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Anonymous asked:

I'm new to your writing and I love it. I just finished the 3 books in the bound series. Are you writing a fourth any time soon,please?

Hi, i’m so glad you liked it! I’d love nothing more than to continue the story, and I have an idea for a fourth part. I’ve been very busy with other projects, and unfortunately, the whole situation is now complicated by recent issues with self-published erotica. Last night, Amazon actually pulled the first Bound story from sale. I’m working to get it re-listed, but with stories like this - which are slightly on the risqué side - it’s getting to be more and more of a challenge. Retailers are concerned with their image, and the whole “reluctant”/kidnapping/etc. genre is an easy target.

It’s a shame, because it’s such a common fantasy for people - and it’s not like anyone is really being harmed in fiction! I love erotica because it’s such a fun, safe outlet for things people can’t necessarily do in real life.

I will definitely keep everyone updated on the series, because it’s still a favorite of mine - I’d actually just started working on part four again when I heard that the first story had been pulled. Keep an eye on this space, and make sure to join my mailing list for release announcements and exclusive freebies.


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Anonymous asked:

I love the Bound series--any chance you'll be writing a 4th? The writing is really a cut above! Excellent work!

Hi there, friend! I’m so glad you liked it. I’m very busy with other projects right now, but I really do hope to come back to that series. I have some good ideas for a fourth. Sign up for my newsletter to get the latest on new releases: I will definitely send something to my subscribers when it comes out!

Another exclusive Bound 3 excerpt for the Big Cocks and Shamrocks blog hop!

