An Outlaw for the Psychic Soul by @SSaraDaniel #freeread #prequel #shortstory

An Outlaw for the Psychic Soul

Prequel Short Story to Solace for the Psychic Soul

(Part of the Mid-Winter Healing Anthology)
By Sara Daniel
© 2017

Three years ago

The bloodline seer’s laser drilled a point of heat between Monica’s shoulder blades. Whoever the hell the seer was, he or she was going to blow Monica’s unassuming, girl-next-door cover.

Ditching her baseball cap and pulling on a jacket, she continued along the crowded sidewalk. She could lose eighty percent of her tails with those two simple changes. Most people fixated on the hat or clothing, not the actual person.

The gait and boots from her peripheral vision suggested her pursuer was male, although she’d yet to glimpse his face. He continued to trail her, proving he wasn’t a novice.  Just her luck that she’d taken her psychic suit in for cleaning, leaving her without her most-powerful weapon.

Whether he’d randomly picked her from the crowd or had intentionally targeted her, his seer power would have told him she was an unmated orgasmic psychic. No doubt he thought he’d hit the bounty hunting jackpot. Veering off the crowded sidewalk down an alley, she let him salivate over how easily he’d take her down.

The guy continued past her. If he was as good as her first impression led her to believe, he’d turn down the next alley then thread between the tight city buildings, intercepting and gagging her in less than thirty seconds.

Twenty-four seconds later, he charged at her, his palm going straight for her mouth. Monica channeled his forward momentum and flipped him over her shoulder. Laying him flat on his back on the broken pavement, she thrust her knee in his groin before the wind reentered his lungs.

He grunted.

She gouged again. From here on out, she called the shots and had no qualms about unmanning him permanently.

“Fu—” His curse faded to a moan.

Satisfied he was solely focused on the searing pain between his legs, she eased up. He rolled into a fetal position, clutching himself. She grabbed his shoulder and dragged him to the light pole at the side of the alley. Pulling her handcuffs from her vest, she snapped them around his left wrist. She yanked his right hand from his groin and pulled it behind the light pole, cuffing it with the left, so he sat with his back to the pole.

From behind, she patted him down, removing a stun gun and a knife from his person. After she messaged the police, she rounded the pole to face him head-on.

“You troublemaking asshole! You just caused me a shit ton of paperwork.” She glared at him. His face was scruffy with a two or three day beard. His striking bright blue eyes were still dilated with pain and shock from the twin hits to the pavement and the groin.

Something deep inside her clicked.

Oh no. Fuck, no. She stumbled. Not her soulmate. She was government spy, damn it. One of the good guys. She took down guys like him for a living. What she did not do was mate with them.

“I’d hate to cause you any trouble, Sweetheart. Why don’t you just unlock these cuffs and send me on my way? I won’t bother you again, and you won’t have to waste your time with unnecessary paperwork.”

“Bothering me in the first place was your mistake.” The way he truly bothered her had nothing to do with the fact that he’d tried to abduct her.

“I just tripped over my own feet, and you happened to be right there when I tried to catch myself. I apologize if you thought I was trying something inappropriate.”

“Save it for your lawyer and the judge, creep.” How dare her soul pick a criminal.

“The name’s Dex, sweetheart. Dex Seer. And I’m free on Friday if you want to go out.”

She’d dated a lot of sleazy guys in the ongoing effort to track down enemy information and make the world a safer place. But soulmate or not, she wouldn’t go out with this one. “You’re going to be in jail on Friday night.”

“Saturday then.”

Rolling her eyes, she pulled out her phone and entered his name into the government database.

“Holy shit.” She scrolled through the list of stuff he was wanted for—kidnapping, aiding and abetting the enemy, breaking and entering. If she hadn’t stopped him, he would handed her over to the government’s enemies for a price that would have matched her yearly salary. “You might want to consider using a fake name with your pickup lines. Dex Seer is wanted for a crap ton of stuff. If you’re angling to walk free from our scuffle by using a ‘he said-she said’ defense, you better start worrying about all the other charges the government can make stick.”

A flash of worry crossed his face. Then he aimed an ‘aw-shucks’ smile at her. “If you’re not ready to trust me, we can arrange a neutral meeting ground for our date on Saturday sweetheart.”

“The name’s Smic. Monica Smic. I’m your worst nightmare, not your sweetheart.”

###

“Saturday night. Neutral meeting place. I knew you couldn’t say no to me, Smic.” Despite wearing an orange jumpsuit and handcuffs, Dex grinned as he sauntered into the stark, gray booth.

Monica scowled at him through the glass. Although his seer scan would have told him she was an unmated orgasmic psychic, he didn’t know her soul had picked him as its mate. And as she didn’t intend to complete their mating, he’d never know that part. But her soul would forever crave his closeness. “Why are you involved in so much shitty, shady stuff?”

“Who says I am?”

“I’m not here to get a confession out of you or cut you a deal.” She just wanted to understand how her soul could have picked him. The guy sold his seer services to good guys and bad guys alike and offered his bounty hunting services to known criminals. But he lived with his mother and sister in a low-crime, working-class neighborhood and fixed his elderly neighbors’ leaky pipes and broken locks at no charge. Any assurance that his good side overrode his criminal background would ease her internal tug-of-war.

“Ah, so you came for a conjugal visit.” He smirked. “How do we get on the same side of this glass wall?”

Clearly, any redeeming qualities didn’t extend to his smart-ass personality. Regardless of his occasional brush with decency, he was still a criminal, and she’d dedicated her life to ridding the world of crime.

“Coming here was a mistake.” Standing, she signaled to the jail guard.

“Wait.” Dex’s smug expression disappeared, replaced by panic. “I need your help to get out of here. My sister depends on me to get the medicine she needs.”

“Maybe you should have asked for my help in the alley, instead of attacking me.”

“Look, it wasn’t anything personal against you. Her medicine’s expensive.” He shrugged away the guard’s hand.

“The government has programs for people who can’t afford their medications. Your sister should look into them.” She leaned toward the speaker imbedded in the glass separating them. “Abducting people is not an acceptable answer to any problem.” She waved at the guard to take him away.

Dex glared at her. “Those programs don’t do shit when the medication is no longer produced or available for sale.”

The guard tugged him toward the door.

“My sister will go blind without this medicine,” Dex yelled, still holding her gaze.

A second guard joined the first, and they dragged him through the doorway.

“Her name is Lucy. She’s only thirteen years old. If she goes blind, it will be on your conscience, Smic. If you won’t help me, then help Lucy. Please.” He kept yelling, his voice fading down the corridor.

Monica marched out of the jail. She wouldn’t help the asshole who’d tried to kidnap her and sell her to her government’s enemies. Dex was a manipulator, a player, and a criminal.

She slumped against the wall outside the building. His sister was an innocent child, the type of person she’d dedicate her life to protecting.

If Lucy really would go blind without the medicine, then Monica would make sure she got it. But she had no intention of letting Dex know she’d lifted a finger to help him.

 

Now read the rest of the story. Find out what happens when Dex and Monica are reunited three years later in Solace for the Psychic Soul, part of the Wiccan Haus MID-WINTER HEALING anthology.

Dex Seer has spent his life on the wrong side of the law, working for anyone who will pay him enough to afford the medicine his sister needs to keep from going blind. But the medicine no longer exists. In desperation, he books a stay at the Wiccan Haus to heal his sister. With a sexy government spy following him through the portal, he stands to lose everything he’s spent his life protecting.

After too many years reading the evil, sadistic thoughts of her government’s enemies, Monica Smic is exhausted and cynical. Worse, her soul discovered its mate in a lawless bounty hunter, and staying away from him is destroying her from the inside out. When she passes out on the job, her boss forces her to take a week off at the Wiccan Haus to get her act together.

Despite their mutual distrust, the more time Dex and Monica spend in each other’s company, the more their battered souls find solace in the other’s. But Dex’s first loyalty is to his sister, and Monica’s is to her government. On the Winter Solstice, they will either heal each other or lose everything in winter’s fiercest storm.

Buy Links:
Amazon
Nook
Google Play
Kobo
iBooks

Sara Daniel Takes You on a Winter Getaway to the @WiccanHaus @SSaraDaniel

Let’s get this out of the way first: Happy Valentine’s Day!

Did I make you snarl? Roll your eyes? No worries. I have not one, not two, but THREE (YES, THREE!!) book boyfriends for you to cuddle up with tonight.

Carolyn Spear, Leigh Daley and I have teamed up to allow you to escape with your book boyfriends for some Mid-Winter Healing in our new Wiccan Haus anthology.

SOLACE FOR THE PSYCHIC SOUL by Sara Daniel

Dex Seer has spent his life on the wrong side of the law, working for anyone who will pay him enough to afford the medicine his sister needs to keep from going blind. But the medicine no longer exists. In desperation, he books a stay at the Wiccan Haus to heal his sister. With a sexy government spy following him through the portal, he stands to lose everything he’s spent his life protecting.

After too many years reading the evil, sadistic thoughts of her government’s enemies, Monica Smic is exhausted and cynical. Worse, her soul discovered its mate in a lawless bounty hunter, and staying away from him is destroying her from the inside out. When she passes out on the job, her boss forces her to take a week off at the Wiccan Haus to get her act together.

Despite their mutual distrust, the more time Dex and Monica spend in each other’s company, the more their battered souls find solace in the other’s. But Dex’s first loyalty is to his sister, and Monica’s is to her government. On the Winter Solstice, they will either heal each other or lose everything in winter’s fiercest storm.

ALINA’S LIGHT by Carolyn Spear

Alina Argal hopes to mix in a little pleasure when she visits her childhood friend Sarka Rowan at Wiccan Haus. She badly needs a boost to her battered ego following a humiliating breakup of her arranged engagement to Thad Yates ,the eldest son of one of the most powerful magical families. A little R and R at the lighthouse should help her get her feet back under her. The last person she expects to find sharing the small lightkeeper’s house with is Thad’s brother Sean.

Long the black sheep of the family for being born without magic, Sean Yates has always gone his own way. A former Army infantry officer, he now suffers a slight limp and PTSD. His one desire is to win Alina’s love now that his brother is out of the picture. But is he really?

Will Alina open herself to the one brother she needs and deserves or marry for duty?

LOVE’S MAGICK by Leigh Daley

Soren Feodor has never backed down from a challenge. But when his attempt to unlock a treasure fails miserably, his sole hope lies with Emma van Pelt, the only human who ever successfully resisted him. A trip to the Wiccan Haus could heal his body, but Emma knows nothing about the dangers of the magical work that lies before them.

When a chance encounter brought Emma face to face with the mages of the paranormal world, mysterious Soren tried and failed to make her forget it ever happened. Now she’s the only chance he has at revealing the powers of a legendary magical item, provided he will even let her try to help.

Can the two learn to work together and unravel the wards of the Tears of Therin, or will love’s magick be the death of them?

Available from:

      Kobo

Tami Lund is Writing a New Book-And There’s a Contest!

You will undoubtedly be *shocked* to hear that I’m working on a new book. Actually, two. One’s a sexy, fun contemporary, which I’m co-writing with the incredibly talented Misti Murphy. It’s called SEXY BAD NEIGHBOR, and it’s a hilarious story of two unlikely neighbors who of course end up falling for each other. Oh, and there’s a goat involved, but not like THAT (although there may be jokes to that effect…).

The other book I’m working on is a paranormal. Shifters. Not surprising, I know. I write a lot of shifters. I clearly have a thing for sexy, hot guys who can transform into the shape of an animal.

The reason I’m working on another shifter book actually has nothing to do with the two series I currently have available (Lightbearer and Twisted Fate). I had planned for this one to connect back to one of the two, but now that I’m writing it, it just isn’t going to work out that way. But that’s okay. Who knows? It could turn into yet another, entirely separate series…

Anyway, I’m writing this book because I was invited to be part of an anthology. The antho is called CLAIMING MY VALENTINE, and it’s fourteen authors, each writing a Valentine’s Day, shifter-esque happily ever after (get it? Fourteen? Valentine’s Day? yeah, we’re cheesy like that…). The reason I decided to join this particular antho was because we’ve decided all proceeds will be donated to St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital. Definitely a worthy cause, and I love writing shifters, so why the hell not?

