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.
Mr. Global Leather has been murdered!
This series is suspenseful, tragic and moving. Since I am not usually a fan of books involving shapeshifters and creatures made by science I would not have picked up this series had it not been given to me. That being said, the author did reach out to me and offer them for an honest review.… Continue reading Series spotlight: Shadows by R.M. Alexander
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.
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.
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.
“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.
Anyone who follows my reading lists will probably see pretty quickly that I tend to read in series. As I do most of my reading through Audible many of the authors are pretty well established – though I have nothing but admiration for “Indie” authors few of them are available through audio books. I have… Continue reading Fool’s Gold series by Susan Mallery
Matthew Dane collected change from his pocket as the elevator settled into place on the sixth floor of the Bismarck Hotel in Atlanta, Georgia. The doors slid open to a quiet hallway. Most attendees at the conference were still in sessions on the main level. He stopped in the vending area and bought a cold soda.
He felt satisfied with how his presentation—Best Practices in the Dialog between the Police and Victim Families—had gone. He thought his opening section had been too long—most at this national law-enforcement symposium had heard him speak before and didn’t need the background—but the overhead slides designed to lighten the tone had gotten spontaneous laughter from the audience. He’d made his points without beating anyone over the head with his advice. Now that his part was over, he could relax and enjoy the last two days as an attendee.
Married friends had invited him to join them for a late dinner. Inevitably, they would also invite a woman to make up the numbers. His friends were predictable that way. He’d need to spend part of the evening putting whoever she was at ease. He’d deal with the situation with some grace—he just hoped she already knew his life story so he didn’t have to tell it again over a meal. His wife Jessica had died young. He’d get married again—he knew Jessica would want him to—and he thought about it occasionally. But he’d be forty-two this year and his life already had enough open chapters.
A young woman was sitting on the floor in the hallway outside his hotel room. She didn’t rise when he drew near, just looked up at him. She looked… tired. And mildly curious. Her white shorts showed off long, tanned legs and the sandals dainty feet with painted toenails. The contrasting pink top was remarkably sedate, blousy and pretty. The look suited her and reminded him of his daughter. For that reason more than any other he simply offered a casual, “Looking for me?”
She opened an envelope, pulled out a newspaper clipping, and held it up. “Is this you?”
He accepted what she offered. The newspaper article with accompanying photo was old, well worn, and crumbling at the fold. From the Boston Globe, he thought, recognizing the photo and knowing the date it had been taken. He was holding his daughter, her head lowered under the hood of a police sweatshirt, walking with her down the police station steps. She had just turned sixteen—shy, scared, gangly and thin. The photo had been snapped late on the day of her rescue as he had been taking her home. It had been the best day of his life since her disappearance when she was eight years old. “My daughter and I,” he confirmed.
That image had captured the start for the two of them of a journey that had pushed them together into a father-daughter relationship that was to this day still hard to explain. Becky had been, in alternating waves, suicidal and angry, terrified and manic, overjoyed with freedom, so determined to rebuild her life and push away what had happened in those missing eight years and have a life back. He’d been there for his daughter, getting her through those years and beyond to something now remarkably healthy, happy, and if not whole, at least wise and wonderful and able to deal with the past in a sane way when others brought it up.
“She’s finishing her first year in college,” he mentioned, smiling as he said it, remembering Becky as she had been this last weekend, straddling a stool in the kitchen of their Boston home on a flying visit home from college to grab more clothes and different posters, munching on a carrot and arguing the fact he just had to get a haircut and please, please, please could he remember to lose the old leather jacket before he came to meet her new roommate’s family? They already thought he was a Spenser-type tough guy with credentials as a licensed private investigator. Introducing himself as a retired cop would be okay, but a PI implied he liked to snoop.
He’d laughed at her request and fed her clam chowder that night, promising to be on his best behavior when he met the roommate’s family, pleased with the fact his daughter was moving from a single room to a double and acquiring that roommate. He had in fact done a bit of snooping. He knew more about her new roommate than the girl’s parents probably did, and concluded his daughter would be safe with her. The roommate loved to party and be out and about town, but she refused to drink or do drugs and was exclusive in her choice of boyfriend. She was the extrovert to his daughter’s more reserved nature, and, Matthew thought, a very nice girl. One of the reasons he’d agreed to come speak at this Atlanta conference as a last-minute replacement was the fact his daughter truly was now settled at college, with plans to stay on campus to take summer classes.
Matthew took a final look at the article and photo, then refolded it. He wondered why this woman would have such an old clipping. He offered it back to her.
“Can I show you something else?”
She pulled another clipping from the envelope. Tired of towering over her, he hunkered down beside her, one arm resting casually on his knee, drink in hand. He took the second clipping. A missing-person case out of Chicago, picked up by the Associated Press, this also from the Boston Globe. Shannon Bliss, age sixteen, missing along with her car, she had not arrived home after visiting friends over the three-day Memorial weekend; a reward of twenty-five-thousand offered for information. The photo looked like it came from a high-school yearbook. A pretty girl, he thought. He looked at the date on the clipping…this had happened eleven years ago. He studied the woman who had offered it. He could see a good resemblance.
He didn’t work many missing person cases anymore. Becky had asked him to give those up for a few years, to consider going back to being a cop working robberies, or teach at the police academy—let his company, Dane Investigations, be run by his staff, at least the day-to-day. A missing sister could explain why this woman had sought him out, and he did know some people in Chicago that might be able to help her. A few of them were at this conference, and he could make some calls and introductions on her behalf. “Your sister?” he asked.
“That’s me.” Silence lingered after her quiet words. “I’d like to go home,” she whispered.
He watched her knuckles turn white where she gripped the envelope, her other hand flex against the carpet; her eyes avert from his to stare down the empty hall. A stillness settled into his muscles. “Did you run away?”
She was quiet for so long he wasn’t sure she would answer.
“No.” More a breath than a word, but he heard it.
He felt his heart begin to crack on her behalf. The nuances mattered now, seeing them, hearing them, and he didn’t have history with this woman to fall back on to help him understand her. “What name do you go by now?”
“Have you spoken to the police?”
She shook her head swiftly. He didn’t let himself show a reaction to that news, just absorbed it. There were things his job had taught him, experiences with his daughter, an awareness that came from so many he had talked with over the last decade, and it all coalesced and settled in his mind. He couldn’t afford to project or assume the wrong thing here. The odds she was in fact Shannon Bliss were small, but they were real enough to pursue. She looked like she was telling him the truth as she knew it. God, help me. The quiet prayer went straight to his Father, and he took a deep breath, let it flow out. A hallway wasn’t the place for this conversation, but a pause would give her time to change her mind about talking with him, so he stayed where he was. There were things he had to know simply to not hurt her further, and he selected his next words with extreme care. “Eleven years is a long time. When did…?”
Her hand settled very lightly, very carefully, on his arm as she shook her head. “Please don’t ask.”
Her gaze shifted back to hold his. He could literally see an enforced poise reasserting itself, see the strength of will it took on her part to slide that calm back in place. It would make his job particularly hard, having her choose silence rather than spill out the details of what had occurred in an emotional wave—he needed that story. But she was coping, and she was giving him the first parameters which defined how she was coping. He had to respect that.
In this sizzling continuation of the Mastered series by New York Times best-selling author Lorelei James, a man will find the domination he’s always craved….
Shiori Hirano and Knox Lofgren are left to run the martial arts program at Black Arts while Ronin Black travels. On the surface, the two highest ranked belts appear to cooperate–but in private, they butt heads constantly despite the undeniable attraction between them. Soon their power exchanges start to make for a sweltering dynamic in the bedroom….
At first Knox is shocked to be living out his submissive desires, but Shiori sets out to prove that embracing his true sexual nature doesn’t make him a weak man. But even while their sexual relationship grants him a power and fulfillment he finds surprising, there’s no training regimen for the fight that comes with loving a strong woman….
©2015 LJLA, LLC (P)2015 Brilliance Audio, all rights reserved.