face her. His eyes were shining brightly and he gently drummed his fingers on the wheel.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. God, please ask me again. She wanted his dominating voice oozing into her ear and making her buzz all over.

“Anna. The skirt up, panties down, and part your legs. Fuck yourself until you come or do you want me to drive down some secluded road, drag you over my lap, and spank you?”

Whoa! If you’re ready to one-click this crazy-sexy book, you can find it at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and Kobo!

Want to know more about Jaye?
I’m an author of erotic D/s romances including Amazon bestsellers. All my books contain an element of BDSM, spankings or erotic games of sensual exploration. If you desire a little thrill, something to entice, then please take the time to read one of my books. Thank you!

When not writing, I’m busy spending time with her family, enjoying music, sometimes drawing and if the weather allows, gardening.

Author Links:
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Manic Readers

Aldric is LIVE!!

Jane’s latest sci-fi is now live on Amazon! If you haven’t read Aldric: A Sci-Fi Warrior Romance yet, what in the world are you waiting for? lol. Do yourself a favor and one-click Aldric and his Carina right NOW!

Want to know more about the book? Check out exciting excerpts here and here, and read the blurb below!



He is a barbarian. A savage. I came to his world as a spy… and I was caught. Alone and defenseless, my fate is in his hands. He captured me, punished me, and claimed me as his mate.

I promised myself that I would never yield, that I would resist and escape, but as he trains me to serve him I begin to wonder if one day I will gladly call him my master.

When I saw the little one in our midst, I was drawn to her beauty. She broke our laws and must pay the price, but I will let no harm come to her. She will belong to me, mine to enjoy as I please, and soon she will know the pleasure of surrendering to a warrior’s mastery of her body.

She is headstrong and defiant, but it will be my privilege and honor to tame her.

Publisher’s Note: Aldric: A Sci-Fi Warrior Romance includes spankings and sexual scenes. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.

His Lady Countdown – #wipwednesday

Happy Wednesday, everyone, and welcome to the WIP! Today we’re sharing a snippet from our upcoming release His Lady (Boston Doms, Book 5), which is coming THIS FRIDAY 2/24!!


“You taste like honey and butter,” Blake said, his low voice in her ear causing her nipples to harden. She was straddling his lap on the leather couch in his living room, having just polished off the last bite of baklava, and they were celebrating the evening alone.

“You taste like masculinity and sex,” she countered, running her fingers around the back of his neck and drawing his mouth closer to hers, as he growled in her throat and tightened his grip on her ass. “I fucking love it.”

“You swear like a goddamned truck driver,” he bit out, leaning his mouth closer to ear and taking her lobe into his mouth with his teeth.

“No shit,” she responded, pulling back and meeting his eyes. “What are you gonna do about it, old man?”

“Naughty little brat,” he growled, and she shrieked as his hands went to her top, yanking it up, nimbly unfastening her bra, before his hands found her nipples and squeezed. “You really don’t want to test me, Elena,” he said, sobering, his voice dropping as his eyes narrowed. He twisted his hands, and she braced herself. The sharp bite of pain faded to a tingle. “You’ll do as you’re told, little girl,” he said, his smoky voice like whisky on ice, brisk but biting. “I’m not shittin’ around with your safety. And there’s a limit to how far you can push me, Elena. I don’t expect meek and mousy from you. No, baby, that isn’t you, and I get that,” he said, his hands kneading her breasts now, as flames flickered in her nether regions, her pussy convulsing with need. Oh God.

Her mouth opened, panting, as he laced his fingers through her hair and tugged her head back, pulling her ear to his mouth. “I owe you a spanking, young lady. You endangered yourself when you disobeyed me. And because of what you did, you’ve raised suspicion by plastering your name all over the internet. I don’t give a shit who comes after me, but you’ll answer for putting yourself on their radar.”

