Tuesday, 3 February 2015

Oxford and Stockholm Surrender


Several years ago I wrote a story called Stockholm Surrender. Initially the idea for a hot guy kidnapping a pretty politicians daughter was only ever going to be a short story - called Stockholm Seduction (which is now the prologue so if you buy the novel it's right there for you) - but readers enjoyed it so much I decided to write the rest of Penny and Ty's adventure -Stockholm Surrender.

The couple never actually go to Stockholm in the book - though they do go to Oxford, Bangkok and Australia! Stockholm refers to the condition - Stockholm syndrome -  of falling for your captor, and to be honest I can't blame Penny on this one, Ty is gorgeous and at the end of the day, despite some desperate actions, his heart is in the right place.

Stockholm Surrender has had a clean sweep of 5* reviews and I loved writing it, it's full of action and played like a movie in my head as I got it all down on paper.

Here's the back cover information…

By popular reader request, the full-length story of what happens after Stockholm Seduction.

My soul was in turmoil. Ty Winters had not only kidnapped me in Oz, my heartstoppingly gorgeous surfer had also stoked my darkest desires, bringing all my fantasies to the surface. So Oxford wasn’t going well. Until, that is, he creeped from the shadows—desperate, sexy, dangerous and wanting a piece of me, literally!

He teased me with a taste of his carnal skills, leaving me burning with frustration then forced to stand by as he fought for his beliefs using my lust-addled body as his most powerful weapon.

Oh, my kidnapper knew just how to get what he wanted, giving me just what I needed, while hiding our relationship from the British foreign minister and police. Because sometimes two people are meant to be, even in the most unconventional circumstances and twisted situations. We could fight the world, but we couldn’t fight our passion.




I've never travelled to Bangkok or Australia but I have been to Oxford lots of times which is where the story starts out. Here's a few pictures from locations that inspired me and are actually featured in the novel.


University


Bodleian Library - keep reading this post to find out what happens there!









Excerpt from Chapter One of Stockholm Surrender - location, Bodleian library, Oxford…

