A brand new series by New York Times Bestselling author, Kathleen Brooks. Government secrets are being sold and the newly-sworn-in President of the United States already feels out of options. Without knowing the full scope of the scandal, the president decides to turn to the one person he knows he can trust—former FBI Agent, Elizabeth… Continue reading Release day for Whispered Lies!!!
Sienna pushed open the door to the parking lot and froze. Ryan Parker was leaning against Detective Braxton’s car with his arms crossed over his muscled chest and his hip resting on the hood.
“Who’s he?” Detective Braxton asked quietly as she took him in. “Cop?”
“FBI. That’s Ryan Parker, Cole’s son.”
Detective Braxton shook her head. “I joined the wrong law enforcement group,” she whispered. “I guess that answers my question on if you need a ride back to Keenston. Or maybe you could drive my cruiser and I’ll go with him?”
Sienna chuckled for the first time that day. “You can have him.”
Detective Braxton looked between Sienna and Ryan. “It’s a shame, but I think his interest is already taken by someone else.”
“Don’t count on it,” Sienna whispered back before stepping in front of Ryan.
Mr. Global Leather has been murdered!
In the Grand Sterling Hotel of Midtown Manhattan, home of the huge annual leather/BDSM/fetish ball and contest known as Mr. & Ms. Global Leather, last year’s male winner lies dead on the floor of his suite, wearing only very frilly, bright yellow panties. Cormac “Mack” Steel made a lot of enemies in his year wearing the studded leather sash, not the least being his co-winner, Mistress Ravenfyre. But she is not alone – there are over 3,000 attendees at this year’s fetish-festooned event from all over the world, some of whom might have had some very personal issues with the corpse.
Enter Detective Rebecca Feldblum of the Midtown East Precinct. Assigned to this doozy of a case because, as one of New York City’s only out lesbian detectives, her lieutenant seems to believe these are “her people”. Shocked, amazed and alternately puzzled and amused, Detective Feldblum must navigate a world of doms and subs, masters and mistresses, pups and trainers, leather, latex and lingerie, and discover who murdered the late Mack Steel – and, she hopes, do it before the weekend is over and everyone goes home. In the process, she will discover more about the sexual underworld than she ever really wanted to know, and more about her own past than she could have ever imagined.
Written in the classic spirit of Sharyn McCrumb’s Bimbos of the Death Sun, The Killer Wore Leather is both an engaging mystery and a humorous glimpse into the world of modern, pansexual international leather/BDSM contests and conferences. Only Laura Antoniou could write The Killer Wore Leather. In addition to being the author of the best-selling Marketplace series of erotic novels, she has over 20 years of experience teaching, speaking to, and occasionally skewering the alt-sex communities around the world. With a wicked sense of humor, insider information and a twisted imagination, she crafts a spicy melange of mystery and mayhem!
The Killer Wore Leather is a deliciously tongue-in-cheek murder mystery set at a leather convention, allowing listeners into this private world of personalities and peccadiloes. It’s the kinkiest game of clue ever, with a sex toy as the murder weapon, and every leather man and woman lacks an alibi. Cleverly crafted and highly humorous, Antoniou is at her wicked best in this pause-resistant fetish fest. Laura is the best-selling author of the classic BDSM series The Marketplace, which has sold more than 400,000 copies and been translated into five languages.
©2013 Laura Antoniou (P)2013 Audible, Inc.
This is a sweet love story not just of Cami and Alex but also Cami and her cats… that sounds strange but the most beautiful, intriguing things of this story is the challenge of the interaction of wild cats and humans. Cami has dreamt all her life of working with tigers and wild cats, now… Continue reading The Right One by RM Alexander
Mano Jacobs stared at the full, round ass sticking out of his mother’s fridge and stopped dead in his tracks. Clad in a Hawaiian-print sarong, it swung from side-to-side keeping beat with Brother Iz on the radio, as the owner apparently looked for something to eat.
His gaze roved down her legs to her bare feet. White skin—albeit tanned as if she were a local. Not his sister, thank God. That was something he didn’t want to have to deal with right now.
She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, and he noticed a dainty little bracelet with a dolphin charm. Her toes were painted a cool shade of blue that matched the lava wrap she was wearing. His attention traveled back up to her rump. A connoisseur of female rear ends, Mano thought this one particularly fine. Heart-shaped and just the right amount of flesh. It was just the kind of ass he liked to grab hold of.
