Some Write It Hot

February 12, 2011

Meet Cari Silverwood by Cherise Sinclair

Filed under: Who we are — dangerouslysexy @ 04:00
Tags: , , ,

Alas for lost innocence. Author Cari Silverwood has left it far behind. In fact, she’s jumped so enthusiastically into the kinkier side of erotic romance that we heard her inviting Darth Vader to a bondage and hot wax session. (I think he accepted)

Although Cari is previously published under another name in another genre, I think she’s going to stay on the dark side for a while. Her characters have given her a long list of sexual activities they want to try, and she’s having way too much fun trying to incorporate the various positions, places, and…other things…into her stories.

Surprisingly serene despite having a teen and preteen, Cari lives in Australia with a husband who is master of the raised eyebrow when catching glimpses of what she writes. Since she’s a pet-lover with an amazingly diverse menagerie–dogs, cats, lizards, fish, and birds–it’s not surprising that her cocker spaniel managed to sneak his way into her story. And you can get an idea of her sense of humor–the floppy-eared, puffy-pawed spaniel is named “Killer”.

Her first erotic romance, Three Days of Dominance, is coming out this spring from Loose Id, and having read parts of it, I’d say readers are in for a thrill.

Blurb for Three Days of Dominance
When a man with mint-green eyes steps from a lake and offers to rescue Danii’s dog in exchange for three days of total obedience, it’s obvious he must be either joking or crazy. And, being a police officer, she knows how to handle the crazies. But when it comes to Heketoro, she’s the one being handled. Each day their lovemaking becomes wilder and Danii discovers exactly how far this man can take her. Though the tattoos drawing themselves on his body make it clear he’s not quite human, to Danii what’s more important is their burgeoning love for each other.

An ancient curse prevents Heketoro from returning to his world. With one last ritual of love needed to break this curse, Heketoro’s enemies return and threaten to destroy him by using his only weakness — Danii. Will love, or their enemies, triumph?

Excerpt (note – this is an early, unedited version)
Her wrists were drawn taut, above her head, secured to the headboard by ropes of thorned red rose and bougainvillea. The pricks of their thorns threatened to puncture her dream. She resisted that, wanting more. Raising her head, she stared down the length of her body, past her red protruding nipples, and along her stomach where sweat lined the floral rope fastening her thighs up against her body. With her bottom tilted and her legs spread, her pussy was open, available.

The man, his black hair spread in floating streamers about his head, lifted his head from between her thighs and she gasped, rolling her hips upwards. The wet tip of his tongue slid across as he licked her juices off his lower lip. Her clit, so recently probed by that clever tongue, pulsed. If he didn’t put it back there, soon…

She panted, feeling his thumbs glide in the slickness of her labia, felt them sink deep, then deeper inside, and gasped again, lost in the molten sensation. She tried to move her arms, her legs, and couldn’t. Trapped and pinioned for him to do what he wished. Excitement screwed her insides a notch tighter. Her vagina squeezed around his thumbs. He pulled them out and she mewed at the loss.

Slowly, his eyes never leaving hers, he rose to his feet, shifting position until his hands wrapped around her thighs and the head of his cock pressed against her entrance.

Anticipation made everything feverish bright, sent lust snaking, thick as syrup, to her groin. Her thigh muscles juddered as she pushed up vainly against the rope. The rope tightened. The thorns bit down.

The man smiled with satisfaction as her struggling subsided, becoming a trembling acceptance of what was to come. He drove the head of his cock into her, sliding inside, and halted. She groaned, anticipating the thrust as he penetrated farther.

Watching her intently, he skated his finger in tantalizing circles about her clit, sometimes touching the aching nub, and sometimes not. He gripped it between finger and thumb, and squeezed, then thrust with his cock, then squeezed, then thrust — the rhythm driving her closer and closer to the edge, her clit so swollen she was sure she’d explode if her release was held off a second longer.

Withdrawing until the head barely parted her lips, he poised there, making her ache, making her want.

Aaah. She arched, threw back her head, opened her mouth…and something soft and furry landed on her. A long tongue swept across her face. The dream dissolved.

Danii opened one eye. Two doggy eyes looked back.

“Killer,” she rasped. Her Cocker Spaniel barked twice and squirmed closer. She plonked a hand on his head to still his tongue and squinted at the alarm clock.

“Six o’clock. Gah! Couldn’t you have waited one more minute? We nearly did it this time!” Not that it would have mattered. Her dreams always ended before she came, though this time had been close, much closer than usual.

Danii squeezed her thighs together and groaned. She really needed a lover. Only, good men didn’t grow on trees, especially not men that did special tricks with bougainvillea. Whoa, that had been something, way too kinky. She’d never let a man do that to her for real, but in dreams, in dreams it was…nice.

Killer barked again, more urgently.

“You want to go for your walk, don’t you?”

He ruffed and sat up, tail swishing across the sheets.

“Okay. Okay. I’m getting up.”
* * * * *
Getting her mind in gear in the early morning was something she’d had practice at for years. Within half an hour, Danii was at the lake, having wrenched on jeans and a top and collected the neighbor’s dog like she’d promised. The lake was pristine blue-green, cool, and still. The sun’s rays struggled over the horizon in little sparks and glints that hurt her eyes when she looked up.

Preoccupied by thoughts of what might await her at work, Danii barely noticed the concrete path under her feet, the ducks cruising on the water, or the myriad other life in and around the lake. She’d been here a million times and the dogs more than made up for her inattention as they sniffed weeds and tree trunks, a patch or two of sodden grass, and eyed off everything that moved.

Most likely there’d be a long list of thefts and assaults to investigate today. No court appearances, thank heavens.With a wrench she brought her mind back to the here and now — time for all the stresses of work later, when she had to think about it.

Killer and Jugsy, the neighbor’s Dalmatian, easily kept up with her on the lazy walk around the lake, though the Dalmatian had a habit of doing pretzel maneuvers around Killer every so often.

A distinctive child’s hat with butterfly appliqué rested abandoned on the grass ahead. She knew Marie, the mother of the child, and went to pick it up. Jugsy’s lead tangled with Killer’s at the same time she bent over. She absentmindedly fiddled with the lead, and dropped it.

In that one millisecond of sloppiness, a dragonfly darted across Jugsy’s nose, and he took off like a spotted rocket. She lunged then dived for the loop of the lead, and missed. With a gigantic splash, Jugsy plunged into the lake and was yards out before she’d scrambled up off the grass.

Holy hells. Who was to know the dog could win an Olympic medal in dog paddle?

Visit Cari’s website at www.carisilverwood.netfor a longer excerpt and, well, just to say hello!

January 31, 2011

Releasing February 1–Masters of the Shadowlands Five: Make Me Sir by Cherise Sinclair

== Blurb for Make Me, Sir =====================================

Her job is to make his life miserable. His job is to make her submit. Whose heart will surrender first?

Across the country, rebellious BDSM submissives are being systematically kidnapped, one from each club. When her friend falls prey to the slavers, FBI victim specialist Gabrielle volunteers to be bait in a club not yet hit: the Shadowlands.