And here I am, juggling two couldn’t-be-more different books, both that are due to release within weeks of each other. Yeah, call me crazy. Although I will say, it’s not too bad flipping back and forth between them for that very reason. They are two totally different worlds, totally different genre, so it’s like flipping a light switch. Okay, time to work in the real world. Flip. Okay, time to work in the shifter world.

I got this. I hope. No, really, I do. And while SEXY BAD NEIGHBOR isn’t yet up for pre-sale, CLAIMING MY VALENTINE is. Remember, it’s for charity. And it’s only 99 cents for fourteen different shifter stories. If you wanna grab it, here’s the link: AMAZON.

Oh yeah, and let me sweeten the pot for you. This group of authors is also running a Rafflecopter contest, which means you can win stuff. Click the link, enter, win. That simple. We also had a cover reveal this past Sunday. Here’s the link, if you want to see what sort of fun, cool, sexy stuff these authors plan for this anthology: COVER REVEAL.

And last but not least, here’s one of my current fave scenes (unedited) from my contribution to the anthology, HUNTING A VALENTINE:

She eyed the glass-front fridge under the counter behind him. “What’s the most interesting craft beer you carry?”

He grabbed a can, popped the top, and placed it on the cocktail napkin. She eyed it as if waiting for it to perform tricks.

“Pabst Blue Ribbon? Are you serious?”

“Have you ever had one?”

“No.”

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.” He nudged the can closer to her.

“Don’t you at least have it in a bottle?”

“Nope. We’re all out of glasses, too,” he said, despite the rows he’d just stacked sitting right in front of her.

“I’ve clearly fallen down the rabbit hole.”

“Actually, you’ve tumbled into the wolves’ den.”

She smirked. “I see what you did there.” Lifting the can, she used it to indicate the glowing sign affixed to the wall behind him. “The Den. Clever.” And then she took a tentative sip.

Want more? Grab the antho for only 99 cents. It releases on, duh, Valentine’s Day!

Tami Lund is an author, wine drinker, award winner, and joiner of anthologies. She also likes supporting charities like St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital. You should, too, by grabbing a copy of CLAIMING MY VALENTINE.

 

 

 

Holley’s bad angel and sweet wolf

(By “bad” angel I mean a guy who quit a pretty outstanding gig…as an angel, and by “sweet” wolf, I mean her name is literally “Sweetie.”

Hi, I’m Holley Trent, and I write annoying post titles.)

My holiday fallen angel/werewolf novella An Angel Fallen has been re-issued in the Heavenly Bodies bundle. It’s a buck!

Here’s a peek:

Mark tossed the meat to the front of the hole. After a moment, she poked her nose out and sniffed it. With a fast snap of her powerful jaw, she snatched it up and scooted back into the shadows before he could grab her.

“For fuck’s sake.” He shook his head. He still had angel reflexes and should have been better than this. He was smarter than this, and yet he was letting an animal get the better of him. She was winning because he refused to treat her like what she’d become.

“All right, pup,” he muttered. “You want to act like a wild dog, I’ll play along.”

The yellow-green of Sweetie’s eyes shone like beacons inside her shadowy niche. She’d stopped growling. Whether it was the meat or the sound of his voice, he didn’t know, but she seemed less agitated. He wasn’t, though. Each blink of hers marked off a few seconds of tense silence that eroded his shrinking reserve of patience.

He wanted to take her home now, and the kind gentleness of his angel days wasn’t going to serve him well. She’d always told him he was too sweet for his own good. Well, he’d lost some of that sweetness right around the time his best friend decided to disappear into the fucking woods. He felt it was half his fault for not telling her sooner that he wanted her.

He clicked his tongue at her and snapped his fingers. “Come here, girl.”

She blinked again, unmoving.

“You want me to throw kibble at you? Maybe a dead rabbit?”

She lifted her head and made a little woof sound.

“Are you kidding me?” If Sweetie-the-woman really was front and center in the brain she shared with the animal, she would have been gagging about now. She didn’t even like gamey meat. Mark needed to find a way to put her back into the driver’s seat in her head.

He clicked his tongue and kept his stare on the wolf. If the wolf was hungry, maybe the woman was, too.

There was one last piece of jerky in his pocket. He extended it to her, and this time didn’t let go. “Aren’t you hungry? You’re so skinny. Are you’re confused. You can’t remember what’s okay to hunt. You don’t want to hurt anything you’re not supposed to, right?”

She blinked.

“Come with me. I’ll get you something good to eat. No rabbit, but maybe a steak.”

That pulled an emphatic bark from the wolf’s throat. She eased forward and grabbed the end of the jerky between her side teeth. She tried to tug it away from him, but he held on.

“Okay, then. Steak. Maybe you’ll let me cook it a little. I’m getting better at it.” He chuckled and slowly extended his hand to touch her paw.

When she didn’t flinch, he stroked her foreleg softly and whispered encouraging words.

She inched out, nose-first, and he grabbed her around the flanks before she could pull away.

She nipped at him, letting the jerky fall, and setting her razor-sharp teeth into the wool of his coat. Her legs flailed wildly, but he held her tight and pressed his face against the fur of her neck. “It’s all right to fall apart,” he said to the woman in the wolf. “You did it, and now I’m going to put you back together. Take what you need from me.”

The wolf wouldn’t know what that meant, but the woman inside would. That woman had been depriving herself of the soothing energy she’d needed for too long, and he wasn’t even sure she’d take it from him. “Fixing” a wolf wasn’t a temporary thing. Wolves mated for life. If she accepted him, they’d be psychically and intimately tethered for the rest of their lives, and given Mark’s still-intact immortality, that’d be a very long time. He was fine with that—their needs and wants being all wrapped up in each other’s. Knowing everything about each other. Propping each other up. He’d fallen for the hope of that—of having her for a wife. It’d be a different kind of heaven than what he’d known.

He rubbed what he could reach of her matted fur and whispered, “You don’t have to understand me. Just let Sweetie out. Let me feed her and get her warm.”

She squirmed ineffectually, but the wolf’s sense of self-preservation won out. The fur-covered, shivering pile of bones in his arms shifted.

Brown pelt gave way to dirty, tan skin. The yellow in her green eyes withdrew rendering them more human and more familiar. Her dark hair fell over her face in tangled clumps that she blew away in a surprised huff as he set her bare feet onto the snowy ground.

“There you are.” He yanked off his coat and wrapped it around her shivering shoulders before picking her up. He cradled her and followed his tracks out of the woods, though he didn’t really need them. He’d followed her so much during the past six months he had nearly every inch of the forest memorized. Mark could still teleport, but holding her felt so good and he wouldn’t give up the hike for anything.

“A-angel?” came her hoarse voice against his chest.

He leapt over a fallen tree, being careful to land softly so as not to jostle the already-nervous Sweetie.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“What are you doing?”

“I should ask you the same thing. You didn’t have to do this.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“We always have choices.”

You can still get An Angel Fallen on its own in case you’re a certain kinda way and need to have an entire series in individual files on your e-reader, but if you buy this bundle for a buck, you get two other angel stories along with it. It’s a pretty sweet deal.

Get An Angel Fallen at one of these places:

·All Romance eBooks
·Amazon
·Barnes and Noble
·Google Play
·iBooks
·Kobo

Me and Holley sitting in a…boxset… by Emilia Mancini

As the amazing Holley Trent pointed you yesterday, we’re in an awesome upcoming boxset, At Her Service.

I have a confession to make. This is my first non-LLL anthology! I’m snuggled up with some really amazing authors and I couldn’t be more excited.

Check this out!

LACE FOREVER by Nicole Flockton
None of designer Lily Green’s careful lists can prepare her for her meeting with Grayson Warren–a bodyguard desperate to get his business back on track.

EYES OF THE WOLF by Emilia Mancini
Private detective Jake McDonnell has been hired to make sure Maria Rodriguez isn’t involved in illegal activities. What he discovers will leave his senses reeling and his body thrumming.

DESIGNATED HITTER by Holley Trent
When Quinn Hathaway arrives on Marina Cassevete’s doorstep for a job, her instinct is to send the troublemaker away, but she can’t afford to tell the charming hustler “no.”

PLAYING PRETEND by Alyse Zaftig
When a romance novelist hires disgraced football player Jude to help her block scenes, business turns to pleasure as the heat slowly turns up.

BOYFRIEND BY THE HOUR by Tara Crescent
Sadie thinks her new neighbor Cole is an escort. He’s not. Given his womanizing past, she doesn’t believe he can be true. Could playing the part of hired boyfriend be the ticket to changing her mind?

HELEN AND THE MAN FROM TROI by Holle Dolce
Adam is a BDSM slave who, desperate for employment, has become a manservant. Although anxious about his new gig, he’s determined that his brand of submission is what lovely, heartbroken Helen requires.

EUROPEAN TOUR by L.V. Lewis
Brody Kent wants to leave his rock star alter ego in the past. Is taking a gig as personal assistant to a pop princess Skylar Samuelson worth the risk of exposing his sordid past?

PERFECT ON PAPER by Kristina Knight
For three weeks, Daisy MacIntosh has been stringing Nick Vega’s firm along and they badly need the influx of cash a new contract will bring. Stepping in to become Daisy’s ManServant isn’t the best idea, but it’s the only one he’s got.

Go preorder now! The set is available February 16!

 

Holley tells you where all the men are. [Giftcard contest!]

Okay, maybe just eight of them. Still, eight is a lot, especially when they’re all in one place.

Me and some friends, including our own Emilia Mancini, have a sexy novella collection releasing next week called At Her Service. Every story features a hired man. (Not in that way, although a few them kinda toe the line a little.) The economy sucks a little. Sometimes folks do what they have to to pay the bills, right?

To celebrate the launch of the collection, I’m giving away a $10 giftcard to either Amazon US or All Romance ebooks (international). To enter to win, just comment on this post answering this question:

What is the worst job you’ve ever had?

This contest will remain open until midnight on 2/25. I’ll pick a random winner using Random.org’s number generator. Make sure you leave an email address I can get in touch with you at in case you’re the winner!

You can pre-order the spicy collection now. It’s 99¢ for a limited time.

Get it here:
Amazon · Barnes and Noble · Google Play · iBooks · Kobo

Guest Blog: Margaret Etheridge

Happy Saturday, my darlings! Parker here. I’m excited to have one of my dearest writing buddies with us today. Margaret Etheridge (or Mags, as I call her) is here to tell you about her new boxed set – Enchanted Lover – and to talk about food. *le sigh* I do love this woman. 🙂 Y’all please give Margaret a warm Love, Love and Laptops welcome!

*** 

Comfort food

It’s fall, the season for all my favorite things – warm days, cool nights, college football (Go Hogs!) and comfort food!

Pot roast, chicken and dumplings, homemade vegetable soup… I love it all. There’s nothing better than a pot of chili simmering in the stove on a cold, wet day. When I know I’m going to be stuck inside, I like to bake Toll House cookies so I know I’ll be properly supplied for the duration. If I’m feeling under the weather I need Campbell’s Chicken Noodle soup and a peanut butter sandwich.

I’m a Catholic school survivor, so in my mind, Kraft Macaroni ‘n Cheese should be served on Fridays with tuna casserole. The kind with the crushed potato chips on top.

In my book, Paramour, Camellia Stafford’s neighbor, Mrs. Kelly, expresses her condolences in a most time honored way. She presents the bereaved with a Corning Ware dish filled with tuna-noodle casserole. Later, Cam invites sexy ad man, Brad, to her apartment and seduces him with meatloaf and mashed potatoes. What man could resist?

We’re all susceptible to the lure of comfort food. My personal favorite? Toast – the perfect food for all occasions. When I’m anxious, I take it plain and dry. Feeling cozy? I slather that toasty goodness in real butter. You know I’m celebrating when I break out the cinnamon and sugar.
How about you? What’s your go-to food when you need a little solace?

ENCHANTED LOVER: Tales of Everlasting Love 

Seven Novels of Mystical, Magical and Paranormal Romance

PARAMOUR by Margaret Ethridge (ghost)
Two men: one living, one dead, and both vying for her love. Camellia Stafford has never been alone in her room. For twenty years, she’s been engaged in a fierce power struggle with her bedroom’s previous tenant, Frank DeLuca, the ghost trapped in the light fixture above her bed.

ENTRANCED by Maddie James (time travel, reincarnation)
Jack and Claire set out on a wild search through time, not only for the resolution to a powerful attraction between them, but also for a historical artifact that holds the key to their future happiness–the coveted silver-plated chalice made from Blackbeard’s skull.