Lust curled in his gut as he stepped into the kitchen. He padded up behind her as quietly as possible. His eyebrow rose as she sung along, using Hawaiian words like she were Kamaʻāina, or local. Hmm, must be one of his sister’s friends, all of whom were over the age of consent. His lips curved and his body heated with anticipation.
“Good morning.” His voice was abrupt.
She screamed and raised her head, thunking it on the inside of the fridge. He chuckled as she turned around. He took stock of her features and found them to his liking. Long red hair clipped on the back of her head, medium height, and gorgeous hazel eyes. Mano’s gaze slipped down her body and he felt all his blood head south.
The T-shirt she wore was knotted beneath her breasts, emphasizing them and showing him a delectable belly button. Her hips matched her ass. Not too full, but rounded and feminine. He could just imagine taking them into his hands as she rode him.
“Mano?”
He looked up when she said his name but never got further than her full lips. Damn, the woman was a treat he would be glad to unwrap and eat.
“Mano, what the hell is wrong with you?”
“Huh?” Oh, that was brilliant. “Do I know you?”
She laughed. Not a tinkle of a laugh, but a full-throated belly laugh. The sound of it shivered along his nerve endings. Every bit of moisture dried up in his mouth.
“Naw. I just know your name and you practically lived at my house before you went to the Air Force Academy.” When he still didn’t say anything, she quirked an eyebrow. “You know, I don’t think Pop ever forgave you for going Air Force.”
He blinked. Then blinked again. The sarcastic tone, the curve of her lips, along with the sparkle in her eyes clicked with a memory in the back of his mind. His world tilted slightly, and he tried to come to terms with the memory of the girl and the woman who stood in front of him.
“Daisy Burton?”
Oh, there was no way this luscious piece of woman was knobby-kneed, computer geek Daisy.
“The one and only. But just as a warning, most people don’t call me that name without being hurt, but I’ll give you a second chance.”
The tone of her voice sparked a memory of the girl, too smart for her own good, with a quick mind and a dry sense of humor. It had been years since he’d seen her or her parents, but he never expected the geek to blossom into a knockout.
As he took another inventory of her looks, he saw her mother’s coloring and her father’s stubborn chin. Mano knew he should keep them in mind when looking at her, but all he could think of was pulling all that red hair out of her clip and running his hands through it. He’d love to see it against the sheets on his bed.
His body was humming with need and he couldn’t seem to pull himself back in control.
Dammit.
“Dee? Good Lord.” He took a step back. Then another. The more distance between them the better. “What the hell are you doing here?”
She swung her hip to shut the fridge door. He tried not to notice the little sexy move but that was just not working. Damn, the girl had gone and grown up on him. It was then he noticed the little belly ring sparkling from her navel. Lord have mercy, he loved belly rings.
“Well, it sure is nice to see you again, Mano. Been, what, eight years and all you can say is ‘what the hell are you doing here’?” She twisted off the cap to her water and gestured toward the table with her head. “Leila and I went shopping at the Aloha Swap Meet this morning. Doing some Christmas shopping.”
He noticed a pile of plastic shopping bags in the center of his mother’s kitchen table, and then he remembered his sister telling him she was going shopping with a friend. She didn’t say that her friend was Daisy Burton. And she definitely didn’t tell him that Daisy had turned into a woman with breasts the perfect size for his hands.
She stepped forward and for a second he panicked. He didn’t know if he could handle Daisy up close and personal. Lusting after Mr. Burton’s pride and joy was just sick. He’d kill Mano if he even knew he was thinking about stripping her bare and licking her from her toes on up. Or that he would like to sink his cock into her, feel her muscles clamp tight. His balls ached and his dick grew hard. Wearing only boxers, Mano knew she could see his erection unless she was blind.
She stopped within inches of him, so close her breasts grazed his bare chest. He sucked in a breath and drew in her scent. Something musky and sensual. It wasn’t a perfume, but maybe lotion she had spread on her flesh before leaving the house. His cock twitched at the thought of her wearing her lotion and nothing else. Well, except for him.
Leaning forward, she placed a hand on his chest. A wave of heat spread through his blood. Her hip grazed the head of his penis. He could feel her breath on his ear and closed his eyes trying to think of something else. Something that didn’t involve her. Like ice water…or who won the 1963 World Series, or something along those lines.
But, with her near, it was impossible to think about anything but the warm woman heating his blood. His senses spun, his mouth went dry, and he had to fight the urge to grab her and drag her to his room.
“I just wanted you to know,” her voice was whisper soft and husky, “we bought some malassadas and they’re on the table.”
She stepped past him and her laughter drifted back to him.
He opened his eyes and turned to watch her go. Damn her. She knew he was hot for her and she used it to tease him. And now she was laughing at him. As he watched her walk up the stairs, her hips swung from side to side. For a second or two, he lost track of his thoughts and stood mesmerized.
“You know, walking around in that condition might be unhealthy.” More laughter followed the comment.
You’re Beautiful in Rope
I moved as he asked and knelt in the middle of the throw. He came behind me and got to his knees also, his thighs outside mine. He must not have been kneeling down though, because he was still taller. His heat radiated onto my back, though he wasn’t quite close enough to touch me.
He touched a finger to the front of my temple. “Closed, please.”
I shut my eyes and took a long, deep breath. As I finished the breath, he leaned forward, against my back, and wrapped his arms around my torso, just below my breasts. Then he took a long, deep breath. His chest pushed into my back as he expanded his lungs. His chest hair raked along the skin of my back. As he released, I realized I was releasing a breath as well. He breathed in again. I breathed in. Out. Out. In. In. He held me tight as we breathed together. I found my anxiety slipping away as I breathed there, in the dark with him.
He took my left arm and raised it over and just behind my head, then put pressure on my forearm, urging toward my right shoulder. My muscle tightened with the movement. He held it for several seconds, then gently lowered my arm. He did the same with my right arm, angling it over my head and to the left. I felt the stretch in my triceps. Was that what he was doing? Stretching me? That seemed odd.
He slid his arm through my elbow toward my back and pulled my arm against his chest. My shoulder muscles stretched. And then he did the same on the other side. The whole while he continued to breath, pausing to press his chest against my back, which made me breath in time with him. He wrapped his arms around me again and hugged me tight to him. We rocked forward and back for a long moment. Everything—his movement, his scent, just his presence—soothed me, and I felt more relaxed than I had in a very long time.
He remained against me, but let his hands roam over my skin. His palms skimmed my arms and my belly—I tried hard not to be self-conscious. He rested his chin on my shoulder as he moved his hands down across the outsides of my thighs. His breath tickled along my neck and collarbone. Then he wrapped around me again, and we rocked for a few moments more.
One of his arms left me briefly and then returned. Rope, a little bit scratchy and smelling of grass, rubbed against my shoulder, across my chest and up my neck. He hadn’t uncoiled it. It felt like a big lump of rope. His arms moved again, and I heard the rustle of rope on rope. Then a strand—double strand?—fell across my thighs. He dragged it slowly and it tickled my skin as it moved. He drew the piece up over my breasts and over my shoulder, the whole thing trailing lightly over my skin.
My entire body woke up. My skin received every touch from the rope or from him with a jolt of electricity. As he ran the strand behind my neck and down my other shoulder, goose bumps broke out and I shivered. My breathing had quickened, and the low moan from my throat surprised me.
His hand trailed down my left arm and grasped my wrist. He brought it close to my body, and I felt rope being wrapped around it. I peeked from beneath my lashes and saw him anchoring the rope around my wrist. I closed my eyes again. I didn’t really need to see. I’d realized that this wasn’t about seeing.
Using the long end of the rope, he brought my wrist up to my right shoulder, positioning my arm across my chest. He pulled the rope down my back, across and around the left side of my torso. He made it tight, and the rope bit into my skin. It hurt, but didn’t, at the same time. He angled me back against him, and I leaned, letting my head roll back on his shoulder. His scent—cloves and sweetness—hit me again. I breathed deep.
He wrapped the rope around my arm and my belly from left to right. He pushed me forward with a hand in the middle of my back until I was leaning down, head almost to the floor. I felt him pull the free strand through the piece hugging my back, and then he pulled me up by the rope. It bit into my skin in the front, with painful little lines. I swayed into him again.
The rope came against the front of my neck, but gently, his thumb guiding it, brushing my skin back and forth. A little twinge of panic tried to overcome me, but I pushed it down. He was giving me sensation. He wasn’t even tightening the rope. I relaxed again.
After that, things just became fuzzy. He unwound the rope from me, leaving the anchor on my wrist. Then my arm was drawn behind my back, and he wrapped the rope around my torso, binding my upper arm to my side and my wrist and hand to my back. He never tied the rope off. His palms roamed over my skin, warm and earnest. He left trails of heat wherever he touched.