She finds that being a bratty sub comes naturally, especially when she gets to twit the appallingly conservative Master of the trainees. But she soon discovers he’s not as stuffy as she’d thought. Or as mean. She’d expected punishment, even humiliation, but she sure never expected to fall in love with a damned lawyer.

Courtesy of a prima donna ex-wife, Marcus loathes disobedient submissives. When the club owner insists he admit an incredibly bratty trainee, he’s furious. But as he comes to know Gabrielle and sees the alluring sweetness beneath the sass, he starts to fall for her.

Unfortunately, Marcus isn’t the only one who believes the feisty redhead is a prize worth capturing. And in the world of the slaver, such treasure is worth a hefty fee.

===Excerpt for Make Me, Sir =======================================

The model-gorgeous guy in the suit didn’t like her. Gabrielle saw that already, but no real problem. The only one she had to impress was Master Marcus, and hopefully the suit wouldn’t tell on her. The man positively oozed rich and powerful, so he must be a big shot in the club. “I guess I’d better get back there before my boss arrives.”


“Master Marcus. I’m waiting for him.”

“You most certainly possess a poor idea of how to wait.” He stared at her for another minute, disapproval radiating from him. “I have a notion that introductions are in order before you work your way further into trouble. I am Master Marcus.”

She choked. Oh, no. This day is so not going well. “Ah.” She cleared her throat and tried again. “Nice to meet you. Um –”

“And might I ask your name?” he asked politely. Too politely.

She took a second look at him, at his fancy tailored suit. Dark gray with pinstripes. Oh please, like she’d really believe he was a dom at all? “Gabrielle Anderson. Are you sure you’re Master Marcus?”

He cocked his head. The guy was way too good-looking. Tall, broad-shouldered, lean. His hair, a rich brown shading to gold on the ends, was flawlessly styled. Definitely a perfect person like her parents. Gag. Even his tan wasn’t leathery, but just dark enough to set off incredibly blue eyes. Very sharp blue eyes, in fact, and turning colder by the second.

“Why would you think I’m not Master Marcus?” he asked.

Well, good grief. She waved a hand at him and kept the duh from slipping out. Just in case he really was Master Marcus. Maybe he hadn’t changed yet or something. “The suit? Where are your leathers or latex or…biker jacket or vest? And black? Did you forget to wear black?”

He stared for a second, as if she’d turned into a drooling idiot, and then simply roared. Deep, full laughter — amazing coming from someone who looked like he should have a stick up his ass.

She felt heat flooding her face and decided she really didn’t like him. Maybe he was the club accountant or administrator or something. Shifting her weight, she looked past him. Hopefully the Marcus guy would arrive soon. She needed to get all established before the arrival of the kidnapper — the unsub, as a real agent would call him. She frowned. Unsub sounded too much like fake submissive. That would be me. Maybe she’d call him a perp instead.

“Best you tell me about your previous experience in BDSM,” the suit said, and damn but he appeared totally different when he smiled. How many women had he destroyed with that devastating dimple in his left cheek and crease in the right? “Was it mostly in downtown clubs? Perhaps of the Goth variety?”

“Well, yeees. Why?” Several years ago too, but that’s not what she’d written on her application.

He motioned for her to precede him down the hall, and when she stepped in front of him, his hand closed on her nape. Firmly, as if she were a stray dog. “I do believe you’ll find a private club a mite different. A wider age range, diverse incomes, assorted tastes. Many doms here wear leathers and black; some prefer other attire.”

Her stomach sank with the authoritative way he’d gripped her neck. No accountant from the back would act like this — she’d run into a dom. In a suit. Who called himself…? “You really are Master Marcus?”

“I’m afraid so, darlin’.” He stopped at the place where chains hung from the low rafter and released her, only to walk around her slowly as if she stood on a display stand. “Is all your experience in public clubs?”

“Uh-huh.” In her college days, she’d pop into a club, have some fun, and maybe take someone home. But she hadn’t indulged since then. She’d set her sights on the FBI from day one and wasn’t about to mess up her chances by doing anything less than respectable.

“I see.” He tapped the ribbing on her bustier. “Remove that, please.”

She stared at him. Just like that? I only met you, dammit. She hesitated, but the merciless look in those blue eyes kicked her into gear. After undoing the hooks, she tossed the bustier onto a chair outside the ropes that fenced off the scene area. She forced her arms to stay at her sides and tried to ignore the air-conditioned draft on her bare breasts.

“Very pretty.” When he brushed sure fingers over her shoulder, into the hollow below her collarbone, and over the upper curve of one breast, her body woke up from her breasts all the way to her pussy — and that was damn disconcerting considering she didn’t even like the guy. But he had that ruthless attitude going for him — the dominant edge that put butterflies into her stomach as if she’d swallowed fluffy bugs.

“And did you play somewhere else?” he asked. “Privately?”

Her cheeks warmed. “Not…really. I might have gone home with a man after, but for kinky stuff, I stayed in the clubs. More public or something.”

“I see. You didn’t trust any dom enough to let him restrain you without other people around.”

“Ah.” She’d never thought of it like that but — okay. He was right. She nodded.

“I prefer to have verbal answers,” he said ever so softly. “‘Yes, Sir’ will serve for now.”

She couldn’t keep the shiver from running down her spine. The guy wielded a razor-sharp voice, no matter how soft it was. “Yes, Sir.”

“That sounds very pretty, sugar,” he said, and the caress in his voice turned all her bones into a seriously mushy state. Until he added, “Remove the skirt, please.”

She looked up, and his eyes could be just as lethal as his tone. Why did he bother to say ‘please’? She stepped out of the skirt, wishing she’d done more time in the gym. Done any time in the gym. Maybe walked a little at least. Nothing like a fat ass to impress a man.

But hey, this wasn’t about impressing the fussy dom. She’d come here to lure a kidnapper — a killer — into a trap. She shivered.

His eyes narrowed. “Do you have a problem with being unclothed?”

Hell. Keep your mind on business, Gabi. “No, Sir. Just cold, Sir.”

“Um-hmm.” He walked around her again, inspecting her as if she were the star at a dog show. Totally insulting — and yet she felt her nipples contracting to dagger points and a disconcerting wetness between her thighs. She shifted to put her legs closer together.

“Master Z requested I take you on. Did you read the rules for the trainees?”

“Um. Yes.” She caught the hint of ice in his eyes and added a hasty, “Sir.”

He unhooked a set of golden-colored leather cuffs from the back of his belt. After buckling them on her wrists, he carefully checked the fit and then attached her left cuff to a chain dangling from the rafter. “The safe word for the trainees is red,” he said as he reached for another chain and did her right arm. He kept the chains long enough her arms could remain at waist level. “I want for you to use it if you become overwhelmed in any way, from fear, pain…whatever. It will bring the dungeon monitors a-running.”

“If I use a safe word, does that mean everything is off?” She couldn’t afford to blow this.