Hey guys! As you may already know, I’ve been hard at work on the third installment in my popular M/m BDSM series, Bound by the Enemy. For this hop, I’ve decided to whet my readers’ appetites further for the upcoming Bound by the Enemy: Under His Thumb with another exclusive excerpt - plus, a giveaway for those who might not have discovered the first two stories yet.
The ride to Morales’ was short and hectic. They managed to cram ten of Sarceda’s most trusted men into one helicopter, such that there was barely room to breathe. Blake spent most of his time crouched on the floor beside Sarceda. He often did this during the lulls - he’d never been told to, but occasionally Sarceda would let his fingers scratch lightly at Blake’s scalp and that seemed like permission enough.
They disembarked with guns drawn, nearly sixty miles away from Morales’ fields. He was relatively new to the growing business, but he had managed to avoid any major trouble so far. He was too small to be targeted by the DEA’s crop-dusting planes or other growers in the area, isolated as he was out in the middle of the jungle in makeshift tents where there was no electricity, no running water, and more importantly - no government.
Sarceda traded a pile of wrinkled cash to a very shifty-eyed man for a few barely-seaworthy boats, which they rode up the river for what felt like hours. They hiked for another few hours after that, using machetes to cut their way through the undergrowth. It was stiflingly hot, in a different way from the dry, dusty climates that Blake had grown used to. Every drop of sweat felt like it was sticking to his skin indefinitely, because the air was so wet that there was nowhere else for it to go. He kept looking at Sarceda for some sign of discomfort, but he looked every bit as composed as he ever did. Didn’t the man sweat? Ever?
After what felt like an eternity, Blake squinted into the distance and thought he saw something that looked like a blue tarp.
Sarceda came to an abrupt stop. He lifted his hand, and the rest of the men froze.
There was a slight rustling noise coming from the trees - Blake’s ears pricked, a cold feeling settling at the base of his spine. Like an animal with a sixth sense of a coming earthquake, he knew something was wrong well before he actually knew it.
Shots were fired. Blake felt an intense burning sensation in his arm before he realized he’d been hit, and suddenly he was spraying bullets into the underbrush without having the slightest idea what he was aiming for. He heard shouts, screaming, more gunfire. Men were falling around him. Sarceda stood his ground. Everyone was wearing bullet-proof vests, but they were nothing against the hail of automatic gunfire, and the men fell, one by one, until Blake and Sarceda were the only ones standing.
It could not have been a coincidence.
Someone stepped out of the trees, hands above his hand. Blake’s trigger finger twitched, but he didn’t fire. It was an imposing figure - a tall man, covered in dark clothes that looked thick enough to have armor underneath.
"Don’t shoot," he said, in English. "I have many men still hiding. They will fire on you if I’m hit."
Blake stood very still. Beside him, Sarceda did not move either.
"Put down your guns," said the man. "Please."
No one moved.
The man whistled. There was more rustling in the brush, and ten or twelve armored men in camouflage slowly crept forward, their guns trained on Blake and Sarceda.
Sarceda dropped his gun to the ground and kicked it forward. At his nod, Blake did the same.
The man gestured, and two of his soldiers crept forward and cautiously picked up the weapons. He himself remained completely still and silent. Finally, after a long period of nothing but the sounds of the birds, the man reached up and grabbed his riot helmet, pulling it off of his head and tossing it aside. He closed his eyes for a moment, blinking the sweat out of them. He had that sort of chiseled, handsome-yet-bland look that was so common among American soldiers. His accent would have betrayed him even if his face did not. His sandy blond hair was soaked with perspiration.
"Gentlemen," he said. "Sorry it had to be like this. But I’ve got a job to do. Just like you."
"And how does that job pay?" Sarceda responded, quietly. In spite of the heat, Blake felt goose bumps rise all over his skin.
The man smirked. “We can swap stories later on,” he said. “Once I’ve got you cuffed and, uh…well, looks like you got at least one of the collars taken care of already.”
"Very good," said Blake. "How long did you spend coming up with that one?"
"Everyone’s a critic." The man stepped forward, grabbing Blake by his upper arms and shaking him just a little. Sarceda twitched, almost imperceptibly.
"I know your story," said the man, his eyes locked on Blake’s. "There’s not a lot of people in my line of work who don’t. You’re kind of a….cautionary tale."
"That’s right," said Blake, mirroring his smile. "Got to watch out for that Stockholm syndrome."
"Well, this is fun," said the man. "But if it’s okay with you, I’d like to get a move on. We’ve got a long way to go on foot. But I guess you know all about that already."
Blake’s heart was beating like it wanted to burst out of his chest. Of course, because of his training, because of his life, he always walked into every situation with the expectation that it might be a trap. But he never really thought it would happen. Not with Sarceda. Lapses in judgment simply weren’t a luxury that the drug lord afforded himself.
They began their march back there they came from, stepping over the bodies of Sarceda’s best men. Blake kept glancing at him, trying to read him, but Sarceda kept his gaze fixed straight ahead and betrayed nothing. When Blake tripped over a tree root because he couldn’t bring himself to keep his eyes on his own path, the man laughed at him and jabbed him in the back with the butt of his rifle.
"Eyes on your own paper," he said. "Quit flirting with your boyfriend."
Oooh. Now it’s time for the really good part - the giveaway! I’m giving away a free two-pack of Bound by the Enemy and Bound by the Enemy: His Willing Slave in any eBook format of your choice. Enter here!
Make sure to visit Close Encounters of the Night Kind as well to check out the other hop participants and enter the grand prize giveaway!

Bound by the Enemy: Under His Thumb exclusive excerpt!

Yes, I am working on a threequel to what was supposed to be a quick, one-off story to get out of my system.

Yes, my life is weird sometimes.

But I love it! Enjoy this little taste.


Blake had no idea how long he’d been shackled to the ceiling.

He looked up at the concrete above his head; there was a crack running along where the chain was attached, three or four feet long. If he could lift his feet off the ground and hang there, bearing down on it with all his weight, he might be able to pull it loose completely, if only he could bear the cuffs cutting into his wrists.

And if only he weren’t being watched.

He turned around, slowly, the metal creaking with his movements.

"Had enough?"

Sarceda was looking at his watch, very pointedly. He never wore a watch.

"Of course not," Blake replied, in the driest tone he could manage. The muscles in his back and shoulders had moved past aching, to alternate between completely numbness and occasional shooting pains that made him grit his teeth.

Sarceda make a small tsking noise. “Have it your way, then,” he said, looking at his watch again. It was a Rolex - real, probably, although Blake had never gotten a good look at it. A tribute gift, from one of the many people who tried to curry favor with Sarceda these days. It had been lying, forgotten, in the drawer of Sarceda’s desk for months and months. The battery had to be dead by now.

"Does that watch even run?" Blake asked, wincing involuntarily as his muscles spasmed.

Sarceda’s eyebrows drew ever-so-slightly closer together. “Does it matter?” he replied, with just a hint of a frown on his face.

He made a good point.

Up the concrete staircase, someone pounded on the door. Sarceda’s eyes narrowed at the sound.

Estoy ocupado por el momento!” he shouted, his voice echoing throughout the nearly-empty room.

Empty, except for Blake and him.

The knocking stopped, and did not start again.

"Some of these people," said Sarceda, standing up. "I swear. They have absolutely no respect for my time."

He walked over to Blake, his eyes raking up and down his body as if he hadn’t seen it like this - exactly like this - a thousand times before.

"I don’t understand why you’re like this," he said, his voice barely above a murmur. He was walking around Blake in a slow circle, and now, facing his back, he reached out and touched his spine. Gently. Very gently, just letting the knuckle of his index finger drift up and down the vertebrae.

"I’m afraid you’re going to have to be more specific," Blake replied, ignoring the shiver of his skin, the goose bumps rising, at Sarceda’s touch.

"Don’t you trust me?" was the reply.

"Not as far as I can throw you." Blake swallowed. Sarceda’s hand was just resting now, resting on the small of his back. He had a Pavlovian response to that, and Sarceda knew it. He knew everything.

"And how far is that?" Sarceda sounded like he was smiling.

"Let’s find out, shall we?"

Very excited to announce I’ll be participating in my very first blog hop next month! I’m going to be giving away some free ebooks and maybe something else pretty cool…stay tuned for details!

Sorry about the long silences, I’ve been terribly busy lately. But I still love you all!

This story is a standalone follow-up to the Top 5 bestseller and #1 Hot New Release in Gay & Lesbian Erotica, Bound by the Enemy.

Months after being released from captivity, secret agent Randal Blake is still reeling from the heights of pleasure and pain that the mysterious Sarceda introduced him to. Unsure that he is fit for active duty, Blake’s boss sends him to do some training on a military base - but his convoy is ambushed, and Blake is once again taken captive. And who should pull the bag off his head, but Sarceda himself? He is full of devilish ideas for how to show Blake just how much he missed him, and the spy is like putty in Sarceda’s hands. At times, Sarceda’s cruel façade begins to crack, and Blake wonders if deeper feelings are developing. 

Sarceda, however, has more sinister plans for Blake’s future, involving the ruthless head of Colombia’s biggest cartel, a renowned sadist. But as Blake begins to understand Sarceda’s motivations and the terrible tragedy that has sent him on a lifelong quest for revenge, Blake realizes he must see it through - even if it means enduring greater pain and humiliation than he thought he could withstand. And rumors of betrayal by the very agency that is supposed to protect him leave Blake reeling. By the time Sarceda gives him his freedom, Blake is no longer sure where his loyalties lie…

Warning! This 14,000+ word story contains kidnapping, D/s elements, reluctant consent, bondage, knifeplay, whipping, and a slightly twisted happy-for-now ending! Adults only!

- Excerpt -

"Hello, pet. Did you miss me?"

His whole body shuddered at the sound. He opened his eyes, slowly.

Sarceda was smiling.

"Like a hole in the head," said Blake, softly, his voice cracking from disuse.

Sarceda dropped to his knees, bringing himself eye to eye with Blake. He searched Blake’s face, like he was trying to read all of the secrets of the past few months.

"I’m sorry," he said, at last. "I had to let them take you."

"Of course you did," said Blake.

"Don’t worry." Sarceda’s fingers stroked his cheek, gently. "I’m not letting you out of my sight again."

He stood abruptly, sliding two fingers between the collar and Blake’s neck, tugging lightly, as if testing to see if it needed to be tightened. After a moment, he made a satisfied noise and stepped back. He dug into his pocket, eventually producing a small key.

"Stand up," he said. "Turn around."

Blake obeyed, and he heard the scrape of the key sliding into the lock of his handcuffs. He kept his head slightly bowed as Sarceda walked around to face him again; when Sarceda brought his hand under Blake’s chin and began to lift his head, Blake lashed out and grabbed his other arm, twisting it as far and as quickly as he could.

Sarceda reacted immediately, throwing the weight of his body to counter the move and trapping Blake’s arm against his side. He aimed a jab at Blake’s stomach but the spy evaded, just barely, slipping free of Sarceda’s grasp and kicking him squarely in the shin.

Sarceda didn’t react, grabbing Blake around the throat and slamming him up against the wall. He tried to kick out, to connect with any part of Sarceda’s body that might actually slow him down, but his body was too engrossed in the struggle to breathe. He could feel his face grow hot, his eyes widening as Sarceda choked him.

Finally, with a burst of desperate strength, he was able to get a jab in to Sarceda’s stomach. The drug lord stumbled back, his balance thrown off just enough for Blake to use the weight of his own body to push him all the way over, onto the floor. He lay on top of Sarceda, pinning his arms down with every bit of strength he had in him.

Sarceda was laughing. “Pet,” he panted. “I already said I was sorry. What more do you want?”


In this standalone follow up to Treacherous Curves: Blackmailing the Billionaire, curvy bookkeeper Annie is exploring the possibility of a relationship with James, her billionaire boss. Sure, the sex is hot - unbelievably hot, in fact - but in order to feel right about their relationship, she would have to quit her job. James is offering to support her while she pursue her art, but Annie isn’t sure that she is ready for that level of commitment. And the more she learns about him, the more secretive and mysterious he seems. In spite of everything, will James and his silver tongue be able to convince her to follow her dreams and place all her reliance on him?

Even steamier than part one, this 17,500 word story contains spanking, light bondage, reluctant exhibitionism, and a boss anyone would be willing to put in overtime for. Adults only! 

- Excerpt -

He sat down and sprawled, one leg slung over the arm of the chair, giving me a look that I could only describe as smoldering. He was the very picture of lazy seduction, everything in his pose saying that he knew this was all he had to do to get what he wanted.

I sketched furiously, trying to keep myself removed from the situation, the way an artist ought to. But it was hard to concentrate, knowing that he was sitting just a few feet away, actively, no, aggressively trying to throw me off my game. Knowing how badly I wanted him. Knowing that I was here, not for a love of art, but because I couldn’t say no to him.

I spent a long time perfecting the lines and creases at his groin, the way the fabric stretched around the bulge underneath. I could have sworn I saw it stir a little, but if it did, the rest of him remained completely still.

“Thank you,” I said, softly, when I was finished. “That’ll do.”

He stood up slowly, stretching a little, then hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his jeans and pulled them all the way off.

I stifled a noise, somewhere in the back of my throat. I let my eyes dart up and down his body just a few times before I turned back to my notebook, but it was enough. The image was burned into my retinas. Every angle and contour of his body was perfect, like he’d been sculpted by someone trying to demonstrate the ideal shape for a man’s body. He stood in front of me, completely shameless, and I couldn’t help but feel like this was all wrong. He was naked. Vulnerable. I ought to have been in complete control of this situation. But despite the fact that he was posing nude for me, ostensibly doing exactly what I wanted him to do, even if I hadn’t wanted to admit it, I still felt utterly helpless. Just his presence in a room was enough to inspire that feeling - that prickling in the back of my neck, that nervous, strangely exhilarating realization that I was no longer in control of my own destiny. That, in some way I still didn’t fully understand, I belonged to him.

I had to calm down. I was being ridiculous. But I couldn’t stop these strange flights of fancy that my brain took whenever I was around him, any more than I could help my body’s instinctive reaction to his.

I began at his head, then his shoulders, drawing carefully, not allowing my eyes to dip below his waist until they absolutely had to. As my pencil zigzagged the trail of hair that led from his navel down to the dark thatch between his legs, I swallowed - absurdly loudly, I thought, in this eerily silent room - and let myself look.

Read the rest now!

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