She swallowed, her heart racing as her pussy throbbed with need, but at the same time her ass tingled at the memory of his leather on her naked skin, and his enormous hand branding her with punishing strikes.  Through the haze of arousal, she looked into his eyes. “And what if I say no?” she said, not able to help herself from pushing, testing, craving his mettle and dominance. “What if I refuse to submit?”

His eyes darkened, his brows drawing together with a startling sternness that made her shiver deliciously. “Refuse to submit?” he asked. “I didn’t ask you to submit, little girl. I told you you were getting a spanking.”


Check back here tomorrow for more snippets, and click here to see what the other WIPsters have been working on!

What Happens in Bangkok – A guest visit with Daryl Devore

what-happens-in-bangkok_cover_d-devoreToday we’re welcoming Daryl Devore to the blog to talk about her new book, What Happens in Bangkok, which features a pretty unique cast of characters and plot premise!

Here’s the blurb:
To save Darien’s life his brother asks, “Can you walk in high heels?”

Erika Bailey, owner/manager of a drag queen club in Bangkok, Thailand has happily settled into all aspects of her new life, except for her lack of a love life. When a new diva auditions, Erika is bewildered over her instant attraction to the blond God, Apollo.

Darien Scott is on vacation after a world tour and mistakenly figures the safest place to be is at The Black Dragon with the head of a Triad. When the club is hit, Darien is the only person to get out alive. Now he’s running from the police and a Triad. Mistake number 1.

Disguised as a drag queen, he’s hired by Erika, but falls hard for his new boss, then struggles with not coming clean with her. Mistake number 2.

Can he fix his mistakes and find a life filled with love or is he headed straight for mistake number 3?

How about an excerpt?

He rolled his neck and shoulders as the heat worked its way into the tension. Again with the pity-party. Hmph, must be the wine talking.

A soft pop in his neck signaled the release of some tension. Wine talking? Could I have misinterpreted what Erika meant about the wine?

A spark of hope surged up from the depth that Darien had shoved it, but was immediately crushed. He slapped his hand on the wall. Stop being so stupid. She’s not interested in anything long term. You are so off your game. Tired from the tour, then the stress of the shooting. Have a few laughs, then go home and get back to being Darien Scott.

With his head tilted upward, the rain-like steam trickled over his face and dribbled down his back. But it would’ve been nice. Her kisses ― what the…

The pressure of two lips against his bare upper arm snapped him from his thoughts. He lowered his face, swiped at the water, then opened his eyes.

No, he hadn’t imagined the kiss. Standing next to him was Erika, fully clothed. An unverbalized hope had materialized beside him. She smiled as he turned to face her. A mixture of thoughts and questions shot through his mind. She silenced them all with the soft pressure of her finger on his lips.

Darien stretched out his hand to cup her cheek, but she slipped back out of his reach. She lifted her arms and dragged her fingers through her short hair, released her head and shook it. Droplets splashed against the wall. She moved forward a step so that the water spraying out splashed against her breasts and belly. Her blouse stuck to her like a second skin.

The vision of his peeling her blouse off and exposing her breasts brought his cock to attention. She lowered her gaze, running her tongue over her top lip. Darien swallowed–hard.

She pulled her fingers from behind her neck, trickled the back of them down her cheeks to her chest, then paused. Extending a finger, she toyed with the top button of her blouse.

Darien’s focus locked on to even the tiniest movement. The flutter of an eyelid hit him deep in his belly. Erika spun away from him, shifting to peer over her shoulder. She matched his gaze and didn’t blink. Water streamed down her cheeks, dripping off the end of her nose. Jealousy burned in Darien that the water could touch her and he knew he wouldn’t be allowed. She planned on driving him crazy and he was willing to let her.

With the fluid grace of a dancer, Erika extended her arms, reached behind and tugged her blouse out of her waistband. She moved her hands before her. Although Darien couldn’t see, he knew she’d undone the top button of her blouse. She opened the collar, exposing a bit of neck, then released another button, pulling the top of the blouse open a bit more. The fourth time, Darien had to clench his hands to stop from storming over, grabbing her blouse and ripping it open.