His face softened. “No, sugar. It means I stop whatever we’re doing and we sit down and chat for a bit.”

“Oh. Okay. Good. Um, Sir.” Can I really see this through? This lethal dom wasn’t anything like the ones she’d played with in the downtown clubs. Fear wavered inside her, and she shoved it away. Mostly.

She saw his gaze on her and realized her fingers were tracing the scar on her cheek. He pulled her hand down and enfolded it in his warm one. “Gabrielle, do you have a problem with bondage you didn’t mention on the application?” he asked.

“No, Sir.” When he didn’t move, she added, “Really. I’m just a little nervous, Sir.”

“All right then.” He walked to the wall, and the chains attached to her wrist cuffs began to tighten, pulling her arms over her head. He stopped before she had to go up on tiptoe.

She tried to be grateful for the small concession, but suddenly she felt…naked. Really naked, much more than when she’d taken off her clothes. Then she’d worried about how she looked. Now…now she felt the intensity of his gaze as he strolled around her again.

“What…what are you going to do?”

“I’m fixin’ to acquaint myself with my new trainee’s body as we have a chat.”

* * * * *

Buy from Loose Id

Read more from Cherise her website:
Dominant Males, Sizzling Tales
Author of Masters of the Shadowlands series

December 15, 2010

Furbabies and Writers by Cherise Sinclair

Filed under: Writing life — dangerouslysexy @ 04:00
Tags: , , , ,

Why your human writers should include pets in their stories

–an instructional article for fellow felines by the Calico – aka She Who Rules

I’ve been supervising my human’s reading material recently. I’m distressed at how many stories lack the most important characters of all–the pets. Yes, I realize that animals should be charitable toward their human’s short-sighted natures–after all, they can’t even see in the dark–nonetheless, a book should reflect the world, and in America, over sixty percent of American households contain a pet.

So why have I found books where none of the major characters own a cat or even–if they must display such poor taste–a dog? Truly, humans do need direction.

Being of a literary nature, I have assisted my human with this simple task. She tends to start off a story with boring humans…the hero, the heroine, and various two-legged friends. Bleah. If she continues with her narrow-minded plotting too long, I put my paw down. Usually no more is needed. Remember to show patience; use claws only if your human ignores to ignore a mild admonition. Disembowelment for a first offense is excessive. (yes, I’m talking about you, Mittens)

Below, I will list several ways in which an animal brings a story to life, so you can instruct your human. As kittens learn best by watching it done correctly, I will also provide examples for you.

To enhance a personality: Have you even noticed how two-dimensional some humans *cough* I mean, characters–can be? As I’ve shown Cherise, having a hero own a pet adds another, very appealing dimension. For example, in Club Shadowlands, Master Z appears like this:

Smooth black hair, silvering at the temples, just touching his collar. Dark gray eyes with laugh lines at the corners. A lean, hard face with the shadow of a beard adding a hint of roughness. He wore tailored black slacks and a black silk shirt that outlined hard muscles underneath. If Ben was a Rottweiler, this guy was a jaguar, sleek and deadly.”

[As an aside, I rather liked the above comparison–Cherise thought of it all by herself. I was quite proud and brought her a wonderful helping of nice, warm mouse guts to reward her. Please note that it’s almost as important to reward a two-legger as it is to reprimand her. ]

So, we now have a rich, good-looking human. Nice enough writing, but we can do better. Add in a feline to give him a history and a soft heart:

“Ah, about time. I was wondering if you were going to make an appearance,” Sir said to the cat, kneeling to pet it. He looked up. “May I introduce Galahad?”

“Galahad?” she said in disbelief. That had to be the biggest and ugliest cat she’d ever seen, and she’d seen some monsters at the shelter.

“He’s a very chivalrous fellow.”

Jessica knelt on the floor and held out a finger to be delicately sniffed. In approval, the cat nudged her hand, curveted closer to be petted. “You must be quite a fighter.” She frowned at the chewed-on ears and scarred nose.

“He’s been with me about five years, ever since I found him raiding the garbage cans. He was big then, has grown even more since.”

She would never have picked him as a person who would adopt a stray cat. She didn’t know him at all, did she?

To liven up a thinking scene: How often are there tedious scenes where the characters are simply sitting and thinking? Not even grooming–appalling, isn’t it? It’s much more interesting if the heroine has a pet to give her some advice since, face it, humans are notoriously lacking in common sense.

Even if Jake had come, she wasn’t going to roll over like an idiot dog who’d love a person no matter how badly he treated it. She stopped beside Mufasa. “I’m no dog—I’m a cat. Kick me and I’ll walk away, right, Mufasa?”

A furry head butted her leg in agreement.

To improve descriptions: Do the descriptions of hero or heroine lack a certain oomph? Comparing an animal to a human can be revealing. I fear the human usually comes off less appealing than the pet, but, as I’ve said before, stories should be based on reality.

Here’s Logan from Master of the Mountain:

“Right.” She forced her feet forward, one hard-won step after another. Where was the dog? As the man behind the desk shook hands with Matt, Rebecca checked the floor. There. Standing beside the man, it looked huge, with dark brown fur and a darker muzzle. It stared at her, and she heard another rumble.

“Thor,” the man said, his low voice almost a match for the dog’s. “Down.”

The dog flattened to the floor. It never stopped looking at her, though.

“Rebecca, eyes on me, not the dog.” The deep, rough voice broke her free, and she turned to the owner. He looked as mean as his dog, with steel blue eyes in a deeply tanned face—a ruthless face decorated with a day-old beard and a white scar below his left cheekbone. After handing her a pen, he tapped the paper in front of him. “Name and address. Signature on the release.”

My human does struggle sometimes against my gentle direction. For example, she’d planned a simple Dom finds sub in his private dungeon-type story. Very straight-forward–can we say boring? I pointed out that the plot needed a reason for the rich Dominant to have a middle-class submissive in his home. After a little prodding and effort on my part (tail-lashings, ignoring her presence, hacking up hairballs) Cherise gave in. She came up with a rather brilliant reason: to take care of the owner’s dog. I did feel it was a shame she used a dog, but logical–no self-respecting feline would need a babysitter.

So the heroine became a veterinarian, and that led to a fine parade of animals through the story. I did have to throw a hissy fit to get a feline added. Really, a cat can enhance the showing of a character’s problems and back story far better than any drooling canine. Here’s Mac and Alex in The Dom’s Dungeon:

To top off the wreck of her day, she heard footsteps. Alex was home.

And this wasn’t her home. What was I thinking?

Her stomach sank. He’d probably order her right out of his house. The clawing worry in her stomach duplicated the tiny claws digging into her forearm. The kitten had seen Butler.

“Easy, kitling,” she murmured. “I don’t think he eats cats.” But she didn’t know, now did she? “Butler,” she said firmly. “Behave.” She turned so the cat was out of the dog’s sight and vice versa.

Alex walked around the corner with that easy grace and power, and her heart did that funny dip like it did every time she saw him. Maybe she had a heart condition.