MYSTIC THUNDER by JC Wardon (witch, mystic)
Millennia of tempestuous ancestral history forewarn Rayne Cavanaugh to hide her ability to communicate with ghosts. But– When the nephew of the man she just can’t resist goes missing in the mountains of Mystic Waters, West Virginia, she must decide between self-preservation and love.

RUNNING OUT OF TIME by Cheryl Norman (time travel)
When Stacy Webber travels to Germany for her best friend’s wedding, she loses more than her luggage and purse. She lands in a different time, fifty years ago, with no idea how to return to her world.

TIMELESS by Jan Scarbrough (psychic, ghost, reincarnation)
When Beth Abbott receives a surprise inheritance from her birth mother, she travels to the family’s nineteenth century mansion in Old Louisville, KY, now a bed and breakfast. There she meets the resident ghost, a little girl whose crying not only scares, but also intrigues guests.

MAN OF HER DREAMS by Cat Shaffer (dreams, parallel times)
Jessi Flint has a perfectly good life with a successful business and the perfect man. So, he’s only in her dreams…until her flaky assistant goes to a New Age fair and Jessi suddenly begins receiving gifts with love notes signed by a mysterious Damian.

ALMOST MAGIC by J.M. Kelley (magic, witch, gifts)
When it came to Vivian Burroughs’ unique connection with nature, her grandmother always said, ‘Mediocrity may not burn as bright as a firecracker, but it seldom blows up in your face.’ But the old woman never advised her on what to do when a sexy new neighbor stokes the flames of attraction.

 AMAZON | BARNES & NOBLE | IBOOKS | KOBO | SMASHWORDS

 

By day, Margaret Ethridge is buried in spreadsheets. At night she pens tales of people tangling up the sheets. The product of a charming rogue and a shameless flirt, you only have to scratch the surface of this mild-mannered married lady to find a naughty streak a mile wide.

Margaret pens tales of true-to-life women’s fiction, contemporary romance, and has been known to dabble a bit in the paranormal. She also writes steamy erotic romance under the pen name Maggie Wells.

Find her online at: http://www.margaretethridge.com/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/MKEthridge

FB: https://www.facebook.com/#!/AuthorMargaretEthridge

Stories, Stories, & More Stories

I can’t keep up with the stories dancing around in my brain. Honestly, there are times when I want to strangle my thoughts. Right now I’m jostling four tales-Prymal Passion, Jomsviking Blood Brothers #1, The SEAL and The Pink Poodle, and the first book in The Warriors of Ragnarök. That’s not even including the tales that I’ve started and deliberately set aside-Rocking Around a Christmas Cowboy, Seathe, and Murder To Go.

So help me decide which beginning of the following should I finish:

Murder To Go – Excerpt:

Why the hell was he here?

Fernando Diaz jammed his back against the cool brick wall lining the periphery of Zanadu’s outdoor dance floor. He ignored the pulsing bass reverberating through the soles of his well-worn sneakers, scowled at the gyrating South Beach wannabes writhing on the dance floor, and slugged down his two-ounce shot of vodka. Eighteen months ago he’d have been in the midst of the dancers casting his eye over the crowd searching for a woman to screw. Eighteen months ago he’d been on top of the world, voted Food and Vine’s Best Chef of the Year, cast as the top competitor for The Next Iron Toque, slated to win, to take his spot next to Bobby, Cora, and all the rest.

F**k eighteen months.

The sting of the alcohol couldn’t mask the bile souring his saliva. Fernando pushed off the wall and headed to the jetty. His past life, lived in the glare of the lights from the dozens of paparazzi who dogged his every move, didn’t hold a teaspoon of appeal. Nowadays he relished privacy and solitude and avoided reporters and photographers.

The low-slung half moon cast a silvery glow over the artificial lake. Drawn by the solitary setting, by hypnotic pull of the shimmering water, he strolled in the direction of the pier. Things were finally looking up, the restaurant had had two months in the black, and with a little spit and luck, he would dig himself out of the mire of bankruptcy that had plagued him for the last eighteen months. So why couldn’t he shake the feeling that a meat cleaver was about to obliterate everything with one hack?

The humidity that dogged South Florida’s summer days and nights lifted and the first breezes of fall sloughed a cooling welcome around his nape whisking his hair away from his skin. He halted in the middle of the pier, jammed his hands into jeans’ pockets, leaned his head back, and enjoyed the playful wind dancing over his cheeks, hoping the magic of the moon’s beams, and the solace of the lapping lake would somehow erase the anger burning a hole in his chest.

“Are you okay?”

The soft question jerked his self-pitying thoughts out of his head.

What the?

He twisted to the sound and froze, stifling a curse.

His jaw dropped.

I’m finally losing it.

A fairy?

An ethereal woman-child sat sideways against the post at the end of the jetty. Bathed in moonlight, clothed in a diaphanous dress, the wings on her back fluttering in the wind, she tilted her chin, and when their gazes met he held his breath.The walls he’d built over the last eighteen months crumbled.

“You look like you could strangle someone with your bare hands,” the fairy said. The moon’s incandescence played with her silver hair, and her eyes glimmered like amethysts.

Rocking Around A Christmas Cowboy – Excerpt:

“You’re giving me a cowboy for Christmas?”

Esmé Rawlins, of the Southern Rawlins, the revival fundamentalist Christian Rawlins, knew her mother’d gone insane.

It had happened overnight.

On the day that her husband, the Reverend Deacon Montrichard, had been indicted on fraud and embezzlement charges, and bigamy. Or was the right word frigamy? Since there were five frigging wives and assorted sons and daughters scattered all over several Arkansas, Texas, and Louisiana counties.

“Mama, you cannot give me a human being as a Christmas present.” Esmé kept her eyes fixed on the photograph she’d unwrapped. The man wore a tan Stetson pulled low on his forehead and the wide brim cast a shadow over his narrowed eyes half-obscuring their shape and color. As if a guy this good looking would glance her way once. Esmé stifled a snort. Dream on Mama. Or maybe Mama had picked out this one for husband number three?

“Emmy honey, if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my short lifetime, it’s that’s money can buy anything.” Shelby, a former Miss Arkansas, had managed to prove that little pearl of wisdom with a justified, pecan pie sweetened spate of financial vengeance in a matter of days after the scandal had broken.

“I told you already, Mama, I’m going back to college tomorrow morning.” Esmé’s brother Colton scowled at the computer-printed certificate in his hand. “I’m not going to a dude ranch in the middle of nowhere.”

“And I don’t have any vacation left. I can’t take a whole week off. The library’s busy over Christmas.” A blatant lie, but since Shelby had never set foot in the building, she’d never know. Esmé crossed her fingers behind her back.

Shelby’s newly surgically plumped lips quivered. “You two are the only family I have left in this entire world. Neither of you can spare five days for the woman who birthed you? You’re going to leave me alone over the holidays?” The three-carat diamond on one slim French-manicured finger winked as Shelby patted her chest. “You know the doctor said I shouldn’t be alone.”

Colton and Esmé’s glances met over the top of their mother’s gold-dusted honey hair. Her brother rolled his eyes; Esmé cringed and barricaded her face with open palms. Here came the waterworks, the innuendoes re depression, and the inevitable “I chose Deacon because you two needed a father figure” laments.

“And it’s not as if you couldn’t afford to drop twenty pounds.” Shelby cut Esmé a glance. “It’s a spa/dude ranch combo. I paid for your horse riding lessons. And, as for you young man, I hired that coach you talked about to work on your golf swing.”

Two days, several boxes of Kleenex, and innumerable Shelby crying jags later, Esmé jerked out of deep sleep when bongo drums shattered her favorite sexcapade pre-dawn fantasy. Her unfocused gaze met a wood-timbered ceiling.

Where am I?

Seathe – Excerpt:

“This is going to be a total disaster.”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist,” Shaggy advised. “Try to look on the positive side. He saved the resort. If Seathe MacFarland hadn’t bought Ricky’s Landing, Jonathon Lowell would own us lock, stock, and barrel, and you know what that would mean.”

Genie scowled. She stared at the black pitch of the airport’s runway wanting nothing more than to get the whole meet and greet over and done with.

As usual for the dry season on a tropical island eleven degrees north of the equator, the day had dawned with a crisp clarity and a dazzling brilliance. Not a cloud marred the azure sky. A flock of vultures danced an apostrophe above the rugged peaks and dips of the mountain range above the galvanized roof of the airport hangar.

“Who has a name like Seathe, anyway? What kind of idiotic mother names her son, Seathe? He’s going to be a bully, I just know it. One of those arrogant, insufferable, whiny Yanks who thinks he’s better than us.” She had a love/hate relationship with Americans. Genie loved they thought they could rule the world, and she hated that they actually did, culture-wise.

“You forget I was there for the Skype negotiations, girlie? The man is reasonable. He agreed to keep everyone on, didn’t he? And he agreed to provide complete medical and dental care and a pension plan. Damn, I can finally get that cracked tooth fixed.”

Genie knew how terrible Shaggy’s toothache had grown, but her major worry on the medical score was the pending birth of her BFF’s first baby.

Chantal’s pregnancy had been smooth and easy until last week when she’d awoken in a pool of blood. Placenta previa had been Doc Harry’s conclusion. But Doc hadn’t been able to verify the diagnosis because the only ultrasound on the island belonged to the hospital her step-uncle Jonathon controlled.

When Genie’d researched the condition on the internet, she’d been scared spit less. The odds of Chantal and her baby surviving a natural childbirth were slim. That had cinched the decision in Seathe MacFarland’s favor.

In this case, better the devil you don’t know than the devil that you do. As in, her step-uncle Jonathon. Genie shivered when a chill settled on her nape even under the tropical heat and humidity.

Not going there.

It had taken her years to recover from Jonathon’s evil perfidy.

The SEAL and The Pink Poodle – Excerpt:

“What the fu—”

The pouffed, powdered, and perfumed poodle had the most ear-blasting, high-pitched bark on the planet.

Montana clenched his jaw for the umpteenth time today. In a brief lull of silence, he snapped, “Sit.”

He hadn’t been able to wrap his head or tongue around the dog’s full name—Priscilla Persephone Padigan.

Not that it mattered.

According to Clara O’Halloran, the woman who’d taken the dog in after Montana’s step-uncle died, the animal answered only to either the full version of its name or Prissy.

Prissy. He shuddered.

Montana had a history with canines.

None of it good.

A pit bull had killed his mother when she intervened during the dog’s mauling of him and his brother, Topeka. Not that he had any memory of the event him having been all of five years old when the tragedy had happened. He’d learned to respect canines during his time in the TEAMs, but tolerance didn’t equal anything near resembling liking.

How had a simple visit to inspect the property inherited from his recently deceased uncle on his mother’s side become a living nightmare?

The dog reared onto its hind legs and scraped the wooden door with eight pink-painted toenails.

Montana didn’t bother to repress a mortified-for-the-dog grunt when he spied the pooch’s manicured claws.

Why?

He jammed the heel of one palm against his forehead.

Why would any sane person paint a dog’s toenails pink? He grimaced. Swept a glance around a living area designed and detailed to celebrate every shade of pink in existence and then some.

Okay – someone choose – tell me what tale to write this merry Monday. I’m done in with confusion.

Cheers,

Jianne

Love in the Cards — The Wheel of Fortune by Monette Michaels

Brendan Cooper adjusted the gaudy vest across his chest and the saber in his belt for what had to be the hundredth time that evening. Yes, he represented The Sultan’s Favorites Sex Toys. Yes, he’d been asked to host a sex toy party at this exclusive Halloween party at Dacre House. And, yes, the sheik costume was appropriate … but he didn’t have to like it―any of it.

If he hadn’t been the classic starving, deeply-in-debt, just-out-of-the-military graduate student, then he wouldn’t be here. But he was … so he was.

The best part of this gig was all the sales he’d made tonight; the worst was he’d been as horny as hell the whole evening from observing―and listening to―his clientele testing toys and then using the ones they’d purchased.

The party host had thoughtfully provided tented chaises in the library for sex play. And Brendan had had a front row seat for every single second of the evening’s sexual activities. While he’d “scened” in BDSM clubs, he really wasn’t into being a voyeur; he liked his sex games to be private. But a job was a job, and he needed the money this one provided.

It had been a damn good thing the sword on his belt was plastic, or his stiff dick could’ve been lopped off several times throughout the evening. The fact he hadn’t taken himself in hand and alleviated his arousal was a testimony to his strength of will―and aversion to jerking off surrounded by strangers.

“Mr. Cooper.”

Brendan startled and turned to find Mr. Benoit, the sepulchral-looking aide to the owner of the house, standing right behind him. The man was unnerving as all get out and moved so quietly that he’d surprised Brendan several times during the evening. If Brendan hadn’t known better, he would’ve sworn the man transported from room to room like something out of Star Trek―or maybe he floated through walls like a ghost. The man was just not … right.

“Yes, Mr. Benoit?” Brendan rearranged the anal plugs, from smallest to “oh-my-god” huge, to give his hands something to do. He wasn’t too proud to admit this guy spooked the shit out of him, and as a former Marine, he’d always prided himself on his courage in the line of fire.

“Has your evening been successful?” Mr. Benoit looked around the room as if he were doing a barracks inspection. The guy reminded him of his drill sergeant during basic training; Sergeant York had the same eerie way of sneaking up on you just as you were about to do something stupid.

“It’s been great.” His regional sales manager would be thrilled―and Brendan would get a huge check about mid-November, just in time to buy books for the spring semester. “Lots of people in and out, and using, well, um, enjoying the atmosphere your boss created.”

“That’s good.” Mr. Benoit picked up a pair of Japanese clover nipple clamps and one of the silicone anal plugs in purple, size large. “I’d like to purchase these.” His lips twisted into what might have been a smile. “My wife has a birthday coming up.”

“Um, sure.” Brendan was shocked the guy had a sex life, let alone a kinky one. He wasn’t sure who’d be on the receiving end of the products, pun not intended, but he was damn sure not going to ask. “Cash or credit?”

Mr. Benoit handed over a Black American Express card. “No need for a bag. I’ll just take them back to my quarters. My wife wanted to visit your sex toy party, but she got tied up.” The man chuckled.

Okay, there was such a thing as too much information. But TMI had been happening all evening. The guests were very forthcoming about their sexual proclivities. He’d been invited to join in several ménages after he shut down. He’d declined. He liked his sex kinky, one-on-one, with him in control.

“Mr. Benoit,” he handed the man his card and a receipt, “when should I shut down? The crowd visiting the library seems to have thinned out in the last hour or so.”

The aide chuckled, a deep, bass sound belying his thin body type. “Yes, the private rooms are where most of the action is now. That will go on all night.”

Maybe Brendan would check out the action and find himself a hot woman to play with and bring her back to the library. After all, he had toys and his choice of tented chaise sofas, which had been cleaned after each bout of sex.

“Stay open for another hour or so.” Mr. Benoit shoved the clamps and plug in the pocket of his black formal jacket. “We’re closing down the entertainment in the ballroom in the next fifteen minutes. Some of the entertainers and servers have expressed an interest in purchasing sex toys. After that crowd dies down, feel free to grab some food and beverages in the bar area of the ballroom. Catering services will continue on through the night and into the morning.”

“That’ll work.” He didn’t have to rush home. There were no classes tomorrow, and no one was waiting for him at his apartment.

As the man turned to leave, he paused. The smile on his face was sly this time. “You’re also welcome to join the late-night festivities. Several ladies have commented on your impressive sword. You never know, you just might meet your destiny tonight.” The man winked and then left the room.

“Jesus, he gives me the willies.” Brendan shook off the strange feeling Benoit created and then moved around the display tables, re-stocking in anticipation of the next wave of buyers. He set out more free condoms and antiseptic wipes so the interested buyers could test a toy before buying. Most of his customers had been like Benoit: they knew what they wanted and how to use them.

As he neatened his pile of receipts and made sure his cash drawer was organized, he came across the half Tarot card, The Wheel of Fortune, which Benoit had given him six hours earlier upon arrival at Dacre House. The man had said something about destiny, Brendan’s destiny. Right then several groups of food servers and dancers entered the room, chattering excitedly and moving for the display tables, so he didn’t have time to ponder Benoit’s words.

Brendan was very busy for the next hour. Lots of sales and lots of risqué sex talk, though this crowd was taking the toys and finding rooms to play in. From what he’d overheard, a lot of them had also made hook-ups for the evening and the half Tarot cards had something to do with those.

What was he missing out on?

The room was empty of customers for the moment, so he pulled out the half Tarot card from his cash drawer and stared at it.

The Wheel of Fortune.

The half-card depicted a half of a wheel with pie-shaped sections and in each section was the image of a woman with varying facial expressions. His half had been split vertically, giving him only one side of the woman’s face at the top and bottom with two full faces between them; the woman’s expression at the top was joyful, while the one at the bottom had a look of despair.

The woman’s face looked familiar. Then it hit him. The face on the card was that of one of his classmates who worked the Computer Help Desk with him, Abby Hart. He’d lusted after the petite blonde since they’d shared an IOS programming class last year. He was fairly sure every other heterosexual male in the Computer Science program wanted her too.

Abby was scary smart, had a great sense of humor, and possessed a body made for sin―and she was sweet. Too sweet for what he’d like to do to her curvy little body.

Plus, she treated all of the guys she worked with equally, showing no favorites. One night over beers, he and a few of the other computer science majors had tried to figure out whether she had a boyfriend or liked girls. The consensus had been she wasn’t a lesbian and that she had to be dating someone and was faithful. So, she was hands off.

“Brendan?” That voice had haunted his wet dreams―and his waking ones too.

“Abby?” He did a double-take. Yes, it was really her and― “Oh, wow, you look…” hot, perfect, sexy “…like you should’ve been helping me sell Sultan’s Favorites toys this evening.”

Lame, Brendan, really lame. Where’s your vaunted Dom persona?

Abby’s husky laugh went straight to his dick, and he resisted the urge to readjust his erect and oh-so-fucking-hard cock.

Her laugh always made him hard. He’d once thought he’d come during a shared shift at the Help Desk just listening to her laugh. He’d had to excuse himself and jerk off in the restroom so no one would notice his erection.

“I do look like I should’ve been in the harem all night instead of that cage above the ballroom floor.” Abby smiled and then belly-danced her way to him.

She stepped and pointed her toe, setting the bells on her ankle bracelets to ringing. Then she undulated her hips and stomach and the coins on the sheer scarf around her hips jingled. With each step and wiggle toward him, she also clicked little cymbals attached to her fingers. Brring. Brring.

Brendan shut his mouth and checked to see if he had any drool on his chin, because she was drool-worthy. A tiny blue bra top and bikini panty with sheer blue harem pants and the purple scarf with coins around her hips were all she wore―oh, and the bells at her ankles which reminded him of ankle cuffs only noisier. The Dom in him wanted to take her to one of the tented chaises, strip her bare, bind her, and give her so much pleasure she’d never look at another man.

“I’d like that, Brendan.”

Fuck, had he said that out loud? What the fuck was wrong with him?

Did you listen, dumbass? She wants us to dominate her.

Was Abby his hook-up? Was Mr. Benoit a psychic or something?

“Do you have a half Tarot card?” he asked.

She smiled and pulled a card tucked in her blue panties and handed it to him. It was the mate to his card.

A frisson of preternatural awareness ran down his spine. It was the same feeling he’d often had during battle just before something important happened. On the battle field, the warning had saved his life. Was the feeling now telling him his life was about to change for the better? Because being with Abby could only be good.

“Brendan, don’t you want me?” She sounded―and looked―forlorn, like the woman at the bottom of the card. That wouldn’t do.

He moved toward her and took her hands in his, removed the finger cymbals, and tossed them on the table. He placed her hands on his chest and then, cupping her sweet ass with his hands, pulled her into his body against his throbbing erection. “That’s for you. Every time I see you … hear you … think about you, I get hard.”

Abby’s mouth formed a perfect O and then she sealed her fate by moving in and placing a tiny biting kiss on one of his nipples peeking out from behind the ugly vest.

“I feel the same way about you,” she whispered into his chest. “Feel me and see.”

Brendan groaned and slid his hand between their bodies and then slipped his fingers under the tiny pair of panties she wore. He rubbed a finger over bare pussy lips and found her… “God, you’re soaking wet, sweetheart.”

He pulled his hand out and brought the fingers wet with her juices to his lips and sucked them. “God, I’m gonna eat you up.”

“Please.” She stood on her tip-toes and nipped his chin and licked it. “I want you so much.”

Brendan wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve this change in fortune, but he wasn’t about to turn it aside.

“Go to the chaise with the purple hangings. Take off all the bells and jingling things, take off the sheer pants, leave the bra and panties on,” he wanted to take those off himself, “and then sit and wait for me.”

“What are you going to do?” She rubbed her tiny hands over his chest and he rumbled deep in his throat. He liked her touching him … way too much.

He picked up one of her so-distracting hands and placed a kiss on the palm. “I’m locking the damn door, ’cause I don’t do public sex…” He slapped her bottom with his other hand and was happy to see her eyes dilate with arousal. “…and then I’ll take my harem girl in every way I desire.”

And his desire meant he’d visit every orifice before the night was over. Sultan’s choice on where he decided to take his final pleasure.

“God, I knew you’d be like this.” She kissed the hand that held hers. “I always sensed dark depths under your quiet demeanor. Every shift, I’d notice your erection.” She stroked a hand over the bulge in his pants and licked her lips. “I’ve stayed awake many a night and masturbated, thinking about your big, strong body, about how large your cock is, about you fucking my mouth and then making me scream with pleasure as you put this big boy in me.” She squeezed his cock through his pants.

Brendan growled at the feel of her hand on his hard-on, at the mental images of her naked and fingering herself.

“Abby, get your ass to the chaise now,” he gritted out between clenched teeth. It was all he could do not to tear her costume off and fuck her on the floor with no preliminaries. But he wanted this first time with Abby to be long, drawn out, and excruciatingly pleasurable for both of them.

Her coins and bells jingled and rang all the way to the chaise as he locked the library door and turned off the overhead lights, leaving only lamps to light the room. He moved a floor lamp closer to the chaise where Abby sat watching him with hungry eyes.

With the light coming through the sheer purple silk, he’d have just enough light to see Abby’s body and the expressions on her face as he took her over and over again. The way he felt right now, he could fuck her all night.

“Lie down, Abby.” His voice was more guttural than he could ever remember. She brought out the alpha-animal in him. All his sexual relations in the bedroom were Dom-sub. He didn’t do vanilla sex, which was one of the reasons he’d never made a move on Abby. She’d looked to be strictly a vanilla girl.

But looks had been deceiving, and she had a hidden sub side―and a very good Dom-radar. Thank you, lord.

*

God, it was gonna happen.

Abby had wanted to be with this man for a long time. But he was older and so controlled, and she hadn’t known how to approach him. She’d always been able to pick out the Dom in any room, probably a result of being raised in a non-traditional household. She and her siblings “knew,” once they were old enough to understand what sex was, that a locked door meant mom and dad were playing sex games. Since she’d had a wonderful childhood and her parents had a happy marriage and still did, she figured BDSM sex was just another choice to make in life.

She’d made that choice. And while she’d played both privately and at an invitation-only club off campus, she’d never found the “one” Dom who she’d want to be with forever. She wanted what her mom and dad had.

When she’d first seen Brendan, her gut, her heart, and her soul all agreed―this was the man, her Dom.

But how did a proper submissive girl approach a Dom and tell him she was his perfect sub and mate?

Thank God for this party.

“Abby. Stand.” Brendan offered his hand and she placed hers in it, glad for the help, because her knees were the consistency of pudding.

He released her and then pulled her panties down. “Step out.” She did. Then he unfastened her bra and took it off. His gaze heated as he scanned her slowly from top to bottom and back. “You are so perfect.”

And his words and the look in his eyes made her feel so.

Brendan caressed her arms, then moved his hands over her breasts and down her body along the outside of her torso and settled them on her hips. She shivered with excitement as his calloused fingers sent chill bumps racing over her skin.

“Are you cold, little one?”

His Dom voice was lower than his normal speaking voice—a voice that already had the ability to make her wet just from hearing him. Even now the moisture from her pussy coated her labia and her inner thighs.

“No, just excited.”

“Good.” He smiled. “Do you have any hard limits?”

“No scarring me. No needles. No scat. No golden showers. No humiliation. No sharing me with other men. Moderate pain only.” She inhaled sharply as she realized this was going to happen and then her mind went numb.

“That’s good enough to start.” He walked behind her and stroked her back, moving her hair aside to place a kiss at the top of her spine.

She moaned and trembled.

“I won’t hurt you, baby, just push your limits a bit tonight. We’ll go over a complete limits’ contract later.”

Later? He wanted to be with her beyond tonight. It was all she could do not to squeal in excitement.

“You’re pleased.”

He read her well. Her dad was like that with her mom. This boded well for their future.

Brendan nibbled along her shoulder and up her neck. When he reached her ear, he bit her lobe lightly, then sucked on it. He reached around and pinched her nipples hard. She inhaled and then exhaled on a gasp at the pleasure-pain that shot straight to her clit. She moaned as he rolled her nipples between his thumb and finger.

“Let’s clamp these and begin to play.”

“Yes-s-s,” she breathed through the pinches of pain. Her body felt like an over-wound watch, ready to spring loose. She might come from his breast manipulation alone. “I’m close, Sir.”

“Don’t come.” He teethed her shoulder and released her nipples.

She whined at the loss of his touch. The need to come ebbed.

He walked around to face her. He selected some tweezer nipple clamps from the table to the side of the chaise. He put one clamp on her nipple and slid the little ring up, tightening it until she closed her eyes and clenched her jaw against the moan of pain.

“Good girl.” Brendan released a bit of the tension and the pain subsided somewhat. She let out a breath and then he clamped the other nipple in the same manner. He tugged on the chain connecting them and she took rapid breaths to control the urge to cry out. “No sound. What an obedient sub.” He kissed the tip of each tightly clamped nipple. “You will not speak unless it’s to tell me you’re close to coming or to use your safe word which will be ‘pumpkin.’ Do you understand?”

She nodded.

“What’s your safe word?”

“Pumpkin, Sir.” Her throat was so tight with nerves and excitement she could barely get the words out. She hadn’t been this aroused … ever.

“Use it if you need to.” Brendan swept her into his arms. His strength was a turn-on in itself. He placed her on the chaise with her head hanging over the top end slightly. “Don’t move.”

She nodded and then watched as he collected an assortment of toys from the tables and returned to her.

“Abby,” he kissed her lips, “are you okay with being tightly bound? You may speak.”

“Yes, Sir. I like being tightly bound.” A lot.

Brendan smiled. He put cuffs on her wrists, ankles, and thighs just above her knees and a bondage belt around her waist. Then with a combination of leather straps, he bound her to the chaise with her hips elevated and her ass and pussy wide open to anything he wished to do to them.

“You look so beautiful.”

He licked and suckled her labia and clit, again and again, but never stayed long enough in one spot to take her over the top. She hissed and tried to arch into the touch to get the pressure she needed.

Brendan slapped her pussy. “None of that. You may make noises, but you can’t come.” He lapped at her sex, humming under his breath. “You taste wonderful. I’ll enjoy eating you for hours, but not tonight.”

She whined and then inhaled sharply as he shoved a finger into her pussy and moved it to her anus and rubbed her juices over the tiny pucker. “Have you ever taken a man here?”

“Yes-s-s, Sir.” She loved having her ass filled while her lover fucked her.

“Let’s get you ready for my cock.” He rubbed some very cold lube on her asshole and then used his fingers to prep her. “Okay, push out, little one. This is a medium plug and I want you to take it, love.”

She nodded, inhaled and then exhaled, relaxing her asshole as much as possible. There was no pain until the bulge in the plug attempted to go through the tight anal ring.

“Push against it. That’s a girl. It’s in.”

Hell, yeah it was. Every inch of her rectum throbbed around the intrusion. But as she adjusted, her pussy clenched around an aching emptiness; she wanted his cock in her now.

Brendan stood by her head. “You will lick and suck my cock until I tell you to stop. Then I’ll fuck your mouth until you swallow my cum. Then it’ll be your turn to come … and come again and again my love.” He placed a squeaky toy in her hand. “If you get uncomfortable and need to safe word out, squeak that.”

Then he walked behind the chaise and angled her head. “Take my cock.”

Abby began by licking the head and then sucking him in and out of her mouth. He was long and thick; it was the largest cock she’d ever sucked. His taste was briny and somewhat fruity, and she loved it. She was in her own little world, loving his cock, when he pulled the chain to the nipple clamps. She gasped around his cock, and he groaned.

“That felt good. Let’s do it again.” He tugged, she groaned, and her ass clenched around the plug. Her pussy felt so empty and she tightened her vaginal muscles to assuage the ache. She wanted his cock down there.

“Stop sucking.”

She stopped. He held her head steady for his thrusts. He took her rough and fast. She swallowed against the gag reflex and was rewarded with a “Good, little one. So good.”

“Fuck, baby. I’m coming.” His roar of completion was quickly followed by hot spurts of cum down her throat. She swallowed as fast as she could. Finally he was spent and pulled out of her mouth.

Abby took deep gasping breaths as Brendan crooned praise into her ear and caressed her face and hair. “That was wonderful, little one.” He brushed a kiss over her swollen lips before thrusting his tongue into her mouth for a deep, claiming kiss. He tasted of mint and something earthy. She could become addicted to his taste.

When he broke off the kiss, he checked her bindings. “Can you feel your hands and feet?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Now is all about you.” He caressed her body lightly with the backs of his fingers, just enough to tease her, but not enough to add to her arousal. Then he moved to her bottom and turned on a vibrator in the anal plug.

She inhaled sharply as the pulsations seemed to enter her very bones. Then the sound of a Hitachi vibrator filled the air. When he touched the vibe’s head to her labia and clit, she screamed and tried to get away from the too-strong vibrations. “Too much. Too much.”

“Hush.” His order was stern and he slapped her ass hard.

She couldn’t move away from the painful pleasure the powerful vibe caused. Her teeth chattered, her hands clenched, her toes curled, and her body throbbed as every nerve in her seemed to tighten all at once … and then exploded. She screamed, moaned, cursed, and then devolved into mindless mumblings. If she hadn’t been tied down, she would’ve arched into the vibrator while pushing it away at the same time. She wanted it, but she didn’t.

Brendan gave her no choice … and she loved him for it. He kept the Hitachi on her clit, not letting up for what seemed like forever. She lost count of the orgasms after three; they ran into one another. Finally, he pulled the all-too-efficient vibe away.

Abby trembled as mini-spasms seemed to travel up and down her body.

“Prepare, little one. Ice pack.”

She shrieked as he placed and held a towel-wrapped ice pack on her over-stimulated pussy. “Ohgod, ohgod, ohgod.”

When he removed the ice, he licked her labia and clit. His mouth was hot in contrast to the ice. As he suckled and teethed her over-sensitized tissue, a different climb to orgasm occurred; this time it was slow and inexorable. She strained to reach the peak, but couldn’t. It was torture. It was wonderful.

Then Brendan used the Hitachi again. “Two more times, sweetheart.” He tugged on her nipple clamps. She moaned. “Then you’ll take my cock in your pussy and then I’ll come in your ass.”

“Can’t. Too tired, Sir.” She wasn’t positive she was even still in her body. She was sure the last orgasm had her floating over her physical body looking down. Was she dead?

He removed the clamps and she screamed as the most powerful orgasm yet, fueled by the main line from her nipples to her clit jump-started a series of never-ending orgasms.

“That’s my girl.” Brendan leaned over and shoved his cock inside her pussy and began to fuck her, hard and fast, shooting her pleasure into the upper atmosphere.

She moaned constantly now. Words were beyond her. The pleasure was too much, bordering on the knife edge of pain she liked and craved. No man had ever pushed her this far.

“Gonna take your ass now.” He grunted, pulled out of her still-spasming pussy and then removed the anal plug.

She watched with dazed eyes as he lubed her and then himself. She liked seeing him stroke his own cock with his large hand. He was big all over and made her feel conquered and protected at the same time.

“Push out, baby.” She inhaled and blew out a breath as he inserted the crown of his cock head into the opening stretched by the plug. He slowly pushed in, then halted, letting her relax until he could push in even farther. It took four pauses, but she finally felt his balls against her ass. Then he began thrusting, slowly at first, then more rapidly.

And as he shoved his cock into her ass, he murmured, “So tight. Feels so good. You take me so beautifully. Could live in your ass forever.” As he fucked her ass, he fingered her clit and thrust two fingers in her pussy. “Come again, baby. Come now.”

Abby would’ve sworn she couldn’t come again, but his cock rubbed nerve endings that had never been rubbed before, and his fingers and thumb revitalized her clit and pussy. So, when he told her to come, she did. “Brendan!”

As if in response, Brendan came also. “Mine,” he roared. He pummeled her ass so hard it shook the chaise. “You … are … fucking … mine.”

Finally, he slumped over her and peppered kisses over her face and shoulders as they both shuddered against one another.

Brendan nuzzled her neck and whispered, “Let’s get you loose, sweetheart.”

He released her and then scooped her into his arms and carried her to another chaise where he lay her down and joined her. Spooning her, he held her close and then pulled several silk throws over them.

As Brendan kissed her shoulder and back, Abby sighed with pleasure. He was a post-sex cuddler. He liked to force orgasms. Her dream Dom.

“I’m so glad you were here tonight. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me.” Brendan kissed the edge of her jaw. “You’re moving in with me.”

It was an order, not a request.

“Yes, I am.”

Thank God, her Uncle Benoit had helped to create this meeting. Brendan never would’ve made the first move. So, she’d taken Fate in hand.