I glanced around the reading room. It was practically empty—the long, polished walnut tables unoccupied except for three fellow students buried in paving-slab-sized books, their fingers tapping away on laptops. Their heads low, they didn’t look up. Like me they’d been here for hours, lost in words.
Studying my own heap of books, I decided to call it a night. The large skylights revealed a dark November sky heavy with stars. The brass table lamps gave the silent room a shadowy, studious glow. I was hungry and my brain felt fudged.
Slipping my netbook into my rucksack, I heaved three thick criminal law books against my chest and went through the small archway leading into the enormous library. My footsteps were loud and echoed around the tall wooden rows of shelving. There was no one else around this late. My new mates were partying tonight. They’d asked me to go with them. “Let’s find some fit guys!” they’d said. But I hadn’t been up for it. I knew they were thinking they’d been dumped with a stick-in-the-mud as the fourth member of the gang in our halls of residence, but I couldn’t help it. My mind and body were stuck on Ty. Thoughts of Ty, images of Ty, memories of Ty. The fact that he was thousands of miles away didn’t seem to make any difference to my lust-addled body or my damn obsessive brain.
It was crazy. It wasn’t as though I was in love with him or anything.
I shoved the first heavy book into place between volumes one and three of Judicial Sentencing and recalled his last words. “This isn’t over... When you least expect it, Penny, when you are all alone, in the shadows, I’ll come for you and I’ll take you...again.”
I wished he would bloody well get on with it.
Heading deeper into the library past Juvenile Crime and European Union Law, I was enveloped in the room’s heavy silence. The shelves were tall, easily twice my height, and ladders had to be used to reach the top. The whole place had a timeless quality to it, the acres of pages and billions of words revered by all, including, it seemed, the atmosphere.
Reaching aisle twenty-three, I reached to slip in my last two books, side by side.
A small piece of paper caught my eye. It sat in the space between editions three and six of Tort Law. In scrawling black writing it read simply, SoonI spun around, belly clenching. There was no one there.
The books on the opposite shelf loomed over me. I glanced left and right. The blank white walls at either end pressed in, amplifying my aloneness.
Who had written the note?
Ty? Could it be?
Hastily I pocketed the scrap of paper, shoved the books away then stepped toward the end of the aisle. Much as I wanted to see him, there was something menacing about the way this note was written and hidden. The silence and stillness of the library suddenly seemed scary.
I’d made it three steps back toward the reading room before a gloved hand clamped over my mouth and I was pulled back against a solid chest.
“Mmph!” I managed, fear and anticipation reaching dizzying heights. I’d been grabbed like this before. Then, I’d been terrified, certain that death was about to claim me. Now terror was mixed with a perverse excitement I certainly wasn’t proud of.
“Keep it quiet,” a familiar Australian voice whispered hotly in my ear. “I’ve got more of that sleepy stuff if you want me to knock you out again.”
Instinctively I tried to shove free.
It was no good. He had me in a viselike grip.
His voice deepened. “Keep the hell still, I need to cut off a piece of you.” Cut off a piece of me! Oh fuck!
I squirmed and wriggled, terror overriding excitement and both fight and flight kicking in. Hell, I’d seen what he could do with a knife—that snake hadn’t stood a chance and I suspected neither would I.
“Shit, keep still,” he said, his voice tight and strained. “I won’t hurt you, I promise. Penny, it’s not what you think, calm down.”
I was pacified a fraction and stopped my writhing. His tight hold didn’t let up. He had one thickly corded forearm wrapped around my waist and the other held my head in the groove of his shoulder. His gloved palm was tight over my mouth and his fingertips pressed into my cheek.
The thud of his heart vibrated into my back, its speed matching my own. His chest heaved and his rapid breaths blew like a storm in my ear. Despite myself, a tremble of lust shook up my spine. I’d been thinking of him, of being in his arms, of having him take me for so many weeks and now, finally, it was happening. My traitorous body stopped fighting as desire diluted the adrenaline.
“Are you gonna keep quiet if I take my hand off your mouth?” he asked. I nodded.
“Promise?”
I nodded again and stilled completely.
The pressure lifted. I knew I should scream and shout for help. Shit, he wanted to cut off a piece of me. This was the man who’d kidnapped me and here he was again, grabbing me.
There were at least three people in the reading room—surely they would hear a panicked yelp. Security would come running, police would be called. He would be hauled off to prison, especially when I confirmed it was he who’d taken me in Australia too.
“Penny,” he said, spinning me to face him at the same time backing me up against the opposite bookshelf. “I’m sorry that I have to do this to you.” His big hands pressed on the balls of my shoulders.