“How did the day go?” he asked; then his eyes narrowed, and he moved forward. “What’s wrong, little vet?”

Caught. Caught dead to rights. When she was a kid, she’d rescued a half-starved puppy and brought it to the foster home. Arlene had thrown it out. “This is my home, not yours.” That night, Mac had sneaked out and found the puppy still in the front yard. So little. All bones and big eyes. She’d carried him across town to the animal rescue and cried all the way back. You would think she’d have learned.

Of course, Alex liked animals. Maybe… Her stomach tightened, and she looked down. Anything to avoid his eyes. This was Alex’s home. Not hers. If he liked cats, he’d have one.

He huffed a laugh, and she looked up in time to get a firm kiss on her lips. “I’m not sure which of you is shaking harder,” he murmured, disengaging the kitten’s claws with an easy competence. “Butler, lie down,” he ordered absently when the dog’s approach triggered a tiny hiss.

“I’m sorry,” Mac whispered, looking at the antique furnishings. “It’s just for tonight, and then I’ll try to find him a home. He was in the middle of Mercer Street, and I couldn’t leave him. If you don’t want him in the house, then…” Maybe she could sneak him into a motel.

He gave her a puzzled look. “MacKensie, if you could have left a kitten in the middle of the road, then you aren’t the woman I thought you were.”

See? Now didn’t that add a lot to MacKensie’s and Alex’s characters?

Finally, a word of warning. If and when pets get added into stories, do NOT let your human forget them. All too often an appealing pet appears in a story, but, as the idiotic author gets wrapped up in the romance, the animal disappears. Excuse my hissing, but that’s as disgusting as when a two-legger forgets mealtimes.

I realize the sacrifice I’m asking you all to make, but my friends, it’s imperative to keep an eye on your human writers. For example, Cherise once tried to write a story without consulting me, and obviously needed closer supervision. So I now spend my days warming my paws on her lap. She’s learned to type with one arm pinned under my body–even old humans can be taught new tricks–and if she doesn’t remember to pet me in repayment for my dedication to duty, I flick my tail against the screen. (Have you ever noticed how effective a tail is when used on the tailless? Be sure to teach this to your kittens.)

Well, if you’ll excuse us, I believe this article can come to an end. And I need to reward my human for her dedication to duty. Hmm. Perhaps I’ll let her feed me some of that chicken she cooked last night.

For the latest on what Cherise is up to visit her website

November 15, 2010

The Trouble With Doms by Cherise Sinclair

You’re just jealous because the voices in my head only talk to ME. — Bumper Sticker

Do your characters talk to you? Argue with you? Demand their own way?

Okay, maybe my heroes are a little pushier than some. I write about Doms, after all. Uber-dominant men who not only look at a woman with appreciation, but also tend to visualize what she’d look like with leather cuffs around those pretty wrists, or how her voice will sound as she whimpers and begs to come. No, they’re not your everyday, “she’s got a great rack” guys.

So that means when they start wanting their own way, their author (who unfortunately happens to be submissive) is in serious trouble. Do you realize how difficult it is to say no to a Dom who just happens to be tapping a cane against his palm? Uh, yeah. Sure, it’s just my imagination, but hello? They *live* in my head.

For example, I’m all comfy in my chair, writing Simon’s story for Doms of Dark Haven, and quite pleased with my progress. Not bad at all, really. He’s in the BDSM club and has the heroine restrained with her arms over her head. He’s checking to see how she reacts to him and what kind of play interests her. The scene is unfolding nicely…

“You are a sweet one,” he murmured and took her face between his hands, holding her as his mouth urged hers open. He kissed her slowly. Deeply. Thoroughly.

With her wrists restrained, she was at his mercy, and the knowledge sent anticipation humming through her system.

He lifted his head to look at her for a long moment, then smiled and kissed her again until every drop of blood pooled in her lower half. Her body throbbed for more.

He moved a fraction of an inch back and caressed her cheek. “Where did I leave off? Ah, there are a variety of toys for fun like…a dildo. A vibrator. An anal plug.”

Just the thought of someone using those on her made her squirm. “Maybe.”

One side of his mouth curved up in a slight smile. “That was more than a maybe, lass. Have you ever used an anal plug?”

Her backside tensed, but with her hands chained over her head, she couldn’t cover…anything. “No.”

“I look forward to seeing your reaction.”

* * *

Just then, I feel a hand curve around the nape of my neck, and there’s Master Simon leaning on my chair, reading over my shoulder. “Not bad, Cherise, but I happen to like more variety. Let’s see how Rona feels about something a little out of the ordinary.

Oh man, here we go again. I roll my eyes. “Simon, why don’t you just let me write this and –“

A warm hand cups my cheek, forcing me to look up into narrowed dark eyes, to see how the muscle in his cheek has tightened…

“Yes, Sir.” Hell, there goes the entire rest of the scene that I’d plotted out. “What did you have in mind?”

“I like cupping.”

“You mean like those glass suction cups? Do you know how tricky that would be to…”

His chin raises a half-inch.

Hell. I sigh. “Yes, Sir. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Good girl.”

And I start typing again…Master Simon is still standing in front of Rona, but I sure hadn’t planned that he’d be quizzing her about this:

* * *

“Did you happen to see the cupping earlier?” Master Simon asks softly.

Oh, she’d definitely seen that one. “Yes.” Her voice came out husky.

He raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. And where else do you think a master might apply those cups?”

The dom had put them on his sub’s back, but she’d imagined them on her nipples or even…on her clit. A wave of heat rolled into her face, as inevitable as the sun in summer.

He chuckled. “I’ll enjoy that almost as much as you will.”

“I didn’t say yes.” She hadn’t, dammit.

“You didn’t have to.” He grasped the ribbon at the top of her chemise and pulled it open. Her nipples puckered.

* * *

Thank God, my heroines aren’t nearly as bad–aside from their tendency to wait until the story is half-way done before mentioning little problems. Like they can’t tolerate locked doors because of being shut in a closet in foster care. Or that their father made fun of their weight. But really that’s entirely different. They can’t change what happened in their past, and they don’t demand that I indulge their whims.

No, my damn heroes do that. For example, in Breaking Free, Nolan isn’t what anyone would call a sweetie-pie:

She looked at the Dom. Everything about him seemed hard. Mean. At least six feet tall, broad shouldered, thickly muscled. His darkly tanned face was the reddish-bronze of Native American ancestry. His eyes were black. Reaching his upper back, straight coal-colored hair, exactly as long as hers, had been tied with a leather band. A long white scar ran over his left cheekbone. She winced, knowing exactly how that must have felt.

His menacing gaze ran over her slowly, inch by inch. He didn’t miss anything; his eyes lingered on her scars, her breasts, her legs. At least she still had on some clothes, was all she could think. What would he do to her? If he whipped her, she’d leave. She’d have to leave. She bit her lip to hide its tremble.