He shoved my body forward again and then covered me with his. The weight of him held me down. I didn’t feel fear, but rather comfort. His weight comforted me.
Surrounded. Cocooned. Safe.
My mind turned off, and I floated. His movements against me still registered, but only from a distance. I had no real concept of the order in which he did things. Nothing hurt. Everything felt good and right.
“You are beautiful in rope,” he whispered very close to my ear.
Book Spotlight: Stone Guardian, Witches Amulet Book 1 Element – Fire (Healer/Destroyer) Royal House – Purple Milcah was born to rule along side an evil mother. Milcah’s father was taken against his will and forced to give up his seed to produce a child with unimaginable powers. At a young age she was taken away… Continue reading Book Spotlight: Stone Guardian, Witches Amulet Book 1 by Paulina Woods
Dearest Angel,
I came home after watching you walk out of the cafe like last time. Itís not getting any easier to let you go.
Not that Iíd ever dare holding you back, but part of me still wishes I could.
These past few days with you have been lovely. No, lovely is the wrong word.
Theyíve been wonderful.
Is wonderful even enough? My vocabulary seems strangely limited at the moment.
Iíd have been happy to do like during your first visit and simply meet you every day for a couple of hours or whatever we could have. Just being with you, sitting in the park or in a cafe, chatting, laughing together, all of that is already ñ lovely, wonderful, a dozen other things. But itís nothing compared to how I felt when I found you at my door Sunday afternoon with your travel bag over your shoulder.
I wanted to ask what happened with your family to make you seek refuge with me, but I suppose I already know. Youíve made it clear that their disapproval about your choice of career is both vocal and ongoing, and I didnít want to twist that knife a little more when I could see on your face just how tired, how hurt you were. Just know that, should you wish to talk about it, Iíll always be here to listen.
You have no idea just how much I wanted to call in sick for the week, knowing youíd be in my home when I was supposed to be at school. If I could have been sure my students would be taken care of in my absence, I would have done it. Unfortunately, weíre short on both teachers and substitutes, and as I told you, I didnít feel right requesting a leave on such short notice. You said it was fine, and I think you meant it, but would you have told me if it had bothered you? I hope so.
I usually stay at school for a little while after the day ends, but this week I think I waited for the final bell with more impatience than my students. Coming home when I knew youíd be there, waiting for me, wasÖ again, what comes to mind is lovely and wonderful. I havenít lived alone for very long, but I must have been lonely, more so than I realized. Coming home when I knew Iíd have someone to cook dinner for, someone to eat with, someone with whom to go out and sit in the yard to talk as night fell on us, even someone in the house with me at nightÖ It felt special. Very special.
Or maybe it was special because it was you.
You must be wondering by now if I found the letter you left here or not, as I havenít mentioned it so far. I did find it, Angel dear. And read it. And read it again. I think Iíve read it five times already, or maybe six. And every time I do, itís the same fire burning inside me, the same need to tell you, yes. To all that, yes.
Yes I too wanted more than a kiss on that last night we spent under the same roof.
Yes I too wondered whether sharing more than a kiss would be for the best.
Yes you were the first person I ever kissed ñ and if Iím completely honest, the first one I ever truly wanted to kiss.
Yes you were the first person I touched, and as innocent as these touches remained, I still feel as though my fingers are burning from the memory of your warmth.
Yes that night when I went to bed I tried to imagine what it would have felt like to touch your actual skin. I wondered about how smooth it would be. I wondered about scars, as you have mentioned them. I wondered if youíd let me caress or kiss them, or whether youíd prefer to hide them from me. I wondered about your hands on me too, and whether the first touch from your fingers might be the one to make me come undone.
I wondered, and I imagined, and I hoped. And now, your letter makes me yearn a little more for your next leave, if that was even possible.
I hope youíll want to stay with me again. I hope thereíll be more kisses for us to share. And more than kisses, too.
There is much more Iíd like to say, but I donít know if theyíre words youíd care to read.
Just know that I remain,
Yours
Samuel
I woke to the sun in my eyes. I picked a couple of stray pine needles out of the fuzz on my face, pulled off my glasses and sat up, leaning back on one hand and rubbing my eyes with the other before I put them back on. Something had waked me. I couldn’t place it, couldn’t see it, couldn’t even feel anything but the normal dizziness. I lay back down and stretched, then slowly climbed to my feet, leaning on the stump for support.