He wanted to–craved–to see her naked. Sprawled out beneath him. But he’d wait. The anticipation was sublime.

You can buy What Happens in Bangkok at:
Extasy Books
Book Strand

Want to connect with Daryl?
Blog – http://daryldevore.blogspot.com
Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/pages/Daryl-Devore/280168402052520
Twitter – http://twitter.com/daryldevore
Google+ – https://plus.google.com/u/0/107866370365154406917
GoodReads Author Page – http://www.goodreads.com/DarylDevore
Amazon Author Page – http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B004TJ1354
LinkedIn – ca.linkedin.com/pub/daryl-devore/58/b42/792/
Pinterest – http://www.pinterest.com/search/pins/?q=Daryl%20Devore

His Lady – #wipwednesday

Happy Wednesday, everyone! For today’s WIP Wednesday blog hop, we’ve got a sexy excerpt from His Lady (Boston Doms, Book 5) which is coming out a week from Friday, on 2/24!! Mark your calendars!


He set her on her feet beside the bed and turned to sit on the edge.


She swallowed. And then she obeyed.

Off came the sweater, inch by tantalizing inch, until the garment floated to the floor. She unhooked the skirt, which dropped quickly, puddling at her feet. And then she hesitated.

“Everything, Elena. There’s going to be nothing between us when I punish you,” he told her. “When I take you.”

She reached behind her and unhooked her lacy blue bra, then slowly drew the straps down her arms and tossed it to the floor, as well.

Shit. The sight of her naked breasts in the afternoon sunlight that seeped through the window was enough to have him momentarily forgetting his purpose. He watched as her nipples furled in the chilly air, saw her hesitate.

“Keep going,” he told her, his voice husky with arousal.

She swallowed again, then hooked her thumb into her panties and drew them down her legs.

“Come here,” he told her, when she was completely bare, pointing at the floor between his legs.

Without further instruction, she knelt on the floor between his feet and gazed up at him, nervous and eager.

“Usually, when I want to spank that ass, I will want to be the one to bare it,” he told her, threading his fingers into the hair above her ear. “Because I own it, and I like to remind both of us of that.” Her eyes burned with arousal at his words, and the sight made his fingers tighten in her hair, the need to claim her riding him hard.

“But today, Elena,” he continued, voice tight. “Today, I need you to remember that I own it because you gave it to me. Your love is a gift that came out of nowhere during the darkest time of my life, and brought me joy that I never dreamed I’d experience again.”

She bit her lip and her eyes flooded with tears that he brushed away with his thumbs. He forced himself to finish.

“You will not risk that. You will not risk yourself. You won’t even suggest it. Do you understand?”

She nodded.

“Then get over my knee.”

We hope you’re getting as excited as we are for Blake and Elena’s story! In the meantime,  click here to see what the other WIPsters have been working on!

Serving Her Scientist – A guest visit with Jessica Brand

serving-her-scientist-jbToday, we’re happy to have Jessica Brand on the blog, to tell us all about Serving Her Scientist!

Here’s the blurb:

Paul and Donna are happily married. Maybe their marriage isn’t the hot, pulsing sex romp it was when they first said their I dos on the beach so long ago, but it’s safe, dependable. Boring. Donna, ever the bookish librarian, spends much of her spare time playing computer puzzle and word games in the internet. Paul’s work as a rocket scientist in the military weapons industry requires that his computer remain safe and virus free. State secrets are at stake. That’s why his lovely, but sometimes naughty wife is forbidden from playing her games on it.

Ignoring his instructions once too often, the inevitable happens and she infects his computer with an internet virus. Realizing the depth of her mistake, she is willing to do almost anything to atone for her sins and accepts that she will receive an old fashioned spanking as punishment. Much to her surprise, despite the pain, she finds the whole ritual exciting, awakening feelings that have lay dormant for years and arousing her to such a point that she craves more. She confides in her best friend, Peta, and is shocked by Peta’s in depth understanding of the benefits of erotic pain and punishment. Peta consults with Paul and then puts into motion a chain of events destined to change forever the tenor of Paul and Donna’s lives.

DISCLAIMER: This story contains the spanking of adults, elements of bondage, discipline and power exchange. If these activities are not to your taste, you are advised not to buy this book.

How about a hot snippet??

“Restraint, Mrs. White,” she whispered as both cuffs closed over my wrists at the same time. “So delightfully helpless,” she continued as I heard the locks click home and felt the cold steel close around my wrists.

I went weak at the knees and if she wasn’t holding me so tightly I might have collapsed. It wasn’t just what was happening physically, it was all of the theatrics. She knew better than I exactly what effect her words and actions would have on me. She was playing with me, teasing me, arousing me and there was nothing I could do to stop her, even if I wanted to. I knew I was safe and that no real harm would come to me.

Turning to Paul, she said, “Position yourself, Mr. White.”

When Paul was sitting comfortably on the chair he had placed in the middle of the room, Madame Renee literally dragged me over to him. She then turned me around and lowered me over his knee. As I was going down, I wondered who was getting more out of this. He was already hard as a rock. And I was making a wet mess in my new La Perlas. Who was winning here? We were tied.

His hand came down on my wrists and held them, pushing them a little further up my back until I gasped. It was discomfort bordering on pain but as my mind was focusing on that, a blindfold was pulled over my eyes and tightened, pressing gently against my eyelids and holding them closed. Then the spanking started. Five hard swats on each cheek before my new panties were pulled deep into the crease of my butt and my cheeks were caressed for the first time. Already my mind was becoming overwhelmed. Too many things happening in such a short time.

Serving Her Scientist is available at Amazon and BlushingBooks.

Want to know more about Jessica?
Jessica was born in Melbourne, Australia in 1958. Having lived in many parts of Australia and overseas, she now resides in Sydney and writes for fun.

With a lifelong interest in her subject matter she finally decided to put some of her experiences and fantasies into words, toning them down somewhat for public consumption. Her first book was released in mid 2014, using the pseudonym of R. R. Greaves. This was followed by a new release in Feb 2015 and there are a number of new stories in different stages of production.

With a particular interest in specific forms of erotica, the stories have a lot of explicit detail that comes from years of “hands on” experience. All have a strong element of power exchange between consenting parties. While most involve a key female character submitting to a powerful male, they have a mixture of dominant characters with women submitting to other women, men submitting to women and men submitting to other men.

A key part of the exchange of power between the characters involves the use of consensual physical and mental force, BDSM and spanking.

Check out her other published works:
Book 1 The way the cards fall – Femdom
Book 2 The making of a mistress – Femdom
Laura’s longing
Spanking Jade

Visit her website: http://www.rrgreaveseroticauthor.com/

Categories J-R, Jessica Brand

Theirs: Found and Claimed by Ashe Barker

Salvaged; shared; theirs.


Ashe Barker has a new sci-fi out and it looks absolutely scorching! And to top it off, Ashe is running a Rafflecopter giveaway! Check out the details:

To celebrate the release of Theirs : Found and Claimed, and of course in honour of Valentine’s Day next week, I’m offering one reader the chance to win their selection from my backlist. Three runners up will each get a coaster featuring Theirs : Found and Claimed. To enter the Rafflecopter, click here.

The competition closes on 13 February, so be quick.

Excited? Me too!

Here’s the blurb:

When they board a derelict spacecraft in search of valuable scrap metal, the last thing Luca and Sylvan expect is to stumble upon a beautiful, naked woman in need of medical assistance. Despite her protests, they bring her back to their ship, treat her illness, and take it upon themselves to look after her.

After she contracted the virus that wiped out her people and killed everyone else on her ship, Llianna didn’t expect to survive, and she is shocked when she awakens from a comatose state with two men standing over her. Once she regains her health, however, she is horrified to realize that she is about to enter her fertile period, a uniquely vulnerable time for females of her species.

Knowing that she will end up begging Luca and Sylvan to take her in any way they please if she doesn’t act quickly, she flees in her partially-repaired ship, only to be caught, stripped bare, and spanked soundly. The stern punishment leaves her desire burning even more fiercely, and soon she is writhing in ecstasy as her handsome rescuers claim her hard and thoroughly.

Though Luca and Sylvan make it clear that she is free to go once her ship is finally fully operational again, Llianna finds herself yearning to belong to them completely, and as she learns to submit to their firm, loving dominance, her passion for them grows more intense with each passing day. But when she discovers that she is not the last of her kind after all, will she leave the men she loves to live amongst her own people?

Publisher’s Note: Theirs: Found and Claimed includes spankings and sexual scenes. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.

Ready for a seriously steamy, NSFW excerpt?

“Am I hurting you?” Sylvan is sliding his fingers in and out of my wet pussy, the motion slow, deliberate, utterly seductive. All the while Luca continues to torment my clit, teasing me to a near frenzy then allowing his fingers to slide away until he barely touches me.

I shake my head as I gnaw on my lower lip. This is wonderful, the sensations they are creating are sheer unadulterated bliss, but it’s torture too. I yearn for… something, something more. But at the same time I never want this to end.

“That’s two fingers. This is three…” Sylvan pulls his fingers out of me again, then carefully parts my pussy lips with his free hand before slipping back inside. The stretch is delicious, the slight burn at my entrance intoxicating. I am aware of every callused centimetre of his long digits as they ease back inside me and my body reshapes to accept them.theirs-promo-1-1

“Does this hurt?” The question is murmured, Sylvan’s voice low and compelling, “or this?” He somehow twists his hand within me to change the angle of his penetration. He scissors his fingers, rubbing a spot somewhere on the front wall of my pussy. Everything I was already feeling is intensified, as though white lights explode in my head, behind my eyes. My entire body convulses now and I let out a high-pitched moan.

Luca takes a firm hold on my clit and squeezes hard, pulling as he does so. The pleasure is beyond belief, and seems to rush into that one single place, the very core of my being. Helpless to resist, unable to control my response even if I wanted to, I splinter.

There’s warmth, wetness, even more than before. Sylvan’s fingers move easily inside me, skilled and accurate, drawing my response out, bringing me back to that shimmering peak again and again. I am floating, my bones liquid, my senses shattered. There is nothing in this universe beyond the amazing sensations exploding at my core then rippling out to fill every extremity of my body.

I lose any sense of time, of space, but that does not matter because they have me. I drift, suspended between reality and some magical, mystical realm beyond, unable to comprehend what has just happened. I settle back down, breathless, and the heady sensations dissipate. I become aware of my surroundings again, and of my still-overwhelming need. The phase is relentless, assuaged only momentarily by the rush of my release. If anything, my need to have Sylvan inside me, fully sheathed within my needy pussy, is greater now, even more compelling.

“She just gushed. We’re swimming in it down here.” Again I do not comprehend Sylvan’s meaning, but his tone is warm and he seems satisfied with the situation.

“Excellent, that’ll help. Now would be a good time then…” Luca relinquishes his hold on my clit and reaches for my spread legs. He grips me behind each knee and pulls my thighs wider apart, at the same time tilting me up a little as though to offer me to Sylvan. “Relax, sweetheart. You’ll love this bit, I promise.”

I go limp in Luca’s arms as the other male rises up to kneel on the bed. I crane my neck to peer down and watch, detached almost as Sylvan positions his awesome cock at my entrance then begins to press forward. He uses his fingers to part my pussy lips to gain better access, then suddenly the entire head of his cock is inside me. The lips of my pussy are spread wide, stretching around him and I am intensely aware of every intimate detail.