* * *

He’s a focused, determined man, right? So how dare he inform me that he loves giving parties–BDSM parties–and setting up competitions between the submissives. I’ve got the suspense coiling up, the romance heating up…and he wants to give a party? Excuse me?

Guess who won that argument? Hint: it wasn’t me…

* * *

He turned to Dan and Cullen. “Here’s the rules for the second half of the game.” He pointed to the baskets beside each chair. “You each have a basket of toys. We’ll start with the vibrator.” He reached into his basket and pulled out the garish purple and green bullet, trying not to smile at Beth’s worried look. She definitely hadn’t been to a play party before. “Lay back, sugar.”

He could see her desire to say no, even though her nipples tightened. Slowly she lay back on the beach towel. In the sunlight, her blue-green eyes were clear as glass as she watched him warily.

“Relax. This won’t hurt a bit.” He grasped her ankles, spread her legs apart, and knelt between them. She was very wet. Still enlarged, her clit glistened, slightly reddened from the flogger, and just begging for attention. Not yet. He slid the purple bullet into her vagina. Enjoying her squirming, he made sure the curved form would hit her G-spot.

Rising, he pulled her to her feet and instructed the others. “Attach the remote to your sub on the side and out of the way.” Using bondage tape, he secured the small box to Beth’s waist.

Once everyone was ready, he continued. “Subs, you’ve been rehydrated, but your Doms are thirsty.” He pointed to the other side of the pool. “There’re drinks over there. Master Dan gets water, Master Cullen gets dark beer, and I get light beer. When you fetch the drinks, go in alphabetical order: Beth, Deb, Kari. Take the next cup in line and serve it to the correct master. Don’t serve the wrong drink to the wrong master or that master will spank you.”

* * *

It’s a hard, hard life, being a writer. There are too many voices rumbling around in an author’s brain, each character demanding his own way. Sometimes they argue with each other. Truly, it could drive a person just plain nuts.

With my luck, the psychiatrist will be a Dom.

Find out more about Cherise Sinclair’s dominant males and sizzling tales

October 26, 2010

Master of the Abyss by Cherise Sinclair

Filed under: New Release — dangerouslysexy @ 04:00
Tags: , , , ,


On the mountain, the watcher seeks out evil women. And then they die.

Two years ago, when Jake Hunt uncollared his slave, she committed suicide. Guilt-ridden, he will commit to a woman for one night only, devoting his energy to a mountain lodge that caters to a BDSM crowd.

Kallie Masterson is tough. Unwanted as a child, she worked hard to become a wilderness guide. She’s proud of who she is, and hurt that Jake frowns on her for acting like a man.

After rescuing the macho guide from a bar fight, Jake is stunned that the ugly men’s clothing hides a warm, responsive woman. A submissive woman. When guide business brings her to the lodge on BDSM night, and she is obviously aroused by the play, Jake takes the little sub right into his world of pain and pleasure. He warns her: one night only. But she responds so beautifully — so joyously — under his command, that one night soon becomes two, then three…

Then a missing hiker reminds Jake of his past lover, and he realizes he’s become too involved. He pulls back.

Meanwhile, the watcher on the mountain has rendered his verdict: Kallie Masterson is evil. The sentence: Death.


“Uh.” Kallie’s face heated. Why couldn’t those floorboards crack open and let her disappear? Where was a good earthquake when you needed one? How much had he heard?

“Yes, Kallie, you do resemble her,” he said in an even tone. He’d definitely caught Simon’s comment. Her face was probably red enough to light the room.

“Oh. Well.” I look like an old girlfriend. Reassuring at first, then rather uncomfortable.

He set his foot on the couch beside her hip and leaned forward, his forearms braced on his knee, studying her until she had to force herself not to squirm. His masculine scent had the tang of a high mountain forest, clean and compelling, but he was intimidatingly close. She edged back against the couch cushions, realizing that after flinging her to the wolves, to Jake, Simon had abandoned her without a word. Her heart thudded inside her chest, more loudly than any spanking or whipping going on.

“I had planned to leave you alone,” he said, half under his breath.

Well, that hurt. “Then go.” She made a shooing motion with her fingers.

“But then you planted yourself in here. Asked questions.”

“I won’t ask any more.” If her heart would only slow down, she’d be able to think. “I don’t want to know anything at all about you or your girlfriend, okay?”

“She was also my submissive,” he said, his voice deep. Rough as a talus slope and as dangerous. “I was her master. Do you know what that means, sprite?”

Mouth too dry to answer, Kallie shook her head. Master?

He stroked one finger along her jaw, slowly enough that she could feel the warmth, the uneven skin of a man who worked with his hands. The strength. “I like the way you heat under my touch,” he murmured, then looked Kallie right in the eyes. “It means she did what I ordered her to do. Always. If I told her to strip and bend over the bed so I could take her from behind, that’s what she did.”

She could feel how his hands would hold her in place, his cock hard between her legs, demanding entry and… The air had completely disappeared from the room.

He gripped her chin, keeping her head tilted up, revealing her face. “I could tell her to lie on the bed with her legs spread, and no matter what I did, no matter how long, she wasn’t allowed to come.”

Kallie felt a burn start in her nether regions. And couldn’t help wondering what he had done. How had he touched her?

His eyes crinkled, and he rubbed his knuckles over her cheek. “You’re flushed, little Kallie.”

“I…” She put up a hand to push his away.

“Don’t. Move.” The command swept over her like a strong gale bending the trees in its path, pinning her into stillness. Her body froze…and yet grew even more sensitive. Awake. In fact, she’d never felt like this before…and he’d not even done anything.

He chuckled. “Little submissive.” With both hands, he grasped the front of her shirt and pulled her to her feet. “Simon was right. You do want to play.” It wasn’t a question.

Her heart pounding, her eyes captured by his, she tried to back away, shaking her head. “No. No, really.”

“Don’t lie to me, Kallie,” he said ever so softly, yet all the spit in her mouth dried up.

She averted her gaze and tried to think. She’d wanted him since the first time she saw him. Now she might have him. But here? How brave was she?

She’d never deliberately done anything really outrageous in her whole life, always tried to fit in and not rock the boat. But right now she wanted to swamp the boat completely. If she did some “you know” with Jake this one time, her cousins would never find out. Her lips curved up. And my dreams will be very interesting. God, yes, I want to try it. But when she looked back at him, at his level gaze, the words stuck in her throat, and she managed only a firm nod.

“Good enough.” His sky blue eyes darkened as if storm clouds had rolled in. “We’re playing together only this one time. Only tonight.”

“I know.” Jake Hunt’s infamous “one night only” rule. With the women he dated, months would go by before he’d call again, and everyone knew he wanted physical intimacy without emotional commitment. But at least he didn’t try to lie about it like some guys. She could handle it. “Not a problem.”

He studied her for a long moment, as if to judge her sincerity. “All right then.” One corner of his mouth turned up, his dark five-o’clock shadow making the half smile look dangerous. “Let’s start with this.” He grasped her country-western shirt, and the snaps spatted like gunfire as he yanked it open.