The End

Love in the Cards – Empress by Cherie Nicholls

Lucy looked down at the invitation in her hands.
There was a man sitting in the chair on the other side of the room, waiting for her.
So far, this night hadn’t been like anything she’d expected. First, she’d managed to get herself fired from a job she loved. Second, she sort of crashed a Halloween party. But hey, she’d been invited when she’d worked in the Michaelson’s office; the party’s hosts didn’t need to know that technically she wasn’t a Michaelson employee anymore.
Finally, she’d made the mistake of turning over the invitation and looking at the back. Printed on the reverse side was the image of half of a tarot card. The Empress card. Lucy didn’t know much about the mystical element, but doubted the picture had much to do with reading peoples futures at this party.
There were also some instructions printed on the card. Basically, someone would have the other half of her card; her mission was to find that person. Lucy had almost rolled her eyes, but something about the image pulled at her and here she was … a party-crasher.
Upon arrival, she’d headed to the bar and ordered a soda. Lucy had barely taken a sip before a man in a scarlet suit approached her.
“Madam, I believe the person holding the other half of your card is in a room upstairs.”
“How do you know what card I have?”
The man had merely smiled and walked away. She’d had no intention of heading to a room away from the main crowd; she was not stupid.
But the more she’d thought about it, the more she’d felt the need to have a look. A quick peek she’d promised herself as she walked up the ornate staircase.
Lucy had worried she’d not know what room, but she shouldn’t have. One room stood out―a gold shining plaque on the door clearly stating it was the Empress Suite.
She’d taken a deep breath and opened the door.
That was where she found herself now, looking at a man in an expensively cut suit sitting in a chair, watching her.
A suit that had to have been tailored on Saville Row, leather shoes made in Milan, and a haircut that had to have cost one hundred dollars. She’d worked as an assistant to one of the brothers who ran the Michaelson company, and her boss had always made sure he had the best of everything. Lucy had learned to spot the cut, make, and model of everything he liked.
The man in the chair brushed a hand over his head, letting his fingers run through the strands. Lucy’s own hand tingled with the need to follow the same path.
Dark chocolate-brown eyes watched her every move. His gaze scanned down her body, taking in the tight red dress she’d poured herself into and the killer four-inch heels she wore.
Lucy pushed her long brown hair over her shoulder and let him look. She had curves and was proud of them. If he thought he’d fluster her, then this guy really didn’t know who he was messing with.
“Like?” she asked,
“Red is definitely your color.” His voice was deep, vibrating across the room and hitting her square in the pussy.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Lucy walked farther into the room. A small part of her was questioning the sanity of being here; another part was simply enjoying what would likely be her last night in high society. Tomorrow she would be job hunting and doubted she’d find a position like the one she’d messed up.
She pushed the images from earlier that day out of her mind.
The man moved, bringing her out of her reverie.
“I knew you’d come.” Again, his voice affected her pussy.
“Hmm, did you?” Lucy dropped her bag on a table.
“Yes, they said you wouldn’t, but I knew you would. I never doubted it.”
“And what made you so sure?”
“Because I know what you need.”
“What would that be?”
He was taller than her, even with her in heels, but she wasn’t scared or intimidated. As he walked toward her, Lucy admired the grace of his movements.
He stopped in front of her and looked down.
Lucy waited and wondered what his next move would be. A smile that bordered on a grin spread across her face as he fell to his knees. She looked at the top of his head before turning to the door and with a soft snick, sliding the lock closed.
When she turned back, her face fell. She took a deep calming breath and walked away from him. After moving several feet away, Lucy turned back to find him in the same position―on his knees, his head down, and hands locked together at the base of his back. She took a second to admire the view. Good Lord, he was stunning like this. She snorted. She should’ve known this was all a set-up, damn him, and she’d walked right into it.
“Are you the reason I was fired this morning, Mr. Michaelson?”
His shoulders stiffened at her question, but he didn’t answer.
Lucy rolled her eyes and walked back to stand over him. “I asked you a question. I expect an answer.”
“I spoke to my brother, yes,” David Michaelson, the older and, in her opinion, sexier brother answered.
“So, what exactly happened? You walked into little brother’s office, said ‘hey bro, I kinda need to fuck your assistant, but I need you to fire her first?’ is that it?”
“No! It wasn’t like that.”
“Then tell me how I woke up this morning employed, and now I’m here wondering where my next check is coming from?”
His jaw clenched, but he said nothing. Lucy sighed and put a finger under his chin, forcing his head up.
“Was that question too hard? Okay, let me try something else. What is it you want from me, Mr. Michaelson?”
The tip of his tongue peeked out, running between the seam of his lips. It took more control than she expected to stop her groan. He was such a tease; from the glint in his eye, he knew it, too.
Lucy released his chin and then ran her hand up his cheek and into his hair. David turned his head into her palm as she scraped her nails across his scalp. The tension eased out of his shoulders. She maintained a steady pressure and rhythm as she stroked his head. When he closed his eyes, she smiled. The trust he’d placed in her was humbling.
She waited a minute more, letting him truly relax into his submission. When she was sure he was ready, she grabbed a handful of hair and tugged, making sure he felt the pin pricks of pain.
David’s eyes flew open. Lucy bent down, so close she could speak directly into his ear.
“Listen close, brat. I’ve asked you two questions, and you refused to answer either of them. You seem to think you’re in charge here, but you forgot … I don’t work for you anymore. I’m not on my knees in front of you.” She pulled back so he could see her face. “Since you don’t want to answer questions, how about we try obeying my orders instead? Take your clothes off.”
She let him go and stepped back.
For a second, he didn’t move. She could almost see his mind whirling away behind his eyes. Amazed as she was to have David Michaelson on his knees in front of her, she didn’t forget for a second who he was. He was testing her; she’d seen him do this to others a hundred times before.
This time he’d met his match. Lucy was more than capable of handling a stuck-up, bratty sub.
“Fine, you can’t answer questions. You can’t follow orders. Really, I don’t see the point of taking this further. Have a good life, Mr. Michaelson.” She turned and picked up her bag before stepping toward the door. She hadn’t even reached for the lock when his voice stopped her.
“My brother knew I wanted you. He also knew I’d never do anything about it while you worked at the company. So, he took steps.”
“Steps? Such as firing me?”
“Yes.”
“And what is it you want from me?”
“Whatever you want to give me.”
Lucy gave him high marks for that answer.
“Have you played like this before?” She wanted to know how experienced he was, how sure of his needs he was. She’d played with newbies before, but she always preferred men who knew exactly what they desired.
“Yes.”
Interesting. Lucy turned to face him again and dropped her bag back on the table.
“I gave you an order.”
This time, David rose to his feet without argument or hesitation. He started to shrug out of his jacket.
“Wait, she ordered.
He halted.
Lucy walked to the other side of the room and sat in the chair he’d used. “Now slowly, don’t rush, kitten.”
He let the jacket slowly slide down his arms before he turned to face her. The thousand-dollar suit coat forgotten as it hit the ground.
“Now the tie.”
He pulled the knot free, then tugged the end slowly around his neck before stepping forward and dropping the tie into her lap.
“Shoes.”
Those were off and kicked away quickly. “Tut tut, kitten I said slowly. Now the socks.”
When his feet were bare she raised a hand, stopping him. “Tell me, kitten, do you have a safe word?”
He nodded.
“And what is it?”
“Mathwell.”
That shocked Lucy.
“A little sure of yourself aren’t you, kitten?”
“That’s my safe word.”
“My surname is your safe word?”
“Yes.”
“Such a tease. Shirt off next.” She leaned back in the chair and waved him on.
She had to keep control of this situation, of herself. There was still a voice in her head, telling her this was all a dream. Her day had gone from one extreme to another.
His shirt fell into a white cotton pile on the floor. She’s never needed to sneak peeks at him as he walked past her desk or if she spotted him in the staff canteen. No, this time, Lucy was able to look her fill and there wasn’t anything he or anyone could do about it.
“Do you have on underwear?”
“No.”
“I want to see you naked in ten seconds or … well, you really don’t want to know what the ‘or’ is.”
David nodded and rushed to comply
“Five, four, three, two … one.” As she finished the countdown, he stood gloriously naked. His trousers were puddled at his feet. The sight brought a smile to her face. “Aren’t you a good boy, kitten?”
His cock stood at attention, and she hadn’t even touched him properly yet. The thought made her wet, the power she had over him was a thrill.
“Bit of slut, I see.”
“Only for you, Lucy.”
“Lucy? I don’t remember giving you permission to use my name.” The corner of her invitation peeked out of her bag. “No, you get to call me Empress.”
“Yes, Empress.”
“Now bring that pretty cock over here.”
Lucy sat forward as he came closer. Good Lord, he was big. If she’d been anywhere else, she’d have clapped her hands in childish glee. Oh the fun she planned on having this evening.
“I can see you’re clean shaven. Do you prefer that look?” She took his cock in her hand and stroked down the length of his hardness.
“No.” He spoke through gritted teeth.
“No?”
“I asked around. I wanted to know what you liked in a man … a sub.”
“Is that right? So tell me, kitten, what else did you find out?”
She released him and sat back, interested in hearing hear what he had to say.
“Nothing.”
Lucy raised an eyebrow. He was lying, she could tell. Again, she sighed. He was going to be a handful.
“Knees,” she instructed.
He was on his knees in seconds.
Lucy sat forward, opening her thighs so they bracketed his waist. She wanted him to feel trapped, but safe. She wouldn’t restrain him, not by force, anyway.
“How many times are you going to avoid my questions or lie before you realize I know you too well? I’ve worked with your family for years. Trust me when I say, I know each and every one of you better than you realize.”
His eyes narrowed and a flash of anger shone in their depths. It took a second to comprehend what she was seeing. Jealousy.
“I’ve worked for your brother for five years, and in all of that time, I’ve never seen him naked.”
The tension eased from David’s shoulders.
“Now tell me, kitten, what made you go looking for information on me?”
Again, his cheeky little tongue peeked out, wetting his lips.
Lucy couldn’t resist it any longer; she leaned forward and captured his mouth with hers. At the same time, she slid her hand down his chest and over his stomach to rest just above the tip of his hard-on.
The appendage was rock-hard and standing tall, begging for her attention. Lucy refused to pay it any mind; instead, taking her time, she savored his soft lips.
Their tongues parried. He didn’t submit easily, making her work for it. She enjoyed the challenge.
No Domme worth her salt wanted to be given someone’s submission, she wanted to earn it. A Domme needed to prove she was worthy of the sub’s trust.
Lucy used her other hand to grip the back of his head, tipping it to allow her better access.
When she finally pulled away, they were both breathing hard.
“Well, aren’t you a talented little kitten?”
“Thank you, Empress.”
“Aww, and you thank me so prettily. But your sweet words won’t make me forget all the ticks you have in the naughty column. Now,” she sat back, “how shall I punish you?”
There was fear mixed with excitement in his eyes. David Michaelson was most definitely a submissive. How had she missed the signs all these years? Perhaps, because she didn’t think the self-assured, aggressive older brother of the Michaelson clan was anything but dominant. She’d been a blind fool.
“Tell me, kitten, do you know the traffic light system?” She ran the tip of her shoe up his inner thigh, loving the shudder it drew from him.
“Yes, Empress.”
“And how are you feeling now?”
“Green, Empress.”
“Good boy.”
Green meant he was fine, enjoying himself; yellow would mean he needed to stop and take a break; and red would mean whatever they were doing needed to stop immediately.
“Does this room come complete with condoms?” David nodded. “Good, I need you to get me three things: the condoms, your tie, and a paddle, I assume we have those, too?”
David nodded again before getting to his feet to do her bidding.
She ogled his naked body, not caring he could see her doing it. That body was hers to do with as she wanted, and they both knew it.
When he came back, he handed each item to her. Lucy made a big show of checking them. She placed the condoms and the paddle onto the arm of the chair before she took the tie and ran its length through her hands.
“Knees.” She instructed again. When he was kneeling, Lucy leaned forward and dragged the tie over his shoulder. “I’m going to place this around your eyes, blinding you so you can’t see what I’m going to do. Okay?”
“Yes, Empress.”
“Good boy.” Lucy made quick work of it, tying the material tight enough so it wouldn’t slip, but not so tight it would cause him discomfort.
“I’m going to do something now that I’ve thought about from the minute I first met you.”
He nodded, and Lucy smiled. What was he imagining her thoughts had been?
She took his hand and placed her palm against his, marveling at the size difference. His hand engulfed hers, yet she didn’t fear him. She knew he wouldn’t hurt her.
Lucy watched him closely as she pulled down the top of her dress and strapless bra, exposing her breasts. She scooted to the edge of the chair, bringing her chest closer to him.
When she placed his hand over a breast, his mouth dropped open for a second before he could stop the reaction. She’d shocked him. Good and it wouldn’t be the first time, that was for sure.
“You know, kitten, I have really sensitive breasts. The feel of a man’s hands on them makes me so wet, see?” She took his other hand and placed it against her core. Her panties were soaked and had been from the second she’d seen him in this room.
“Sometimes, when you’re in meetings, I’ve watched you, wondering what it would be like to have control of these hands, have them do exactly as I instructed, and knowing your only concern would be my pleasure.” She moved his hand to press against her pussy. “Mmm, feels good.”
He began to pant; pre-cum leaked from the tip of his cock. Lucy released the hand on her breast. She took hold of his hand and placed it to the side of her breast.
“Squeeze.”
He squeezed the soft globe gently.
“Harder.”
He tried again, a little rougher this time.
Lucy tutted. “I’m not one of those socialites traipsing in and out of your office, kitten. I won’t break. Now, either you touch me like I want or you don’t get to touch at all. What’s it going to be?”
Before she’d even stopped speaking, he’d become rougher. Her skin tingled, loving the feel of his fingers digging into her sensitive flesh.
“Oh, kitten, that’s much better.” She pulled his other hand up and placed it on the other breast. He kneaded, stroked, and tugged until she thought she’d come just from breast manipulations alone. She closed her eyes for a second, seeking control, grateful he couldn’t see how easily he could arouse her. It hadn’t ever been like this. Yes, she enjoyed being touched, but never had she had to fight for control. Damn him and his talented hands.
When Lucy felt she’d regained enough control, she caught sight of his teasing tongue tip peeking out of his mouth again.
“Oral sex, kitten, is that something you can do?” She tried to make her voice sound as casual as possible, even though the blood was practically boiling in her veins.
“Yes, Empress. I’m the best.” His breath was labored as if he’d run a hundred miles.
“That’s quite a claim.”
“I don’t make claims. I state facts.” For a second, the David Michaelson she was used to seeing in the board room made an appearance. It pleased her, knowing the man she’d lusted after all this time was still there.
“Prove it. Make me come, and maybe I’ll reward you … if you’re a good boy.”
She didn’t need to give him further instruction. He caught hold of her legs, raising them so they lay over his shoulders. In seconds, he was between her thighs, showing her exactly how talented he was with his tongue.
The sound of material ripping as he pulled her panties free from her body brought a smile to her mouth a second before it opened in a silent O.
Lucy had planned on making him work for her orgasm, but she’d been too close. In mere minutes her orgasm burst through her. She gripped his head and came, screaming her pleasure.
She used her grip to pull his head away from her. She kept moving until she had him flat on his back. She reached back and grabbed the box of condoms. It was a moment’s work to put the protection in place.
“You’d better fucking scream for me, boy.” She rose up and then plunged down, taking his hard cock into her waiting heat.
“Shit!” He yelled as she started to move. His hands gripped her waist as she rode him. He moved his hips, meeting her thrust for thrust.
Lucy reached forward and pulled the blindfold free of his eyes. “This body belongs to me now, do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Not just for the night. This is mine now.”
“Yes.”
With a hand on his shoulder, she pulled and rolled them so that he was now over her. She grabbed the paddle that had fallen to the floor in her haste to get him on the ground.
As he thrust into her, she spanked his ass.
“Please,” he begged.
She knew he wasn’t asking her to stop. She spanked him again. “I own this ass.”
“Fuck, yeah.”
“I want to hear you scream as you come, boy.” She struck him again, forcing him to pick up the pace.
His orgasm hit a second before hers did. He screamed her name and pride flooded her chest. Her vision clouded at the intensity of her own orgasm.
As her sight cleared, she looked at her hands, the invitation with the image of half of the Empress tarot card held in them.
“Lucy?” She looked up.
“Are you okay? You looked stunned.”
Lucy shook her head, trying to clear the fog from her brain, and looked around her. She was back in the Michaelson offices. “I’m fine, just surprised we’re already receiving invitations for Halloween parties.”
“Well, you know what it’s like. They like to make sure at least one of us attends.”
Lucy looked up at Simon Michaelson, her boss, and smiled. “In such high demand, I guess.”
Her boss winked and walked back into his office. Just then David’s door opened and he walked out.
Lucy looked at him with a raised eyebrow. At first, he frowned at her, but before long, his gaze dropped. He turned and walked away; he didn’t speak to her. He rarely did.
The half-Tarot card, still in her hands, called her.
Sometimes being able to touch something and see into the future was horrible. So much so, she’d trained herself to block off that part of herself. But the invitation had called strongly to the hidden part of her soul, and she’d been unable to resist.
She’d seen a night, a month into the future. She’d seen a naked David. And she’d seen the days after that night.
Lucy looked toward his empty office. The smile on her face could only be described as predatory.
“Oh, kitten, I can’t wait to claim you.”