I stiffen, and whimper softly. Luca’s breath is on my neck. “Are we hurting you?”

“No,” I manage, “not hurting. It is just… it feels so strange.”

“Mmm, I’ll bet.” He nibbles on my earlobe before opening his lips around the skin in the crook of my neck and sucking there. The sensation is almost as erotic as Sylvan’s slow, steady penetration and I moan quietly.

Sylvan leans forward, his right hand on the bed to support his weight and his left finds my breast. He caresses the lower curve then flicks my nipple with his fingertip. The unexpected stimulation unleashes another rush of sensation and I thrust against him, impaling myself yet more on his solid cock. He sinks in, and the stretch feels near impossible as my body parts to admit him. Then he stops. He has reached the limit, the point beyond which it is not possible to proceed. I chance a quick glance down to see perhaps half his length still visible and I know this is not quite correct. I was right, he is just too large, too—

“Aagh!” I scream as a searing pain stabs me, momentarily taking my breath away. In that instant Sylvan moves, shifts, and the remainder of his massive cock drives forward to fill me.

It is done, and I am dead.

Good Lord.

Ready to buy? I know I am! Buy now Amazon  or  Read Chapter One for Free!

Want to know more about Ashe?

USA Today Bestselling author Ashe Barker writes erotic romance and spanking romance in a variety of genres including contemporary, BDSM, paranormal, historical. ménage, gay romance and time travel. She is a #1 Amazon Bestseller and all her stories feature hot alpha males and sassy submissives, often with a lot to learn. Kink abounds, and there’s enough dirty talk to satisfy the most demanding smut lover. However dark and dirty the setting, love always emerges triumphant, and her stories never fail to deliver a satisfying happy ever after.

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Reaper’s Kiss – A Guest Visit with Allison West

reaperskissToday we’re welcoming Allison West to the blog to talk about Reaper’s Kiss, an erotic, paranormal romance! Here’s the blurb:

Heir to the throne of Casmerelda, Princess Ophelia has a knack for disobeying the rules. When she sneaks out in secret to visit her boyfriend, her life takes an unexpected twist. She is murdered by an unknown assailant outside the Blue Moon Tavern and is tasked with being a grim reaper. Is it punishment for her naughty night outings or the Dacre curse?

Wynter Gael has no choice but to reap the soul of Ophelia Dacre and bring her into the world of the undead. Responsible for reaping souls and fixing her mistakes, he must decide if putting her over his knee is worth it or if she should be sent to the royal council for further disciplinary action.

Reaper’s Kiss is a paranormal erotic novel with elements of spankings, anal play, graphic sex, and mild violence.

Here’s a brief but telling little excerpt!

“You’re right, you won’t. I’m going to teach you right from wrong, my little Leila. Good girls listen and do as they’re told. Bad girls face a wrath of punishments. Spankings, my little Leila, are just the beginning.”

Ready to buy? Reaper’s Kiss is available at:

#Kindle http://goo.gl/sRN9Tl
#iBooks http://goo.gl/ist5lD
#Nook http://goo.gl/iHlfX2
#Kobo http://goo.gl/kxLd5Q
#Blushingbooks http://goo.gl/V1qO3o

Want to know more about Allison?
Allison West is a #1 International Best-Selling Author in Erotica, BDSM, Romantic Erotica, Sci-Fi, Victorian, and Historical Erotica. She also writes young adult novels under the name Ruth Silver.

Allison West has been inventing worlds and writing stories for years. Her favorite novels are those that leave a lasting impression, long after the final page is read. You can find more about Allison on Facebook and Twitter.

Visit her website here: http://spankingauthor.com/

Don’t miss these exciting titles by Allison West and Blushing Books!
Little Prim and Proper
The Victorian Shift
The Decoy Bride
Delia’s Debt
Little Secrets
Jailed Little Jade
Enrolling Little Etta
The Nanny
Fire Licked
The Murderess
Betrayed by Blood