“Hey!” The air brushed against her hot skin, and she grabbed at the shirtfront.

“Leave it open, sprite. Happens that I like skin.” His devastating grin flashed, halting every single protest. Why did he have to be so gorgeous? “Now let’s find out what you like.” He turned, pulling her in front of him so that her back rested against his chest.

Kallie gulped when she realized he’d turned her to face the woman on the coffee table.

The redhead was still restrained, stomach down. One of the dom’s hands was between her legs, his fingers obviously inside her, thrusting in and out. With his other hand, he alternated swats on her butt cheeks. Hips bucking, she pulled against the restraints.

Kallie’s heart started to pound. She could almost feel the fingers pressing inside her, the stinging of the spanking, and she shook her head. This was way too…too…something. She tried to turn away.

Jake clamped his arm around her waist, an iron bar holding her pinned against him. “Watch, Kallie.” His warm breath brushed her ear.

The woman’s voice kept getting higher — “Oh, Sir. Oh, oh, oh.” — until she climaxed with a scream, her head back and spine arching.

Kallie realized she was panting, and heat pulsed through her with every inhalation. “Let me go.” Her voice came out husky.

“Nope.” He closed his teeth on the muscle between her shoulder and neck, and she gasped as electricity streaked to her groin.

“You’re just full of surprises,” Jake murmured.

No, he was the surprising one. Despite her hot, erotic dreams of him, she’d figured he’d never see her as a woman. He didn’t like her — he hadn’t liked her –so why had he changed his mind? Worry niggled in her stomach like hungry lake trout. “I’m not your old girlfriend.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, his voice a deep, warm rumble in her ear. He splayed his hand, hot and hard, against her bare stomach.

Every bone in her body dissolved.

But did he understand what she was saying? She tried again. “I’m not her.” And I don’t want to be a substitute for some old girlfriend.

He huffed a laugh. “You sure don’t have her personality.”

That didn’t sound like a compliment.

“Don’t worry. I know you’re Kallie ‘Macho’ Masterson.”

Despite the insulting term, warmth bloomed in her. He had actually, finally, seen her.

He slid his hand beneath her jeans waistband until his fingers rested at the top of her mound, and as with a match held to dry grass, flames erupted inside her. He pressed her back against him, and she could feel the bulge of his erection. Hard. He wanted her. Pleasure warmed her heart. He really did.

Her breath caught as his other hand slid under her bra, settling right over her breast. Her very small breast. She stiffened and tried to pull away, expecting the usual stupid guy’s comment: “Why do you bother with a bra?”

Instead he tightened his arms. “Don’t move, sub.”

The firm command sent heat streaking across her skin. She tried to move — couldn’t — and with the feeling of being immobilized came the realization that he could do…anything. Her insides melted into warm liquid.

He chuckled and bit her earlobe. The sharp, unexpected pain sheared straight to her pussy, and a moan escaped her.

“I think I’ll enjoy tonight after all,” he murmured. “So, short stuff, have you tried anything like this before?”

She barely kept from rubbing against him like a cat. Touch me. Why did he keep talking? Asking a question she didn’t want to answer. But his expectant silence forced a reply. “A few times. But I never liked it.” She’d known this was too good to be true. Be fair to him, Kallie. She added reluctantly, “I’m not submissive or anything, so it’s okay if you find someone else.”

“Sure you’re not.” He slid his hand another inch, one finger on each side of her labia. So close to her clit that she had trouble paying attention to anything but the throbbing bundle of nerves.

“Tell me about those times. What did you do?”

Her brain didn’t want to work. “I… One wanted to handcuff me to the bed, and I wouldn’t let him…although it had sounded exciting at first. Another tried to spank me, and I couldn’t stop giggling.” What else? “Um, pretty much that kind of stuff.”

“Uh-huh. Sounds like no trust and no true submission.” He turned her around.

The removal of his warm hands left behind cold places on her skin, and she ached down below like she’d wrenched something in a place where things didn’t get sprained. He’ll tell me to go home now; I should have lied.

He closed his hands on her shoulders. “How much do you trust me, Kallie?”

The question was unexpected, and she had to shift directions. Want, yes. But trust? “I –”

“Let me rephrase that. Can you trust me in here, surrounded by other people, to restrain you, spank you, and give you pleasure?”

Her mouth went dry. The thought of him — Jake — his hands on her, tying her, touching her… She frowned. But spanking?

His eyes crinkled. “You wear your emotions right out there on your face, don’t you, sugar?”

She thought of the dom and his sub, how he’d brought her to climax with his fingers. “Does pleasure mean us both or just me?”

“Well, now” — he slowly stroked his finger down her cheek, his gaze intent on her face — “I figured on just you, using my hands.”

The words welled up like a balloon expanding in her chest. “I want more; I want you in –” Couldn’t say it; just couldn’t… “Um.”

“You want my cock inside you. Is that what you mean?”

Run over and buy your copy of Master of the Abyss

September 8, 2010

Meet Cherise Sinclair by Evanne Lorraine

Filed under: Who we are — dangerouslysexy @ 04:00
Tags: , , , , , ,

The lovely Ms. Sinclair spends her days spreading cheer and comfort among the ill, the tired, and the huddled masses. All in a day’s work for this gracious wife, mother, and cat slave. Despite her many duties, night after night she applies her nimble fingers to the keyboard to produce another erotic masterpiece.

Her stories are beautifully written with endearing characters and abundant charm. Each new tale pulls me into an exciting world of masterful Doms and subs that wield more power than they realize. She does all this without ever making the reader feel lost or uncomfortable, except in the best possible way.

Simply because it was the first one I read and there’s no other way to pick which of her titles is best, my personal favorite is Club Shadowlands, Jessica is wonderful, brave, and funny. I adore Master Z. He’s tough, kind, and sexy–everything I want in a Dom and a hero. But then they all are when Cherise writes them.

You can read more about Cherise Sinclair and her stories at: Cherise Sinclair

I’m saving her latest release, Starlight Rite to read when I need to escape into a great fantasy.

Her voice is known throughout the galaxy; her face is completely unknown.

Fleeing her monstrous husband back on puritanical Earth and the police assassins he’s hired, singer Mella Archer becomes stranded on the frontier planet of Nexus. Desperate to survive, she picks the wrong target–Dain, the head of planetary security.

Dain is amused by the attempted theft, and when Mella is sentenced to serve time indentured as a bedroom slave, he buys her contract. As he introduces the repressed Earther to the pleasures of sex with a dominating warrior, he slowly comes to realize that the little thief has stolen his heart.

When the monster arrives on Nexus and has lunch with Dain, Mella is panic-stricken. Her owner must be part of the conspiracy to kill her, and it will only be a matter of time before the monster discovers that she’s still alive. She attempts to escape. She fails. Embittered by her lies and mistrust, Dain returns her to Indenture Hall to be sold again.

Now the monster has found her. And she has nowhere left to run…

Publisher’s Note: This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable: Anal play/intercourse, BDSM theme and elements (including/not limited to: bondage, caning, spanking), dubious consent.