I stared into his handsome face, his full lips even more kissable than I remembered, his eyes an even denser shade of cobalt blue. He’d shaved off the fuzzy soul patch that had been beneath his bottom lip last time I’d seen him. “Do what, Ty?”
He widened his eyes. “You know my name?”
“Of course, it wasn’t hard to find you on Facebook.” He lowered his thick blond brows. “Shit!”
“I just went through all the James Hills. His profile picture is of you two together on a beach somewhere.” I paused. “And after our last encounter, you were easy to spot even with clothes on.”
“Ah, crap.” He shifted his feet and looked left and right, as if deciding which way to take off. “I didn’t even think of Facebook.”
I didn’t want him to take off anywhere. Having him pressed against me, having his body heat and divine, fresh-from-the-shower smell cocoon me was what I’d been dreaming of for so long. “It’s okay, it doesn’t matter,” I said quickly. “Only I saw you back in Oz so I gave a different description to the police. I haven’t told anyone that I know who you really are.”
“Seriously?” He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. His flopping blond fringe shifted over his brows. “You really did that?”
“Yes, I didn’t think you would be much use to James if you were locked up too.” Or much use to me.
“Blimey, thanks.” He flicked his head and his hair shifted again.
I placed my hands on his chest. He wore a dark-gray t-shirt under a red-checked fleecy shirt. The t-shirt material was thin and I could make out the shape of his pectoral muscles beneath. “I thought you were still in Australia anyway.”
He slid a hand up the back of my neck, feathering his fingers through the short hair at my nape. “I had to come to England. Your father’s position as foreign secretary still makes him, and you, my best hope for getting James out.” He lowered his voice. “You are my bargaining tool, Penny, so if you’re in England it’s where I need to be.”
I swallowed as a tickle of sensation radiated from his touch, pricking the skin on my scalp and down my spine. He’d followed me to England, to Oxford. He was a serious as ever about getting James out. He was as serious as ever about me being the key.
“And I am sorry I have to do this.” He pressed his body into mine and, between one heartbeat and the next, he harnessed both my wrists in just one of his big hands, locking them down at my stomach.
A bolt of fear shot through me as he whipped out a lethal-looking knife from his back pocket. The handle appeared to be crocodile skin and the sharp blade was curved like a macabre smile. He held it up between our faces.
“Oh god, no, please, Ty,” I squeaked through the tight channel of my throat. “I want to help. You said you wouldn’t hurt me.”
His intense gaze captured mine. “I won’t hurt you, Penny, if you keep quiet and still. Really still.”
Shit. Why hadn’t I screamed a few minutes ago when I’d had the chance? He was crazy. A madman. I should have known. Oh, why had I been having all these delusional fantasies about him coming back for me? I was a fool, a hopeless, romantic, sex-starved fool and now I was going to die for it.
A whimper of fear escaped my lips.
“Penny,” he whispered. “I won’t hurt you. I just need a lock of your hair.”
My eyes were filling. “My...my hair?”
“Yes, if I was a real bad guy I would take a finger or a toe to send to your father, but a lock of hair will do.” He clenched his jaw. “Now keep the hell still.”
He released my wrists and fisted a chunk of my fringe.
“Ty,” I whispered, my feet nailed to the spot.
“Shh, don’t move.” His long, lean legs trapped my thighs and his pelvis knocked into my hipbones. The shelves behind me dug into my back and the crown of my head was squashed against book spines.
I gulped as the knife slanted and glinted over my forehead. The roots of my hair complained as he tugged his fistful of fringe and sliced, unnervingly near to the roots, with the sinfully sharp blade.
“That should do,” he said, showing me a big clump of my pale-blonde hair. “And he’ll definitely know it’s your hair when he sees that.” He nodded at my head.
I raised my hand to my hairline. There was at least a two-inch square patch of soft stubble. “Oh crap,” I said with a frown.
He poked the lock of hair into a small, clear plastic bag and shoved it in his front jean pocket, then re-sheathed the knife before tucking it away. All the time his body kept pressed into mine, and as much as I was monumentally pissed about having a bald patch, the feel of him, his closeness, the sound of his breathing and the scent of his skin were like a drug to me—all I could feel was lust.
Am I crazy?
Probably.
“So what now?” I asked.
His gaze harnessed mine and he cupped my cheek with his gloved palms, the wool scratchy against my skin. “Now I send that to your father, just to let him know I can still get to his precious little girl even on the other side of the world. He needs to listen to me. He needs to give James’ case attention, soon.”
“How is James?”
He frowned. “I stopped over on my way here and after a lot of paperwork and hanging around I saw him. He’s thin, thin and scared, but typical James he’s trying to be positive. Although how he’s managing it I don’t know. The place is hell on earth.”
“It must be awful.”
Ty narrowed his eyes and nibbled at his full bottom lip. “Yeah, it is. I’ve got to get him out, there’s going to be a retrial but it could go against him, there’s talk of the death sentence.”
“Shit, really? God, that’s awful. I want to help.”
He tipped his head a little nearer to mine and I traced my fingertips over the rise of his collarbones to the hollow of his throat.
“Do you really?” he asked.
“Yes, of course. I’ve brought it up with my father several times.”
“So bring it up again.” His voice was steely.
“I will, I have. Trouble is, he’s so pissed that you kidnapped me back in Oz that he flips into a blind rage whenever the subject is raised.”
“Well, he’s going to have to get over that. Maybe when he gets the message that you’re going to be taken again he’ll come to his senses.”
“Aren’t you taking me now?” He shook his head.
I shifted against him.
He didn’t budge.
“So when are you going to let me go?”
He curled his lips into a devilish smile. “In a minute.”
I swallowed and wondered what it was about that smile that sent hot fiery fingers of need speeding to every erogenous zone in my body.
“Right after I’ve done this,” he murmured.
In a sudden rush, he claimed my mouth in a hot, hungry kiss. I opened up and let him in, releasing a small moan of pleasure as his arms circled my body and pulled me close. Damn, the man could kiss. His mouth communicated desire and strength, passion and danger and I lapped it up like the starving, reckless woman I was.
He chased for my tongue and we began a wild, slippery tango. As if we couldn’t get enough of each other.
I slotted my fingers into his thick hair and urged him closer.
“Ah, fuck, Penny,” he gasped, trailing supercharged kisses over my cheek. “If only...”
I tipped my neck as he explored behind my ear with his mouth, making me shiver in bliss. “If only what?” I asked breathlessly, barely controlling the delicious shudders rippling up my spine.
“If only circumstances were different.” He was exploring with his hands too, the thin material of the gloves sliding beneath my sweater, over the base of my ribs to my breasts.
I trembled as he cupped me through my bra and tweaked my nipple. “Different?” I managed. My brain was struggling to work. He did this to me, Ty, made me forget everything and all sense.
“Yeah, if only we’d met like two ordinary people.” His voice was low and husky. “Instead of this crazy situation. We could have been so hot together.”
“We are hot together.”
“Fuck, I know, but there’s nothing we can do about it.”
He was spooning my other breast now, holding it in his palm. The urge to pull off my top and let him have full access was overwhelming. “We did something about it last time.”
“I know, and I still feel terrible about it.”
I pushed at his shoulders and captured his gaze. “Don’t feel terrible, it was amazing.”
He stared down at me. “But it was wrong. I was holding you captive, against your will, and I ended up fucking you.”
“Only because I asked. It was hardly rape, was it?” Sweeping my hands over his shoulders, I pulled him closer again. Beneath my sweater he smoothed his hands around my back. Suddenly I was aware of a hardness jabbing into my belly—a long, thick hardness that I remembered only too well.
His nostrils flared and he sucked in a breath. He ground his erection forward.
“It was sexy and steamy,” I whispered onto his lips. “And bloody hell, I had one incredible orgasm.”
His eyes sparkled. “Yeah, I remember the cute little squeal you made when you came.” He poked out his tongue and traced the seam of my lips. “I’d quite like to hear it again sometime.”
“Here?” I curled my leg around one of his and trapped him to me, shifted against his cock. “Now?”
“Tempting, but no, not here, not now.”
“When, where?”
He mashed his lips to mine, hard and fretful. Shoved his steely length into my belly even more firmly.
I whimpered, a combination of lust and shock. Being pinned in his embrace sent my heart rate to dangerous levels and my head went giddy. I loved the way he kissed me. No man had ever kissed me with such desperation, such urgent intensity.
“Soon,” he said, pulling away and forcing me to unfurl my limbs from his body. “Soon, Penny, but I’ve got to get some results from your father first.”
He stepped back and I stared up at him. I was panting and my skin prickled with a heated flush that had turned me feverish.
He was breathing fast too. His fists were balled at his sides, his lips shiny from our kisses. The package in his jeans was impressive and I was more than a little irritated that I wasn’t about to get up close and personal with it again.
“I’ll do my best to persuade my father,” I said breathlessly.
“Do more than your best. Make it happen, or I will be forced to take drastic action, baby .”
Then, as fast as he’d appeared he was gone, slipping around the end of the aisle so quickly I could almost have believed he’d evaporated.
My heart knocked and my pussy buzzed. The feel of his arms around me and his hard cock had reawakened so many emotions and desires. My gut clenched and my body felt weak. I clutched the side of the shelf for support and fought the urge to crumple into a heap on the floor.
Ty was the worst man in the world for me to want. He was dangerous, unpredictable and desperate. Skilled in a whole host of things that could get me into very deep trouble, not just with the law but in the broken-heart department too.
But one thing was for sure.
I wanted him more than I’d ever wanted anything else in my life.



To continue reading please purchase the novel Stockholm Surrender.

Monday, 2 February 2015

Ashe Barker - Special Guest



Hello Lily, and thank you for inviting me back to your blog to chat a bit about what’s new.

This is such a busy time for me because I have not one but two new releases to shout about, so it’s been all go trying to make sure they both get a good send off. Chameleon came out last Friday, and Red Skye at Night is out in a few days.

I think I need a lie down in a darkened room. With a stiff drink. Maybe two.

Chameleon is set in the dusty heat of Morocco, and Red Skye at Night is set in the Highlands of Scotland. Both locations are very different, and something of a departure from my usual Yorkshire moorland settings. The contrast is even more striking right now because of the cold weather we’re having here in the UK, and I understand in a lot of other places too.





I thought I’d share a picture of the scene now in my garden. A bit of desert heat would go down very nicely right now as I contemplate yet again having to dig my car out of a snowdrift. Even my trip across the Highlands for Red Skye at Night took place during the summer, so was a lot warmer.

Both these books were inspired by experiences I had on holiday, a chance encounter, maybe a visit to some attraction or other that sparked an idea. A what if…?

Here are a couple of the inspirational pictures in my holiday photos.






I don’t know about other authors, but since I started writing seriously I’ve been a lot more conscious of drawing inspiration from the places I see and the people I meet. I make notes, store them up for later.

I went to Scotland in the summer of 2013, and I knew all along I’d be transferring lots of the locations and experiences into a sexy story. The Highlands are such a seductive, dramatic place, the scenery so stunning I don’t see how I could have avoided it really.
My last visit to Morocco was a long time ago, but I remember the place well - the heat, the bustle, the peace and quiet of the mountains and the manic scramble of everyday life in the souks and bazaars, bartering, haggling for the best deals. I tried to recreate that sense of vibrancy in Chameleon.

Other locations I have loved and used in my stories are the Lake District in the north west of England where I spend most weekends in the summer, and Berwick in Northumberland, in the North East of the country. I have a story coming out in May which is set in Paris – my husband’s favourite city.

I have always known that strong, believable characters are essential for a good book. But I think the setting is almost as important, the reader wants to get a sense of the place and share it with the characters, actually be there with them. Because I tend to write about my favourite places I really want to do them justice, showcase them I suppose, and maybe encourage readers to visit themselves one day, if they could. Or failing that to feel they experienced the place anyway through my story.

Here’s an excerpt from Chameleon

An hour later, she bounced slowly over the dust track leading from the main road up to the farm that had been in her father’s family for generations. It was a large property, and prosperous, but her uncle, who now ran the place, seemed unwilling to invest in a proper access road. Her grandmother also insisted that things were fine as they were—those whom she wanted to see could find her well enough. Change and modernisation were not welcomed here in the mountains, and for her part, Fleur was glad of it.
The final leg of her journey took about fifteen minutes of cautious manoeuvring, easing her city-loving Opel between the pits and furrows of the unpaved road until eventually the low, white-painted buildings of the Mansouri farmstead came into sight. The place seemed to glitter in the midmorning sunshine, the light glinting off the roof-mounted solar panels and water system. Fleur pulled up about a hundred metres away and parked her car in the shade of a couple of olive trees. She would walk the rest of the distance and be glad that she had made the effort when it was time to leave and her vehicle was not baked to a crisp. She hated trying to drive when the steering wheel was too hot to touch with her bare hands.
She got out of the car and did not bother to lock it. There was no need here. She started to pick her way across the dry, hard soil surrounding the property to be greeted by a loud bellow coming from her left. She turned to see Agwmar, tethered beside an outbuilding, also benefiting from what shade was available. She smiled. Her grandmother refused to part with the elderly animal, even though his useful days were long gone. The Mansouri agricultural machine no longer used donkey power to haul the plough or transport produce to the markets, but this old boy continued to live out his days here, munching oats and languishing in the shade. Fleur turned and made a detour to say hello.
Agwmar lowered his head as she approached, his ears pricked forward to be tugged and tickled. He knew what to expect from her and nuzzled her pocket for the usual treat of a polo mint or perhaps an apple, if he was especially lucky. Fleur had not thought to bring any fruit, but fortunately for the donkey, she did have a packet of mints in the bottom of her bag. They may not have been scrupulously clean, but he seemed ready to overlook that failing on her part as he munched happily.
“So, old man. You had a lift home, yes? I am sorry I left you, but I had to drive that idiot Englishman. It could not be helped.”
The donkey tossed his head, which Fleur interpreted as a nod.
“Good, I knew you would understand. How is grandmère?”
Agwmar stamped his front hooves in the dust, seemingly irritated that the supply of mints appeared to be drying up. Fleur patted his neck, then flung her arms around him, burying her nose in his coarse mane. She breathed in the warm smell of him, the smell of her childhood, the aroma of comfort and security, and of timeless certainty. And now Agwmar evoked other memories too. She associated him with that fateful meeting on the mountain road, just a few weeks ago.
She had murmured to the faithful donkey the whole way as they had ambled slowly down the tarmac. She had complained to the faithful beast about the manners of some people as she had eyed the lone tourist parked at the side of the road, the man who had watched their progress every inch of the way. She had thought him rude and she was sure Agwmar shared that view, but at the last moment, the stranger had taken his sunglasses off and she saw his eyes. She had changed her mind then and simply thought him beautiful. She had said as much to Agwmar, who had not disagreed.
“He is gone, old friend. He left and he is not coming back. What am I to do now?”
The donkey nuzzled her shoulder, his low snuffling sounds sympathetic but offering no persuasive answers. He seemed to be as much at a loss as was she.

… and the blurb
A chance meeting, two strangers whose paths cross—in the same place at the same time, yet a world apart.

When mining engineer Ethan Savage spots the cloaked, veiled woman riding a donkey in the Moroccan desert, he can be forgiven for thinking that in some respects nothing much has changed in two thousand years. She wouldn’t look out of place in Biblical times. They pass, nod, smile politely and go their separate ways, two strangers a world apart.
But when, moments later, she rescues him from his crashed car, the first words she utters make Ethan realise that appearances can be deceptive. His little Berber peasant is not what she seems.

Shifting effortlessly between her traditional roots in the foothills of the Atlas Mountains and her professional life as the Totally Five Star hotel doctor, Fleur is a human chameleon, able to adapt and blend into any environment. At first irritated then amused by the handsome stranger, Fleur knows the assumptions he’s made about her. As their paths cross once more at the luxurious hotel, she realises he, too, is not all he seems. This sexy Englishman holds the key to her most secret and sensual desires, dangerous yearnings she’s kept locked away for years. Now she has a choice to make.

Ethan is only in Marrakesh for a few days, then he’ll be gone and she’ll never see him again. No one will ever know, so surely it will do no harm? Can she pass up this opportunity? And once she’s trusted him with her body, experienced all he can offer, will she be able to return to her old life? Or will the sensual chameleon need to reinvent herself once again to fit into his world?

Chameleon Buy Links :



More about me:
I’ve been an avid reader of fiction for many years, erotic and other genres. I still love reading, the hotter the better. But now I have a good excuse for my guilty pleasure – research.

I tend to draw on my own experience to lend colour, detail and realism to my plots and characters. An incident here, a chance remark there, a bizarre event or quirky character, any of these can spark a story idea.

When not writing – which is not very often these days - my time is divided between my role as resident taxi driver for my teenage daughter, and caring for a menagerie of dogs, rabbits, tortoises.  And a very grumpy cockatiel. 

I have twenty (at the last count) titles on general release, with several more in the pipeline. All my books feature BDSM. I write explicit stories, always hot, but they offer far more than just sizzling sex. I like to read about complex characters, and compelling plots, so that’s what I write too. Strong, demanding 

Doms are a given, often paired with new submissives who have a lot to learn.

I have a pile of story ideas still to work through, and keep thinking of new ones at the most unlikely moments, so you can expect to see a lot more from me.

I love to hear from readers. You can find me on my blog, and on the Totally Bound site. I’m on Facebook, and twitter and now on Tsu as well. I’m on Pinterest too, and Goodreads



Sunday, 1 February 2015

Cover Reveal - IN EXPERT HANDS


Coming 13th of February - my hot new BDSM billionaire novel!





