Dangerous to Know

OUT TODAY!!

This novella isn't my usual romance story, in fact there's no romance in it at all, that's why it's in the Exotika line at Ellora's Cave. Dangerous to Know is dark, dirty and follows New Yorker Karen as she explores a dangerous whore fantasy with a man she really should have stayed well away from. Here is the blurb...

For too many years I’ve hidden a sinful, erotic craving in the darkest corner of my soul. Within this deeply buried sliver, shameful fantasies rule and images—seedy, degrading, filthy images—burn through the dark of the night and hold my dreams hostage.

Luckily, the center of my whore obsession is keen to play my slutty game. I know nothing about him, other than his taste, touch and smell, but that’s how I want it, because the one thing I’m certain of is this man is dangerous to know. But despite the risks, in the very heart of New York, in open view, I’ll tempt him with my wares, show him my skills and prove I’m up for the job.

Excerpt

Oh, the way he said the word whore was delicious; his wide mouth seemed to pull out the “r” at the end as if savoring it, playing with it.

“Do you want me to be?” I asked brazenly. 

He shrugged. “Keeps it simple, I suppose.”

I twitched the side of my mouth into a half-smile even though I wanted to beam. It seemed I’d just found a man to fulfill my forbidden desires and make all my bad dreams come true. “Then yes, I’ll be your whore.”

“Just mine?” He pulled on his cigarette, but this time when he blew out, the smoke shot from his mouth in a thin stream.

“Yes.” 

I rubbed my hand over my chest, tweaking my hard nipple. His gaze followed my movement then slid over my right shoulder. I heard footsteps.

Someone was coming.

He glanced back at me, as if daring me to stay in my exposed position. Always one to rise to a challenge, I kept my legs spread. Willed my knees to stay apart and my pussy bared. I was desperate to clamp my thighs together—as a rule, I was not an exhibitionist and had no desire to flash my cunt to any old Tom, Dick or Harry. But I could and would do this—it was a means to an end.

In my peripheral vision a woman appeared. She wore a cerise cardigan and walked a ginger boxer dog. She didn’t pause as she stepped past us, nor did she look back and notice my bare pussy. Well, why would she? It was broad daylight, this was a park, why would my intimate female flesh be on public display?

He raised his eyebrows and I had a sudden rush of accomplishment. I’d surprised him—clearly he’d thought I’d tuck myself from view. Good, I liked to be a surprise. Being predictable was not in my nature, well, not in my whore-self’s nature anyway.

He placed his newspaper on the bench between us and took a last drag of his cigarette before stubbing it under his black boot. “I’m not really one for fucking whore’s pussies, even pretty ones, but…”

“But.” 

“I’ll pay you to suck my cock.”

Inside I welled with triumph. The idea of sex as an arrangement, a transaction, was what thrilled me the most. No emotions, no strings. A customer, money and a murky act. That was what appealed to me. Forget candlelit seduction and emotional intimacy, I wanted sleaze, I wanted filth, I wanted to be used as a sexual object by a rough bloke who took what he wanted on a very basic level.

“Okay. Where?” I asked.

He glanced left and right, his gaze searching, then nodded straight ahead. “Down there.”

I looked in the direction he’d indicated. Through the trees and railings, I could just make out a gap in the buildings. “It’ll cost you twenty.”

He shrugged. “Whatever.”

Finally closing my legs, I stood. My knees felt weak and my stomach clenched. This was something I’d been dreaming of, plotting for so long. Never had I thought I’d find the courage to actually go through with my foolhardy plan. The man was a stranger. He could be a complete psychopath and murder me the minute we were out of view. Stuff like that happened to whores all the time. I’d seen it on the news, read about it in papers.

It was a risk I was willing to take.

Stepping ahead, I turned to make sure he was following. He was. Sauntering in that menacingly purposeful stride of his that I’d become totally fascinated by. I also realized now that I was on ground level how tall he was, a whole head above me, and wide too. If he did set his mind to subjecting me to a gruesome back-alley death there was nothing I would be able to do about it. He could squash me as if I were an ant, choke me without breaking sweat.

Tugging at my cheap, tarty skirt, I headed for the location of my first whore experience. As we reached the entrance, he pressed a hand into the small of my back and urged me into the murky world of New York’s dark, dingy alleys.

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