Down the hallway waited a line of men and women attired in red tunics with white trim. Handler beckoned to a stocky man a few years older than Mella. “Abel. This one prepare for auction today.”

“Yes, Handler. Full prep?” The way Abel’s full lips curved into a pleased smile made Mella’s heart sink.

“No skills has she. Full prep.”

The first room Abel took her to held a huge open shower. “Strip. Leave your clothing on the bench. Clean yourself.” He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms.

He planned to watch her? Her hands went cold. “I can shower alone,” she said, lifting her chin and giving him a frosty look. “Go outside.”

“Doesn’t work that way, girl,” he said. “Get used to it, and fast.”

She glared at him.

“You know why Handler picked me to process you?”

She shook her head, too angry and too scared to speak.

“Because the sooner you get used to a man’s look — and touch — the better.”

Even though she’d known something like this would happen, she felt the blood leaving her head. No one had seen her naked since she was a child.

“Strip and shower.” He touched the three-foot metal rod hanging from his belt. “Next time you disobey, I’ll use this.” His eyes brightened, as if the thought of hitting her pleased him.

She had no choice. Mouth tight, she turned her back to him. After ensuring the monster’s last message to her was safely buttoned in a pocket, she pulled her clothing off. Naked, she walked into the shower, and the spray came on. His gaze made her skin crawl. A dispenser slid out of the wall, and she used the unscented soap. Quickly. She ignored how good the warm water felt. Maybe if she stank, she’d go to the mines and not some whorehouse.

“Enough. This is just to get you clean for the doctor’s exam.” The man jerked his head toward a small cubicle. When she stepped in, warm air blew out of numerous jets, drying her body. Her wet hair tangled over her shoulders when he pulled her back out. Naked.

“Next stop, the doctor.”

“What about my clothes?”

“You’ll get them back after your indenture is up.” He grinned, his gaze running up and down her body. “Slaves wear clothing provided by their owners. You have no owner yet, so no clothes.”

But…the holocard. Her proof of Nathan’s guilt. Her fingers twitched, and then she crossed her arms over her bare chest. Perhaps it would be safer here, locked away. Who knew what might happen to her belongings once someone bought her? “I understand.” Resigned, she followed Abel down a long hallway.

As Mella stared at the stained wall, a female physician examined her, poking fingers into her mouth, checking her heart and lungs, and examining her private areas as if she were an animal. After using a small scanner, the doctor passed her back to Abel, saying, “No disease. Healthy and strong, if a bit undernourished. Not a virgin. No pregnancies. The report for the buyer will be ready in a few minutes.”

And my teeth are fine.

Abel nodded, grasping Mella’s upper arm. When his fingers brushed the side of her breast, she tried to step back. “Nope, don’t bother, girl. Each time you flinch away, I’ll touch you more.” Still holding her arm, he ran his hand over her bare breasts.

Horror streaking through her, she gasped and hit him in the face as hard as she could. After yanking her arm from his grasp, she turned to run and got two steps.

His rod slapped against her leg.

Pain. Her muscles convulsed. Agony seared her body. She couldn’t even scream. When he pulled the device away, she crumpled to the floor.

He dragged her to her feet and waited until her legs stopped shaking. Stabs of pain shot through her with every movement.

“The z-rod has a charge in it, and that was the lowest setting,” he said. “Every person in processing and auctioning carries one.” And then, as she stood stiffly, he ran his hands over her breasts again.

She didn’t flinch, although her teeth gritted together so hard, she heard a grinding noise.

He patted her cheek. “Doncha worry, girl. Next time someone does this, you’re going to beg for more.”

He was wrong. He was totally wrong.

The next room contained attendants clustered by a round pool to the right. The left held more staff and several long tables with slaves lying on them. The people looked at her. When she moved her hands to cover herself, they laughed. Abel pushed her forward.

In the warm pool, attendants with soft brushes scoured Mella cleaner than the shower had. No wonder Abel hadn’t cared how well she washed. They shampooed and conditioned her hair again, then dried it and brushed the snarls out until it flowed silky smooth down her back. The lotion they used bore the light, airy fragrance of Nexan flowers, one of their prime exports. At each stage, the attendants handled her indifferently, treating her body as if they’d never heard of privacy. Other women and men also were being cleansed in an assembly-line fashion.

When the attendants finished, Abel led her across the room to a table much like a doctor’s exam table. “Sit here for a second.”

She gave him a suspicious look. “What now?”

“A word to the wise, girl. Your future owner will punish you for speaking without permission.”

An older man with dark brown eyes hurried over to them. Behind him followed a female attendant carrying a tray with a glass of fluid, a small jar, and some odd-looking machinelike things. Mella wrapped her arms around herself and stepped back. Dear Prophet. What were they planning to do now?

With a friendly smile, the female attendant handed her the drink.

“What’s in it?” Mella asked, peering into the glass. “Some tranquilizer?”

Abel shook his head. “I promise there’s no sedative or tranquilizer in there. It’s fruit juice. You’ll stay on the stage until someone buys you. The temperature is warm outside, and the Indenture Hall doesn’t let their merchandise get dehydrated.”

She eyed the glass. Her mouth felt like the Sahara in summer. With a sigh, she drank it. Sweet, almost like apple juice.

“Lie down, please,” the old man said.

Naked, on that table? She scowled at him. “No way, I –”

Abel slapped the rod at his side.

She lay back, the leather cold against her bare skin. Her breath quickened when Abel pulled a wide strap across her biceps and chest. Another one went over her forearms and stomach, almost too tight, and she began to panic. She couldn’t move. “Let me go.” She struggled within the restraints, jerking from side to side to try to loosen the straps, but nothing gave.

Ignoring Mella’s thrashing, the attendant helped Abel secure each of Mella’s legs. Then to her horror, the lower part of the table separated, splitting her legs apart into a V shape. She strained against the straps, futilely trying to draw her thighs together. She subsided, panting. Cold air brushed her private areas and made her shiver.

After pulling a chair forward, the older man sat between her legs, and she felt something warm moving slowly across her outer lips, tingling slightly. A depilator, she realized. He was removing the hair from down there as if she were a man with a beard. This was so, so wrong. She shuddered uncontrollably as the thing moved over her.

Abel and the attendant pulled her buttocks apart, and the depilator worked farther down, closer to her ass.

“There,” the man said. “All bare. She’s quite pale skinned, isn’t she? I like the pink coloration.”

“Short and round and pale — very exotic. She’ll bring a good price.” Abel took a scoop of lotion and rubbed it onto her nipples.

The man patted her down below, and she jumped at the feel of his warm hand on her bare skin. “Very soft. Yes, she’ll be popular. Give me the lotion.” The man dipped his hand into the jar and spread the cool lotion all over the shaved area, rubbing it in thoroughly.

The sensation was so…different with no hair between his fingers and her skin. She tried to squirm against the sensations beginning to roll through her at his intimate touch but couldn’t move.