Back cover information

Imogen White has it all—a high-flying career, a prestigious London home and friends she knows will fight her corner. She’s going up, and she’s in control, she’s also got the hots for one very important, very sexy client.

Kane Ward is a self-made billionaire whose determination to be the best of the best has left him alone. He has everything money can buy, yachts, jets, and villas in all four corners of the globe, but even he can’t buy time to suit his needs.

And his needs are very specific, his desires a particular shade of kink and his tastes anything but vanilla. So when he sets his sights on Imogen it’s a given that things are going to get dark, that pleasure will be laced with pain and determining his success will be measured by her blushes and gasps and cries of delight. But Imogen doesn’t need to worry, she’s in expert hands and her every fantasy is about to come trueand then some she’d never imagined in her wildest dreams.

* * * * 

IN EXPERT HANDS has a spin-off short story, IN SAFE HANDS which is featured in the Brit Babes SEXY JUST GOT RICH anthology. Go grab your copy on the 10th of February when it will be available from all good ebook retail outlets (available for pre-order now) and let yourself fall into the dark, erotic world of the Ward brothers – remember to call them Sir if you’re wearing their collar!



Excerpt from IN EXPERT HANDS 

“Would you like a drink?” he asked over the sound of the music.
“I’m okay, unless you want one.”
“No. I drank water after my workout.” He urged her forward. “So shall we go straight into a playroom?”
“If that’s what you want?”
He glanced at his watch. “There should be something going on to satisfy our voyeur plans for the evening.”
They stepped toward the bar.
Kane indicated another doorway at the opposite end that had a chain mail curtain hanging from its frame. “It’s through there.”
“Ah, K. Long time no see.” A man wearing a similar jacket to Kane’s but with only two stars over the breast pocket extended his hand.
He didn’t wear a mask and Imogen could see that his smile was genuine.
“Nate, how have you been?” Kane took his hand and they shook.
“Great, been in the City for a few weeks on business. Making the most of my free time by coming here most nights.” Nate turned to Imogen and raised his eyebrows. “You have company.”
“Don’t look so surprised.” Kane squeezed Imogen a little closer.
“I am. You don’t usually bring guests. Special occasion?”
Imogen felt Kane tense. She sensed he wasn’t enjoying having his break from the ordinary commented on. “
No occasion,” Kane said. “Good to see you, Nate, perhaps we’ll get chance to catch up later.”
“Yep. That would be cool.” Nate held up what appeared to be a glass of fizzy water and nodded. He kept his attention on Imogen. “Enjoy your evening here at Sup Space. I’m sure Master K will address your every need.”
“Thank you.” Imogen smiled then felt her cheeks heat as Nate swept his gaze down her bodystarting at the collar, then lingering on her breasts and finally on her boots.
Kane stepped forward, tugging her with him. “This way.”
After several paces she touched the collar. “This, around my neck,” she said quietly. “What would happen if I wasn’t wearing it?”
“It would make you fair bait for men like Nate, who are just out to play in a scene, find someone to hook up with.” He glanced at her. “He had no right to look at you like that.”
“Well, the outfit kind of screams look at me.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Oh.” She was confused. “It’s not?”
“No. You’re with me. I’ve claimed you with a collar. What’s more, I outrank him. He should show more respect.”
“You outrank him?”
“Of course.” He pulled back the chain curtain and opened a door. He ushered Imogen into the new room.
Imogen opened her mouth and stared around, thoughts of Nate vanishing.
Kane moved her from the doorway and into the shadows. He stepped behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist
“What are your first impressions?” he asked by her ear, his lips brushing her lobe and his breath heating a trail down her neck.
She leant back into him, loving being so close, held by him. But she couldn’t concentrate fully on his embrace because of what was before her. “It’s…sexy.”
“Mmm, I’m glad you think so,” he said, the soft material of his mask rubbing against her temple. “What else?”
She looked around. The room was sectioned into six large cubicles, each one decorated in dark tones and with a combination of low lights and spotlights. Each three-walled area held a bed or a table or some other piece of equipment in the center. Three spaces were occupied.
