 I almost titled this post, 101 Uses for Book Reviews. A bit like those gruesome, 101 Uses for a Zombie/ Mother-in-Law/ Politician/ Dead Cat sort of cartoon books. Am I implying that book reviews are useless, you may ask? Do I hate book reviews? No. No! I love them. I cuddle up to them at night in front of a roaring fire and murmur sweet nothings in their ears. Or I would if they had ears. I polish them. I show them off to the neighbors. I come darn close to exchanging body fluids with them. TMI? *Sigh* It’s true though. The trouble is that they don’t sell my books. Or not enough to make me pump my fist and go, Yes! Ah! I see you sit forward in your chair, eyes bright – if you’re a writer. A morsel of info has been coughed forth. Us writers are always looking for the dirty underbelly of the…ummm dirt so we can file it away and use it for our own selves. But, can I prove it?! No. And also yes. It’s iffy, like all such things. Fact – I have a lot of wonderful reviews from book review sites for my latest book (Rough Surrender) – 10 perfect scores from every site (so far) that’s reviewed it, as well as many elusive awards like “Top Pick” and Recommended Read”. I can also admire my Goodreads awards – something like 27 five stars and 7 four stars out of 39 ratings. Pretty good. I know it’s a damn good erotic romance, maybe my best. But sales are average. What can I learn here? Reviews may help you, but even great ones won’t do everything. And they won’t make a lot of readers click on the buy button unless your book ticks other boxes too. However, I have seen readers recently say, after being told by someone that my book’s good – “I’ve heard this one has great reviews. I’ll give it a go.” It’s obvious that book reviews aren’t everything. You have to do other promo. But they do help. Can you be successful without them? For sure. There are oodles of books on Amazon selling extremely well that have poor or no reviews. Am I going to give up sending books out for review? No. Because I believe they help, and they are just another weapon in my arsenal…does that sound like I’m trying to shoot readers? Hmmm…okay, tool in my toolbox? Anyway, if you plan to get reviews for your book, here are some pointers. 1. Offer the best book you can. Shoddy writing, editing, or appearance of the cover, are off-putting. Reviewers may refuse to even look at your book if it seems bad from page one or two. Also, bear in mind, it’s not as easy to get reviewers to read your book if you’re self-published. Not impossible, obviously, but harder. 2. There’s little point in getting your book reviewed by a site that has very few subscribers/ hits/ readers. If the site is as busy as an iceberg in the middle of the ocean, find another site. Even if they simply gush over your book, do a rain dance on the cover, and kiss your tootsies, it means zipiddeedoodah if nobody ever reads it. Okay, this second point needs qualifying -- I had another author point out that those smaller blogs can be wonderful. The contacts you make through them can be very worthwhile, the reviewers will give it their all compared to some over-worked reviewers, and they may be more likely to give a new author a try. They may have a million friends elsewhere. Word of mouth works wonders. 3. Find good reviewers. ie Reviewers who write well, rate the books consistently, and are interested in the sort of story you have written. A reviewer who thinks about the book and doesn’t give automatic high scores may have a better reputation. I say ‘may’ because people may love a reviewer and respect what they say because they blog well and have an exuberant personality. If they like your sort of book, those reviewers may still be a good choice. 4. If you’re going to bother getting reviews, and you know the book is going to get good ones, the more reviews the better. Because whatever promo method you use – twitter, facebook, goodreads, word of mouth – the more people who come in contact with your promo, the better. Whatever promo you use, you should do it to the best of your ability. Do it to the max. So go forth and multiply those reviews, but don’t forget to do your other promo too. Reviews alone, won’t often sell books, but they might if there’s other tasty info about that book already floating around in the reader’s mind. It all adds up. 
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Adults Only - 18 years plus There you are! You've made it this far through the Hero's Blog Hop - unscathed by arrows or swords, by bullets or by a hero's stunningly built muscles that gleam in the sunshine as if freshly polished. That is why you like heroes isn't it? So you can run your tongue down that torso, slowly detouring around their belly button, and downwards...unzipping...unbuttoning...mmm Or is it? I lift one eyebrow and give you a second to think. The physical yumminess is always enticing, but for me, it is what's inside them that makes a hero. And what they DO. I love a man with a heart, a lover's soul, a man who does what he has to when times are not just tough, but bad enough to bring him to his knees despite the landscape littered with shards of glittering glass. That man -- the man who crawls across the glass with sword in hand, or sharpened toothpick, to save his lady -- he is the hero for me. What is most important to you in a hero? Delectable muscles? Come on, admit your weaknesses. I won't tell a soul!
 My personal prize for this blog hop is a $5 gift card and a book from my backlist - so that excludes Rough Surrender, the one I have an excerpt for below. This is my hero, Leonhardt Meisner. A man who will move heaven and earth, and overcome his greatest fear, to save his love, Faith Evard.
I can't show Leonhardt's greatest heroic moment, because that is toward the end of the story, but here is when they first kiss. Faith halted at the door, put her palm to the wood while her other hand brushed her fringe back as well as she could without a mirror--needing that moment to compose herself. Liar. Damnable liar. She had let him do that. She couldn’t trust herself. “Leonhardt,” he said. “What?” Frowning, she turned. At least, this time he’d kept some distance, a few feet, between them. Not enough. Her treacherous tongue curled out to touch her lip. Why did she do that? As if...as if she could taste him on the air. Her nostrils flared. She could smell him, though: tobacco and soap and sweat, but even in winter, Cairo would make anyone sweat. “Leonhardt. Call me that.” “I doubt that would be appropriate, Mr. Meisner.” His mouth curved in a small smile. “You lied before. Of course.” He took an unhurried stride forward, brought up his arms and braced them either side of her head. Hell. “If it weren’t for that adorable tongue of yours, I’d have let you go. Now, I’m going to see what you taste like.” He lowered his head. Faith strained away, the back of her skull smacking lightly into the timber. “Don’t move.” Those two words were like nails driving her into place. He covered her lips with his and she gave a muffled groan as his tongue slid into her mouth alongside hers. All resistance vaporized. She fought to stay aware and upright though her legs threatened to collapse and her logical brain had disintegrated into a swirl of lustful thoughts. Nothing mattered except the feel of him inside her. His lips pressed and slid, his teeth caught her flesh here, there...his breath merged with hers. This was a man who knew how to take. His body moved in, squeezing her between timber and man. If she needed to breathe, she must accept what he gave her. If he didn’t hold her there, she’d fall. The world shifted on its axis. Sweet Jesus, she loved it. This time, when he drew away, she kept her fingers hooked into the heavy fabric of his coat. Something hard and long pulsed against her stomach--his manhood. All of their own accord, her hips arched forward. Her panting came a little faster. “We’d best be leaving.” He stroked the side of her face with his knuckles. “Mmm.” Someone had put glue on her tongue and throat “Mmm? You kiss like an angel come down from heaven, sweetheart. Tell me the truth this time, before I let you go. Did you like that?” Before I let you go That matter-of-fact statement shook her. Her eyes swept up, found his--so striking, so intense. She searched for a word to describe them. Animalistic? When eyes were given out, he’d been given the wrong ones--those of a hawk or wolf. She considered lying but couldn’t, not while he held her still in place. “Yes,” she whispered. “I did.” His knuckles feathered over her lips and, on impulse, she licked at them. His eyes darkened. A hiss escaped from between his teeth. “You tempt me too much.” Then he stood, moved back and gestured at the door. It took a moment for her to adjust to the loss--of feeling his body on hers. By the time he slid back the door and guided her toward the motorcar with his hand low on her back, she’d done some thinking. If she’d doubted his effect on her, she now knew for certain. He’d given her an entirely new understanding of kissing. Mr. Meisner...Leonhardt, could own her without doing anything more than saying a single word. He opened the passenger door. Their eyes met. Well, two words. She wasn’t that easy. Don’t move. The memory of her response scalded her. Like a cat on heat, she wanted to lie down at his feet and arch her back. Whatever am I going to do? Buylinks are below & a bigger sample from Rough Surrender is here.
 Night Owl Top Pick 5/5; The Romance Reviews Top Pick 5/5; Guilty Pleasures Book Reviews 5/5 "Purest Delight"; BDSM Book Reviews 5/5 Paddles, 5/5 Kinks; Kinky Book Reviews 5/5 Kinks; Mrs Condit Reads Books 5/5; Scorching Book Reviews 5/5; Erzabet's Enchantments 5/5; and Manic Readers 5/5 Make that 10 out of 10 sites. I can see from Goodreads, that Holly from Full Moon Bites is also giving the book 5/5
Steel Dominance, Book 3, Steamworks Chronicles, has gone to Loose Id. I already have this on my home page, but I figured it deserved a blog post. YES, I do have critters like that one above in the book. But they are cute, I swear it on my grandmother's garden bed. I call these clockies. Here is a tiny excerpt, a sneak peek of Steel Dominance. From the feel of it Dankyo had scooped something up. He moved in so his thighs jammed hers into the desk. Then the rhythmic quaking of his body on hers puzzled her a moment. “Are you laughing? What was it?” “This.” He held a golden metal creature the size of her palm before her eyes. “Oh!” She jerked her head back. It wriggled…had many legs. And damn, it reminded her of a cross between a spider and a crab. “It’s a clockie,” Dankyo said. He put a squarish glass jar on the desk, dropped the creature in and screwed on the lid. “The Ottomans bombard Byzantium with them every Tuesday or so.” “Ugh.” She peered at it, her thoughts strung between the feel of Dankyo’s body pressing on her and watching the thing scrabbling about in the bottle. “What are they for?” “They write religious graffiti. Don’t worry. It only got as far as G.” “G? Where?” “On your ass. G is for God.” Oh hell. And now he really was laughing. “Damn you! Stop that!” She squirmed about to shout at him but he only leaned in and squashed her flat with his whole body. “Shh. Stay there. I’m not finished with you yet.” And that statement made her freeze. Clockie a foot from her nose, some writing on her throbbing sore ass, but with him on top of her, the world drifted far far away. “Mmm. Yes.” Nothing much happened after that. He lay on her, breathing softly, holding her down, at times playing with her hair. The weight of him was enough to keep her still but not hurt her, enough to keep her from escaping or wriggling, and slowly, like a tide washing in and filling a rock pool, his presence filled her up. A word came to her that seemed to sum up how she felt. Possession.   The winner of an eBook copy of 31 Flavors is Lacy T!
This is from the BDSM Unleashed Hop. To go to the BDSM Unleashed Giveaway Hop - Click here 
My first ever free short story is out -- in an anthology with a group of authors called the ERAuthors (Erotic Romance Authors) and it's available at All Romance Ebooks. So go grab your copy and review it if you liked it enough. This is the link HERE This anthology has my short story, "Rusted Rattlesnakes and Lubricated Love." It's the teaser first few chapters for the first book in my new PNR post-apocalyptic series called "Cataclysm Blues - Awakening" -- due out in the last quarter, this year. When the end of the world has come and gone, and demons arise from the ashes of Hell, small-town sheriff Rose finds it’s good having a boyfriend to watch her back. Especially when he’s not only sexy but armed, dangerous, and a little bit demon. Even better when you’re part demon too. 
Rusted Rattlesnakes and Lubricated Love - ExcerptFirst off. Just so you know - this is Talon:
No name still. But, he was kinda pretty. All in black—shirt, trousers, belt, weapons—like someone trying to look tough. Didn’t impress her. What did was the swell of his biceps when he raised the bottle. His profile was…she shifted in her chair…damn good too. Short curly black hair, a roman nose, big mouth…but an alcoholic? Can’t have it all in one package. That would spoil it. This way he was big and bad and kissable and broken. If it wasn’t for the row of shrapnel scars marching up his neck, she’d… ****** Talon had made it to where his motorcycle was parked next to the man-high brick fence. Even in the poor lights out there, the vehicle gleamed some dark color—black most likely, knowing him. As she strolled forward, he turned, spun even—and there was no wobbliness at all. Rose frowned and took the last yard fast, drew her S&W revolver left-handed, and slammed her hand up onto his throat. She lifted him six inches off the ground with most of the weight under his jaw so he could breathe. The pistol went under his ribs. “Okay, you cunning bastard, I can see you’re not drunk. No idea how, but when I let you down, you’re facing your cycle and showing me both wrists. Got it?” “You do realize, you should not be able to lift me.” “Huh?” The calmly said sentence was so out of place. “No woman can lift this much one-handed.” “Surprise, surprise. I can. It’s the croquet, and all the oatmeal.” Why wasn’t he sounding half-strangled? “I am not going to hurt you. I don’t like guns pointed at me.” Hurt me? As if. “At you? It’s only your ri—” The move was fast and unexpected. She couldn’t counter it and barely knew what he’d done after it was over. Her pistol was gone, she’d been shoved into the brick wall hard enough to sting her back, and Talon held both her hands above her head. They were both breathing hard. “Don’t scream. I’ll let you go. I just wanted you out here to talk, like I said.” She blinked. How had he done that? No one, ever, bested her. “You’re a freak.” She wriggled her wrists but all that did was chafe her skin on the brick. Could kick him. As if he’d read her mind, he crowded her—his body pressing close. Groin to groin, his chest to her breasts, and his mouth inches away from hers. And there it was—thatkerthump sinking feeling again. The