“She’s starting to feel it,” he said to Abel and patted her bare leg. “Get her up onto the stage.”

* * * * *

Unhindered by the dry desert air, the sun scorched Mella’s skin as Abel led her outside into the noisy plaza. Stores lined three sides of the market area, and the far end held the colorful booths of the ship traders. Shouting and bargaining filled the edges of the square, and laughter came from children playing tag in the center near a fountain. The fragrances of spice, sweat, perfumes, and cooking food mingled in the air.

Outside the Indenture Hall stood the two auction stages, nearly filled with slaves, all tall and thin and dark. Typical Nexans. When the crowd around the wooden platforms turned to watch Mella, she flushed, all too aware of her nakedness and the way her full breasts jiggled with her walk. When she tried to hang back, Abel’s grip on her arm tightened. He pulled her past the first platform crammed with muscular naked men and women.

“Good workers. Be able to work from dawn to dusk. Healthy specimens,” the auctioneer on the stage yelled to the crowd.

Mella tried to stop Abel. “Put me up there. I want to be a worker.”

He laughed. “You don’t have the muscles to work the mines, and you wouldn’t bring nearly the price as a worker as you will as an unshuline. Sorry, girl.” He dragged her to a platform, which held tall, dark-haired women and one slender, pretty man — all Nexan. Two of the women stood quietly; two more had their arms chained overhead.

Chained and naked? Mella yanked against Abel’s grip. “Let me go. You can’t do this to me.”

One of the market staff in the distinctive red tunic trotted over. Abel pushed her to him. “She’s not cooperative. Don’t leave her unchained.”

“Thanks for the warning,” the man said. His hand, twice as big as Abel’s, wrapped firmly around her arm. “Come, little miss.”

He pushed her up the stairs onto the stage, and she heard the customers laugh as she struggled. Terror like a cold wave rushed through her, and her skin went clammy, despite the heat. Another muscular staff member hurried forward, and ignoring her struggles, the two men lifted her hands, clipping the snap ring on her cuffs to chains dangling from a bar spanning the length of the stage. She glared at them, pleased to see she’d scratched one man’s face. She tugged at the restraints. Nothing gave. How can this be happening?

To make everything worse, they knelt and cuffed her ankles too, pulling her legs wide open and fastening the cuffs to rings embedded in the stage floor. As they stood, one called, “Ready for viewing, Master Lucan.”

The tall, emaciated auctioneer strolled over and walked around her as he consulted the infounit in his hand, touching the keys to check the information. “Thirty-nine days. Healthy. She’ll bring a nice price.” To her horror, he fondled her breasts, ran his hand down her stomach, pressed between her legs, and even stuck a finger inside her. “Wet already.”

She felt herself quicken to his touch. Her hips uncontrollably tilted into his hand. “No,” she whispered as her breasts tightened to hard nubs. Her whole body felt sensitive. Even the gentle breeze that brushed against her skin increased her arousal.

He grinned and tapped her cheek. “You can’t fight it, little missy. We lace the drinks with an aphrodisiac, and the lotion on your skin contains something to make you very, very sensitive.” To illustrate, he ran a finger around her nipple, and the feeling shot straight to her groin.

She clenched her teeth to contain a moan. Sweat beaded on her brow.

The auctioneer turned to the crowd. “The slaves are ready for your inspection, gentle sirs.”

The stage filled with men and a few women, who walked around the slaves and examined them. A swarthy man in his sixties walked up to Mella. “Love the coloring,” he said to the auctioneer. “Look at how pink her nipples are.” He pinched one, and Mella squirmed as a craving for more filled her. “Ah, she’s a hot one.”

After a moment, never letting loose her nipple, he shook his head. “Too much energy for me. I prefer someone quieter.” He moved toward one of the unchained women.

Engulfed in a haze of need that heightened with each intimate touch, Mella lost track of the men and women. Some stroked her breasts. Some touched the V between her legs so intimately that she pushed against their hands, whimpering. One made the attendants lower her chained hands and bend her forward so he could probe her rectum. “Not used there before, I see. I’d enjoy instructing her in the delights.” He pressed a finger inside her, and she could only quiver with shock and hunger.

Returned to her standing position, she closed her eyes, wanting only to shut it all out. Yet her private areas throbbed, needing something so badly she could scream. A warm hand cupped her face, and she inhaled a familiar scent — light citrus, soap, and man. It was —

“Sleeping on the job, little thief?”

She opened her eyes to see Kinae Dain smiling at her, amusement in his gaze. Glaring at him, she snarled, “Go away. If you’d just let me go, I’d be free now. Not left here for brutes to maul.”

“Ah. I am sworn to uphold the law. Setting you free would have forced me to break my oath, and that I will not do.”

A man with honor? One who kept his promises? She found truth in his level gaze. He was no skulking coward like Nathan, but she hated the Nexan anyway. She tried to pull her face away, but he wouldn’t release her.

“I haven’t bought an indentured slave for several years, and never an unshuline. But looking at you…” His smile flashed white in the darkly tanned face, and crinkles appeared around his eyes, making him seem human, real, for the first time. “Looking at you, I’m thinking that I might enjoy your company.”

“You just want a body to have intercourse with.”

He tilted his head. “Well, yes, that is part of it. You have a lush body crying out to be savored.” Holding her gaze, he slid his hand from her face, down her sensitive skin, past her collarbone. Lifting one of her heavy breasts, he cradled it in his palm and rubbed his thumb over her peaked nipple. A surge of pleasure washed through her, and her eyes half closed as he continued the sensual assault. His other hand touched her lower, hard fingers stroking through her wetness.

She moaned, pressing against his touch, and her wanton actions horrified her.

Hand still pressed between her legs, he moved close enough for her to feel the warmth of his body and see a thin white scar over his eyebrow, another on his chin. “You think about it, Mella. I don’t whip my people or mistreat them. If you want to come home with me for your term, I’ll buy your contract…but you will be an unshuline, and I’ll expect you to uphold your part of the bargain.”

“I’ll rot in hell first,” she hissed.

Shaking his head, he stepped back, and she almost cried at the removal of his touch. Her hips tilted forward involuntarily, and when he saw the movement, he only smiled. “I’ll stay for a few minutes of the auction, in case you change your mind,” he said gently. “If not, then I wish you well and that your service not prove too arduous.”

Leaning on his cane, he limped off the stage, and a feeling of loss filled her, as if she’d driven away the only friend she had here. Only, he was no friend. But he’d said he didn’t whip his slaves. Maybe she should have gone with —

Then the next man stepped up to her. He stood so close that the auctioneer didn’t notice when he pinched Mella’s nipple hard enough to bring tears to her eyes. She bit her lip to keep from screaming. The lust filling his eyes as he relished her pain made her feel sick to her stomach. And scared.

He gave a cruel laugh. “You will do nicely for what I have in mind. I’d have liked to hear you scream before buying you…but that can wait.”

“Take your seats, please,” the auctioneer yelled. “The bidding begins now.”

%d bloggers like this: