Anonymous
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: http://eepurl.com/srHcH I will definitely send something to my subscribers when it comes out!
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.
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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!
(Source: hvidt)
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.
♥
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.
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.
Another queen of hearts.