There was an audience, too, couples, singles, threesomes sitting on more large sofas. Imogen could only see the backs of their heads. Some appeared enraptured, others holding quiet conversations.
“Tell me,” Kane urged, slipping his hand over the smooth material covering her waist. “What do you think about that, over there, to your left.”
Imogen was already staring in that direction. It had been the main thing that had captured her attention.
A naked woman was bent double, tied to a skinny padded table with her ankles fastened to the legs and her arms stretched out on two platforms, crucifix-like. Her skin was pale except for her behind, which was scarlet.
Beside her stood a mandressed like Kane in black trousers and a velvet jacketwielding a flogger. He walked around the woman as if surveying the marks on her ass then cracked down the many strands over her skin.
Imogen jerked and a tingle traveled over her buttocks, as though her nerves were empathetic with what the woman on the table was going through.
The man hit again.
The woman groaned and moved her head, her face coming into Imogen’s view. She had her eyes screwed up tight and her lips were parted. There was a flush of red on her cheeks that matched the rosy blush on her backside.
“Talk to me,” Kane said softly.
“Is she enjoying it?” Imogen asked, although she was pretty sure she knew the answer. The woman appeared to be in ecstasy, as though she’d folded in on herself and only her body and sensation existed.
“Very much so,” Kane said. “Master Zen is very capable of working his sub towards orgasm just through striking her.”
“Are they just…playing a scene or are they…?”
“Lovers, committed to each other? Yes, actually those two are. They’re regulars here and live the lifestyle.”
“The lifestyle?”
“Yes.” He slid his hand to her collar and spanned it with his thumb and fingers. “They live full time as Dom and sub. He commands and she obeys.”
“It sounds…old-fashioned.” Imogen wasn’t sure about the obeying thing. She’d known friends who’d purposely had that removed from their wedding vows.
“It’s a symbiotic relationship,” Kane went on, smoothing his fingers around her collar and brushing her skin.
A small shiver ran down Imogen’s spine.
The woman was struck againseveral times in fast succession.
Imogen stared at the spectacle.
“You see,” Kane said. “She needs to be adored, cared for, taken through life by the man she loves. He needs to protect her, satisfy her, ensure that everything is perfect for her at all times. That is what makes him feel complete.”
“And that includes this. Beating?”
“Beating, spanking, flogging, whatever you want to call it, yes, it includes this, because that’s what they both enjoy, it’s their thing. It’s their kink.”
Kane went quiet and Imogen watched as Master Zen stood directly behind his sub. He appeared to fiddle at his groin then his pants loosened around his hips. He pushed forward.
The woman arched her back and her cry echoed around the room.
He reached for her shoulders, dragged her onto him.
“He’s…” Imogen said.
“Yes. He’s clearly very pleased with her. She’d getting exactly what she wants tonight.” Kane’s voice was low and husky, as though the sight was turning him on.
Imogen watched, fascinated as the Dom began to fuck his woman with urgency. The sub couldn’t move, she was strapped down, but he was moving for them. Thrusting in and out, hard, frantic, gripping her shoulders, her hair, her hips. His hands were all over her.
Imogen’s knickers dampened and she shifted within Kane’s arms.
“Would you like to get fucked like that?” Kane whispered.
Imogen half turned to him, his words a shock, despite where they were and what they were watching.
“Tell me,” he said, cupping her cheek and her holding face. “Tell me what you’re thinking?”
“I…” Imogen was breathing heavily. Fuck. What was she thinking? That she wanted to get fucked like that? She wanted to feel the flogger?
“Would you like to be her, on that table, with Master Zen taking you to the exquisite high she is rocketing towards right now?” Kane asked. “Red and sore, filled to the max? Nothing else in your mind except claiming that pleasure?”
She did, but it wasn’t Master Zen she wanted behind her, yanking her hair, scratching and marking her skin. Sinking deep, so deep. Filling her to bursting point.
It was Kane, or K as he was known here. It was him she wanted.
“Imogen,” Kane murmured, his mouth almost touching hers. “Talk to me.”
“Yes.” The word scratched from her throat. “But
He pressed his thumb over her lips, flattening them against her teeth. “No buts. Or if there are, tell me later.” He gave a brief smile. “Yes is enough.”