The End.

Love in the Cards- Judgment Day by Rosanna Leo

Judgement Day

by Rosanna Leo

Chapter One

Even from behind the closed salon door, Verity sensed him coming. Despite the party atmosphere in Dacre House, and the sounds of lusty revelers, she remained attuned to his particular footsteps. The determined thump of his footfall made her as excited now as it had three hundred odd years ago.

She perched on the edge of a velvet settee, crossing her leather-clad legs. And then, as she heard him reach the salon door, she decided against her pose and stood to reposition herself behind a scrolled chest of drawers. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, she stood up straight and gazed toward the door, her heart heavy with anticipation. As much as she wanted to present a brave face, standing behind the bulky piece of furniture made her feel safe. In her hand, she gripped half of a tarot card as if it were a map leading to buried treasure. She glanced at the card.

Judgment Day. How appropriate.

So long. So very long. How had she existed all this time without him? Of course, she thought bitterly, it wasn’t as if she’d ever had a choice. He’d turned her away every time she’d pleaded with him over the past three centuries, a victim to his all-consuming guilt.

The old brass knob turned and the door creaked opened. John Martin walked in, the other half of the Judgment Day card in his big hand, and surveyed one corner of the room. Verity’s heart leapt, something it hadn’t done since the last time she’d appeared before him several decades ago. He was still beautiful, more so, if it were possible. His tall, bulky frame still filled a doorway. His brown hair was cut in a short, modern style that did nothing to erase the memory of the appealing curls he’d once worn. He wore black dress pants and a black shirt, reminiscent of his former Puritan garb. His blue eyes still burned fire.

He saw her and jumped back, dropping the tarot card. As he moved, his swan-feather angel wings unfurled and lifted him off the ground. He hovered and pointed at her. “I reject you, Satan, and your foul temptations!”

Despite wanting to cry, Verity forced her rouged lips into a smile and slid out from behind the chest of drawers. As a succubus, she had powers of her own, and needed no wings to take flight. She flew in his direction, wafting her gardenia perfume toward him in a teasing embrace. “It’s just me, John. Your Verity.”

The slight crinkle in his brow signaled his distress, but he hid it well, clenching his jaw and forcing his face back into a mask of cold calm. Damn angels, unfeeling creatures. “I don’t believe you.”

“Why not?”

“Very well.” His grim smile lanced right through her. “You wish to play games. That must be why you lead me to this … this place of perversion.” He dropped his gaze to the floor, to where his tarot card fell. “I don’t believe the creature before me is Verity Chisholm because the Dark Lord has seen fit to conjure her image before me many times, only to make her disappear. I have been taunted by what I cannot have time and again.”

Her heart broke for him. It was just like her employer to engage in such savage sport. There was nothing he enjoyed more than mocking God’s company. Could this be why John had ignored her many entreaties over the centuries? Because he didn’t trust she wouldn’t disappear too? So much wasted time, and all because of her master’s games.

She hated Lucifer even more now.

“I swear on my life with you, John, it is me. Not some cruel phantom.”

He narrowed his eyes, looking her up and down, trying to see through her. His hard gaze stung, but she held it. And then, after the longest moment of her existence, she spied a softening in his eyes. Something in him broke. Her hands moved at her sides in restless surrender. He spoke in a cracked voice. “Verity?”

Thanks be to God! He believed.

Relief fanned its warmth through her core. She thought he’d turn her away again. So many times over the past centuries she’d approached him, but he’d warded her off. Casting her away like the demon she was, but which she’d never felt comfortable being. Anticipating another rebuff, she’d invited him here to Dacre House, New Orleans’ own “House of Sin,” hoping he’d succumb to a little Halloween temptation.

Only now she was tempted. Oh, to feel his arms around her again!

“I’d hoped by inviting you to this den of flesh and writhing bodies, I might convince you to do something crazy with me. Like hold my hand.” She pasted on what she hoped was a beguiling smile, but it trembled, crooked on her face.

“I can’t.” He shook his head, his eyes haunted.

Oh, how his guilt still dictated his every move. However, Verity knew underneath the stoic demeanor that was his angel armor, he was a man. One who hadn’t been averse to a little temptation in his past life.

Determined to crack his shell, she landed back on the floor, extending an arm to him. “John, it wasn’t your fault.”

He, too, dropped to the floor, unfurling his majestic wings behind his back. He took up a spot against the far wall, the farthest away from her he could get. “It was my fault! I didn’t save you, and look at the creature you’ve become. It’s because of me that you were damned, and I’ll never forgive myself.”

“Oh, my John.” He’d never come to her while guilt burned through his stomach like acid.

Perhaps a little temptation wasn’t amiss.

She took a step toward him, the click of her stilettos sounding loudly on the hardwood. “Surely an angel is permitted one small sin?”

He rushed forward like an ominous wind, a thunder cloud. Verity closed her eyes and let his power inundate her as he grabbed her arms. “Do you know how long I’ve dreamed of holding you?” he uttered, his nails biting into her skin as he squeezed her. “Even in going to Heaven, I was sentenced to hell.” His gaze seared her, so fiery it was almost neon.

“Existing without you has been hell for me too.” She closed her eyes, relishing the feel of his fingers on her body, and then opened them. “I love you still.”

“How? Why?” He released her arms and shoved away from her, pain etched in every line on his face. “It’s because of me they killed you. You should hate me.”

“Even as the noose was placed about my neck, John, I never hated you. I’ve spent the last three hundred and twenty-one years counting each dismal second away from you.”

She bit her bottom lip, determined not to cry, but her time away from him had worn her down. Despite her best efforts, those damn tears fell.

He flew to her and brushed away her tears. “Sweet Verity. Please don’t. Your tears are about the only thing that could kill me.”

Her lungs constricted. He stood so close. His breath warmed her, making her body break into goose pimples of delight. How this man tempted her. Satan had seen fit to make her a succubus, with legions of men at her disposal to choose from if she wished. Her role was to tease men into states of infidelity, but she’d proven a failure because the only man she wanted was John.

Before his guilt claimed him again, she leaned in and brushed her lips against his. Temptation in its softest form. Raw energy sizzled and wove between their bodies even with an innocent kiss. Her succubus hunger, while rusty, was still strong. She hooked a fingernail into his shirt collar and pulled downward, slicing clear through all the buttons. She watched them fly out of the corner of her eye. Inserting her hand between the open flaps of his shirt, she reveled in the smooth skin of his nipples and tugged at his chest hair. When she traced his mouth with her tongue and he moaned, she experienced the sweet thrill of triumphant reunion.

Still mine.

Chapter Two

Still mine. John gazed at the beautiful succubus in his arms, Satan’s instrument of lascivious evil, and the angel in him wanted to recoil. His role demanded he recoil and repent. He was supposed to be a fucking paradigm, for God’s sake. His role had been detailed to him with celestial clarity: lead lesser beings out of temptation. Show them the way.

Right now, he just wanted to find the way into her skin-tight pants and devour her heat.

He stared at Verity, wanting to glimpse evil, but seeing only the woman he’d loved in Salem. By St. Michael’s sword, she was still there. He could see her under the red lipstick and unnaturally long lashes. Could feel her generous curves under clothing that would have given an old Puritan minister a coronary. If he looked hard enough, he could almost see her as she was then—a sweet girl with black locks and a smile that lit up her green eyes. He’d always known she was a curious thing. After Sunday service, she’d pull him aside, full of questions about his views on Scripture. Her eyes warmed by something other than religious fanaticism.

Her interest had been for him, and it hadn’t taken them long to succumb to their mutual passion.

John had been a young teacher in the Salem community, a pillar, a man recognized for his scruples. But when Verity Chisholm flounced by him the first time, her soft hair peeking out from her cap, he’d been smitten. And when she’d brushed by him at a barn raising, her shy smile made his chest expand, and his thoughts had swiftly turned irreligious.

Their first transgression had been a kiss one night, a mere touch of the lips in the woods behind the parsonage. Neither of them had been able to sleep and had sought solace in the stillness of the outdoors.

“Mister Martin,” she’d whispered upon encountering him. Her bosom had heaved under her woolen garment. “John.”

Aching as he’d never ached for anything in his life, he’d taken her in his arms. It wasn’t long before he took her up against the outer walls of the parsonage. They’d continued to meet at night while the good folks of Salem were abed. He’d swallowed her cries of ecstasy so they would not echo in the woods. And with each velvet thrust, John’s love for her grew.

However, the Chisholm’s had promised Verity to another—Samuel Williams. The man was a jealous so-and-so who’d spotted them in the woods not long after they’d begun their nightly trysts. When he’d seen Verity on her knees before John, he’d spread the rumors about them being deviant witches. How they’d worshipped the devil during their foul nocturnal practices.

And of course, the citizenry of Salem were only too pleased to add their names to the growing list of accused witches. Being a community leader, John had been so sure they’d both be acquitted.

They’d been promptly condemned.

On June 30, 1692, they were led to Gallows Hill. Verity had screamed, had struggled in her captor’s arms. Ignoring the sweat of terror on his own brow, John had turned to her and implored, “My love, cease your struggling. We will soon be together in Heaven.”

Her green eyes had taken on a bright sheen, a wildness, and somehow John had known she didn’t believe God would reunite them. As the noose was placed around her delicate neck, he’d expected her to call out in supplication to the Lord, but she hadn’t. Crazed by the deranged proceedings, his lover had instead cried out for the Lord of Hell.

“You want a witch,” she’d screamed. “Well, I’ll give you one. I curse you all, and I pledge to serve Satan in the afterlife so that I may return and plague you. God of hell, save me!”

Even as the executioner fitted the rough noose around John’s own neck, her curse rang out in his head, the greatest torment of all. And as he died, he’d prayed to God to release him from the prison of his body and to forgive his lover her crazed outcry. Made insane by terror, she’d cried out for Lucifer, and he’d answered, just as God had heard his prayer and let him join the ranks of the angels.

He’d spent an eternity plagued by guilt, a guilt so powerful and vile, he’d run from her every time she’d appeared before him, pleading.

“I need your forgiveness, Verity.”

“There’s nothing to forgive. Just be with me.”

Her gardenia scent teased him. Her soft skin beckoned. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to master his urges, but his head still swam.

“We’ve wasted too much time, John. Please.”

“But we serve different masters. If we give in, what then?”

For the first time since he’d seen her in the salon, she appeared angry, a bitter sparkle in her eye, her ruby lips twitching with nerves. “I don’t know. We’ll probably be punished. Again.”

He watched as her breasts rose and fell within the confines of her corset. John knew angels didn’t sweat, but the strange moisture at the back of his neck sure felt like it. He cried silently to God to intercede, but heard no response.

Did that mean this wasn’t so wrong?

Expecting an outcry from the gates of Heaven, but unable to stop, he leaned forward and slid his tongue across the tops of her heaving breasts.

She still tasted like sweet manna.

Would he risk his soul for this woman? Fuck yeah. Why hadn’t he done so already?

Even as he moved to pull her closer, Verity resisted, a victim to her own nerves. Slowly, he embraced the shaking creature, ready to burn in the pits of Hell for another small taste of her. Something primal inside him snapped into place, and his long-denied need for her flared. His devotion flew away and even prayer wouldn’t save him. Right now, all he wanted to worship was her.

He touched her cheek and forced her to look at him. “We’re in a den of sin, my love. Sin with me.”

Chapter Three

Verity gawked at John as he pressed against her, and her mind reeled. She’d been so sure he’d turn her away as he always had, but when he’d licked at her breasts and she saw the demon cast to his eyes, it scared her. She hadn’t ever wanted to lead him astray … not really. She’d merely wanted another moment in his arms, knowing that was probably all she could ever have. However, the famished look in his luminescent eyes spoke of much more than a moment.

How on earth had the seducer become the seduced?

Would he hate her in the morning when he was called before the Almighty for his grave transgression? “Now I feel guilty,” she whispered.

He gritted his teeth. “No. I refuse to let you suffer how I did. I want you, my soul be damned.”

He traced the length of her bare arms, smoothing his thumbs along her skin, and she shivered. By the time he dug his hands into her hair, she was ready to beg. Damn! Didn’t he know having her scalp massaged made her giddy with pleasure? Of course, he did. He knew the effect of all his touches on her. He took her mouth in a deep kiss, his tongue playing her like an instrument. As he did, he spread his massive wings behind him as if sheltering them from God’s view.

Suddenly, she regretted the garb she’d chosen for this shindig. Maybe she should have left the stilettos, tight pants, and corset at home, because the sight of them seemed to be driving her angel into a frenzy of need. His hands shook as he caressed her. He bit at his bottom lip, and the veins in his neck throbbed.

John blinked once and uttered words that would make the seraphim blush. Her clothes fell away from her body, leaving her as naked and vulnerable in front of him as she’d once been against the parsonage wall. “What are you doing?”

His answer was to fall to his knees before her, the angel venerating the demon. He placed his hands on her thighs. His eyelids fluttered as he glanced at her. “Just a taste.”

“Dear God,” she moaned. Finally.

As John’s tongue made contact with the folds of her pussy, they took flight together and soared around the cavernous salon. They hovered about two feet from the ceiling, buoyed by powers of flight. His tongue on her skin made her feel like the curious girl she’d once been in Salem, rather than a jaded demon who’d seen and done everything. With each swipe, with every soft suck, memories of their love filled her, the love which had been ripped away from them and which she’d mourned for eons. Its loss had turned her into a cold, vile thing, one who spent its days half-heartedly leading men into sin, and then spent its nights dreaming of John.

How she longed to start over with him.

His large wings slid against her body as they floated. Their soft caress was echoed in the reverent glide of his tongue into her pussy. John opened his mouth, covered her mound, and sipped at her juices. His most intimate kiss was ruthless and demanding, something he’d only ever been during their lovemaking. His fever for her had eradicated the gentle angel and replaced it with one of the avenging variety.

As his licks and bites once again made her feel like a blushing virgin experiencing her first orgasm, she writhed and shouted. Luckily, her crazed moans were muffled by the sounds inside and outside the mansion. Hook-ups were happening all over the house; the evidence was heard within the walls of each room as they seemed to groan and sigh. And the atmosphere only made her hotter.

John tortured her clit by locking his lips around it and sucking for all he was worth, giving her the pleasure that had so long been denied. And as he saw to her needs, he reached down between his legs, palming his cock.

Just as she was ready to succumb to the delicious torment, he removed his mouth from her swollen pussy and caught her eye. She looked at him, almost afraid of the devilish cast in his gaze.

“My little devil,” he said, chuckling.

Then he blew on her pussy and caused a hurricane of sensation to roll over her body. Even as they continued to float around the room, he spread her legs wider so she remained captive to the overwhelming volleys of pleasure. He’d removed his mouth, but his magical breath made it feel as if a thousand mouths were on her, all of them seeking to make her come harder. One blow, and she felt tongues on her clit. Another soft breath and invisible teeth tortured her nipples. Yet another exhalation and fingers claimed all her intimate entries, filling and stretching her. Any orgasm he’d given her back in Salem, life-changing as they all were, was nothing compared to the monumental wave now crashing over her. She threw her head back, felt her womb seize and contract with pleasure/pain, and screamed in a language she didn’t understand.

John, the man, had been a generous, clever lover. Clearly, John, the angel, had learned a few new tricks.

Her climax seemed to go on forever. John continued blowing on her quivering mound, and the invisible mouths assaulted her until she had no choice but to close her eyes and roll over. Her angel caught her in his arms and flew her to the floor and then laid her on the velvet settee. She turned away from him and pressed her feverish brow against the smooth upholstery. Her body still jolted with each breath she took, and her screams of ecstasy still echoed in her ears.

John sat next to her, caressing her hip, and then turned her toward him. He was naked now as well, having disposed of his clothes in the blink of an eye. And even though his perfect, muscled form called to her, she resisted.

“No more,” she implored, feeling less like a demon than she ever had.

“You wanted this, Verity,” his deep voice rumbled. “And there will be more. Much more.”

As he positioned her on the settee, she groaned.

*

What am I doing? Why am I doing this?

It was because Verity Chisholm’s cries had haunted him for ages. He’d meandered through the centuries, happy to be doing God’s work, but always knowing something was missing. He’d prayed, led countless souls to the light, and had led lost souls out of harm’s way, but nothing had ever given him the satisfaction he’d felt holding the woman he loved.

Making her come, as they’d flown around this New Orleans salon, had filled his soul with happiness and reawakened desire. For centuries, he’d forced her memory to the back of his mind, knowing she was off-limits. She was one of Lucifer’s own; he was pledged to the Lord. There was no way this could have had a happy ending.

And yet he’d missed her so much. Had fretted and tortured himself about her, had wondered what sins the devil inspired her to commit in his name. Right now, she didn’t look like a sinner. She looked like the sweet woman he wanted to take to bed night after night.

Starting tonight.

He pulled her into a sitting position and grinned. She was boneless within his arms. He’d dazzled a demon. And Lucifer had once said angels were boring.

His cock hardened further, straining for her. He pulled her over his legs so she straddled him. She looked at his cock as if she were afraid of what it would do to her. He slid its bulk back and forth along her wet seam, teasing her, teasing him. Gripping her with one arm around the waist, he lifted her a few inches. With the other hand, he readied his cock head at her entrance.

“Verity,” he choked out in anticipation of fucking her. “Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“Do it.”

She obeyed, and he impaled her on his cock, finally finding his way into the sweet bower that had been his only real home. She wiggled on his lap and took him deeper. He held her, unmoving. Saints alive, her tight channel felt better than ever.

Before he lost himself completely, he used his powers to whisk them away, away from the salon, away from New Orleans. Flying through the air on a stratum no human eye could discern, he carried her to the place that meant the most to them. The place where they’d fallen in love.

Once they were in Salem, he commanded, “Open your eyes.”

She did and gasped. Even though they were still joined and he ached to start thrusting, he held immobile as she looked around with tears in her eyes. They were behind the parsonage, back in the year 1692. Even though the building had been in ruins for years, it now stood as if untouched by time. It was nighttime, and all the good souls were in bed, leaving them quite alone, without even Samuel Williams’ prying eyes for company. As much as Verity’s perfume filled John’s senses, other scents made themselves known: embers from a dying fire, pine needles, and the delicious aroma of someone’s mutton stew. It took him back in time and made him happier than ever.

Verity wrapped her legs around his waist. She held on to him and kissed him hard. The succubus part of her showed through when she nibbled his bottom lip. After several loving, biting kisses, she gazed at him and smiled. “I was so happy in this place with you.”

He cupped her cheek. His heart pounded with love for her. “One last time here, my love.”

She nodded as fresh tears coursed down her cheeks.

After wrapping his wings around her so her skin would be protected from the rough wooden wall, John pinned her to it. He moved his hips against her, luxuriating in the tight grip of her pussy. She seemed to know just how to squeeze him. She’d always understood what he’d needed, more than he had. A smile. A gentle caress. She’d given him so many gestures of love during their short lives together, and he’d wasted the last few centuries denying them both an eternity of love.

On a grunt, he plunged deep inside her, moving so slowly he could have been turning back time. Verity cried out, her head falling forward onto his shoulder. He nipped at her neck and thrust again, faster this time, building up a momentum that was as painful as it was blissful. He fucked her, making silent promises with his possession that even he didn’t fully understand. All he realized was her body unraveling all around him and the delicious tightness of his balls as they slapped against her bottom. She squeezed his ass with her small hands, and he clenched, moving faster against her, sliding ever deeper.

Becoming one with her again.

As they reached climax together, John burrowed his face against her neck. When he finally looked up, his face was as wet with tears as hers. Stars shot across the sky, and he knew God’s angels were on guard, ready to take them down on a single word from on high. What they’d done was blasphemy, treason.

And for the first time in his long life, he didn’t give a fuck. This was his woman. Hell, she always had been.

Before any angelic warriors could take aim, John whisked her back to New Orleans. They landed in the salon, on the settee. He gazed at her fragile beauty, transfixed. Still so hungry, he touched her moist pussy, and she gasped. With a smile, he knelt before her, spread her legs and drank from her one more time. Verity wiggled under him, her hips moving with a sinful grace that would cause angels to barricade Heaven’s door. She grasped his head, burying her fingers in his hair, and held him fast. Summoning his powers to delight, he tongued her clit and absorbed her body’s soft sigh as she came in his mouth.

Complete wonder. His personal Paradise.

When he swallowed her last tremor, he got up and sat with her, holding her to his heart. After several minutes, they reached for their clothes without a word. Neither of them addressed what might happen next.

The Halloween party was in full swing. Loud music pumped from speakers, a musical segue to new debaucheries of which he wanted no part. He dressed and watched as Verity slid into her tight pants. When it came time to adjust her corset, he walked over and gently removed her hands, and fastened it himself. She stared at him. All hope had disappeared from her eyes. The twinkle was gone, replaced by shadows.

He laid his forehead against her. “I was so wrong to run from you. So wrong to let my guilt stand in the way.”

Her eyelashes fluttered over eyes that no longer held the allure of the temptress. She was all softness and vulnerability now. “John, what I said at the gallows … it was my fear talking. I don’t want to be a succubus. I want to be with you. I love you.”

“I know. I always knew. And I love you, too.” He kissed her as a new sense of determination filled him. He could fix this. He had to fix this. “Maybe we can still be together. Maybe you could join me in the ranks of angels.”

She shook her head. “What if Lucifer won’t let me go? What if God won’t take me?”

God couldn’t be so cruel. They’d spent centuries apart for their innocent follies. They’d made their mistakes and had paid for them. Surely heaven wouldn’t refuse a soul who was truly penitent. They’d already suffered through one judgment day. Surely God wouldn’t make them endure another.

He tipped up her chin and absorbed every beautiful detail on her face. “Whatever happens, we’ll do it together this time. I won’t let you go.”

Verity let out a deep breath and swallowed. He could tell she was willing to take on the powers of heaven. This time, he’d be with her every step of the way. He wouldn’t let anyone take her. He’d fight and bargain and beg for his woman. Reaching for her hand, he offered her a grin of encouragement.

With one more kiss for luck, they left the mansion and swiftly took flight.