Down in the valley, nothing had changed. Or, nothing had changed back. Everything seemed so ordinary, and yet so un-ordinary. I felt like Rip van Winkle.
The shadows moved across my face, the sun blinding me momentarily before it moved on, half a hundred times. Old Faithful, living up to its name, erupted, once, twice, three times? I wasn’t keeping count.
The sun had moved far enough to quit flashing in my eyes as it shifted when I heard the sounds. Thin and wispy, at first I thought my senses were playing tricks on me again. Then I thought, birds? Squirrels? The sound of a neigh brought me bolt upright, then to my feet. I stood, swaying.
A trail of dust, like it had been thrown up behind a car on a dirt road, lofting into the sky behind what? I couldn’t see for the thicket of trees. I grabbed my stick and plunged headlong down the hill.
Three steps and I was bounding, two more, and nothing could have slowed me down. Three bounds after that, my foot caught on a branch, and I went sprawling. I hauled myself up, swiped the blood from my streaming nose on my shirtsleeve, and ran on.
The slope leveled out not much farther on. Springs and pools and bare ground signaling thin crust were everywhere. I stopped a moment to wipe my bloody nose again, and to breathe while I looked for the dust trail. It was gone.
I landed on the ground with a hollow thump. It told me maybe I shouldn’t be sitting on that spot, but I didn’t much care.
I shook myself. Had I imagined the dust cloud, too? My nose finally stopped bleeding, although it ached like a son of a gun. I fell back against the hard ground and shivered, trying to think. It took all my effort, not only mentally, but physically.
It was then it hit me. If all this was a hallucination, it wasn’t going to be any good to go looking for that dust. If I wasn’t hallucinating, then I wasn’t where I thought I was in the first place. Screwed both ways.
But if this was real, what happened? And if this wasn’t real, where was I and how did I get back out of this rabbit hole?
Questions chased themselves around in my brain like a dog chases its tail. I had way too many of them, and not a single answer to be found, anywhere, at any price.
It was then I began to hear the voices.
I went stock still and strained my ears. Yes, voices, drifting in on the breeze, faint, but unmistakably human.
I couldn’t make out the words. Men’s voices, baritone and tenor, and one shrill soprano. They gradually got louder, then one of the geysers went off, and I couldn’t hear anything for a few minutes. I wondered if they’d still be there.
A woman’s voice, the words suddenly as clear as if she were declaiming onstage. “She’s just a little girl, William. You’re too hard on her.”
My head jerked up. That had to be real.
The deep-voiced man was speaking again. I homed in on the sound, and began to walk. Fast. Well, run, actually. Carefully. Sort of.
Who am I fooling? Those were the first human voices I’d heard in I don’t know how many days. I stumbled, legs wobbly, head spinning, across the meadow towards them.
As she headed back to her room, she looked back at the flowers. A card stuck out the side. She wondered if Finn had written something sweet or something naughty to her. Allegra grinned with anticipation as she reached for the red envelope and pulled out the white card. She turned it over. There was only one word written on it . . . Whore.
Allegra felt her knees give out as she collapsed on the floor. He was here. Harry was here. Clutching the phone, she struggled to enter her passcode. Her fingers shook and she kept hitting the wrong buttons. With every wrong number, she felt her vision blur. She struggled to breathe. Finally she entered the right numbers and called the only person who knew the truth.
“Damien, he’s here. He’s in New York.”
———————————
Damn Harry. He was ruining friendships and relationships. It took her months just to trust Finn enough to tell him what was going on, and now she had the feeling that she got the brush-off tonight. She would have to talk to him tomorrow. Maybe Harry threatened him. Finn loved her; she knew he did. Threatening her was the only reason that Finn would back away from her. This relationship meant too much for her to sit back and do nothing as it fell apart.
“Here, honey, have a piece of pie. It’ll put a smile on that beautiful face,” her mother said as a slice of pumpkin pie was placed in front of her.
“Thank you, Mom,” Allegra smiled. She felt better. She wasn’t going to sit back and watch life happen to her. No, she was going to take a page out of her sisters’ book and go after what she wanted.
“You know what else will put a smile on your face . . .?”
“Shirley!” the women all groaned as Nate and Reid laughed. The bodyguard could only cringe.
A Little Turtle's World 