temperature between her legs went up several degrees, and wet…she was much wetter down there. “Freak? Am I?” She heard that dead smile in his words again. “What about you?” “Me? I’m the sheriff.” He still held her. “The letting go bit? Remember? My deputy is coming.” “Not yet he isn’t. I can’t hear him.” The pause stretched to the breaking point. “You’ve been stupid, Sheriff.” Yeah, she guessed she had. She’d thought she could take him. Killing someone took seconds, if you knew how. Looking into Talon’s night-darkened eyes only reinforced her gut instinct—this man could kill. But he hadn’t. And now, though she could try screaming, that meant sucking in a heap of air, and he’d know. On the flip side… “If you’d wanted to kill me, you’d have done it by now.” “True.” So close, she felt the waft of warm air from his mouth as he spoke. She smelled him every time she inhaled—man and scotch, with a hint of gasoline. As if he read her mind, he leaned in and put his nose to her neck where it was bared by her collar. His warm skin on hers. The fine bristles on his chin rasped at her. She tensed. Why am I not protesting? I’m not some floozy. No? Then why haven’t I screamed for Deputy Yale? And sod it, that man is slow. “Kill you? You smell too good, beautiful. I think I have other plans.” Beautiful? Other plans? She stopped breathing. No one called her that. Especially not a six foot plus hunk of man who could, for once, eat her all up without half trying. His thigh moved in, denim to denim, pressing upward to where her clit resided. God damn, that’s… The wall seemed to slide a half inch upward, because her knees had caved. She’d melted—bone, muscle, everything. The only thing stopping her slide was his knee between her legs, and her arms fastened above. Around her wrists his grip rhythmically relaxed then tightened as if he was thinking. She thought about swallowing again, but that would be a dead giveaway to her arousal. “You’ve never been kissed, have you, Rose?” “Of course I have.” The huskiness in her voice bothered her. He’d know. Got to get back on the job. Get out of this hold for starters. “No. You’ve never had a man kiss you, though you might have kissed them. There’s a difference. I doubt anyone else could handle you. I can.” Stunned, she gaped at him. Above, he put her hands together and held them in one fist. She pushed outward but still couldn’t budge him. Her next deep breath pressed her breasts into his chest. And he put his hand to her neck—without asking, like it belonged there. Like he had the right to do whatever he wished. The sensation tripped her into another land. Here was a man unafraid to do what he wanted with her. Thumb on one side of her neck, fingers on the other, holding her there too, he spoke. “Done trying to escape?” She simply breathed, watched, like waiting for an avalanche. Then ever so slowly, without fuss, he came in for a kiss. Her brain kicked in. “My deputy—” His mouth covered hers. Warmth flooded through her. Slowly she closed her eyes, as he assaulted her mouth and claimed her. Fastened to the wall by his hands and body, she had no choice, for he leaned in harder and almost nailed her in place. His kisses, the subtle thrust of his thigh up into her pussy, the constant grasp on her throat and the way he let her have absolutely no way to move her hands, it all built into a storm that rumbled through her. The kisses grew rougher, he nipped at her mouth, and pushed her head to the side so he could bite and suck at her throat. Soon her moans and the sound of his lips and teeth and tongue on her were all she could hear. She writhed against his thigh, and his hand stroked where her shirt had ridden up above her navel. He leaned his head onto her neck so her head was forced to the side. Above her own ragged breaths, she heard his quiet words. “So soft. This is you. Not these.” He tapped her pistol, then his hand wormed down deeper between the top of her low-riding jeans and her skin. Too tight, he only got one finger down close…a small distance from her little throbbing clit. Oh, she could tell to a fraction of an inch how far that finger needed to go. You can also get it on Smashwords. Adults Only- 18 years plus Welcome to the BDSM Authors Playroom first ever blog hop. This is my coming out day. No, I'm not gay, and yes, those who read my books already get that I write BDSM. My coming out is more to do with realizing that I need to come clean about what I write. I don't just write BDSM. - though my sex scenes are hot enough to melt your kindle flipping finger and any other bits of your anatomy that get in the way. My author's tagline used to be - Scorched Souls, Bound Hearts. But...I don't write straight contemporary modern day erotic romance. So it's going to change. This is my new tagline. Locked and Loaded for Lust, Adventure and Unforgettable Heroes Because that is me. I love writing extra plot lines into my stories. I write smart, mostly kick-ass heroines. Sure they cave at the knees at the touch of the hero, but get in their way and you're likely to end up a sizzled, vaporized, bullet-riddled mess on the floor. So there's no point denying it. I love me some crazy action in my stories, and if some villain has to die, I do it in the most gratuitous and ickily violent way I can imagine. Except on Tuesdays. Tuesdays I get my nails done. To celebrate I'm putting up an excerpt from Rough Surrender, my BDSM historical. One which has both sexiness and action. Which do you prefer? Sex, action, or both in your stories? Tell me in the comments and I'll enter you in the giveaway. If you're curious enough to maybe want to buy the book. Go here, for buylinks. "The attention to details, the chemistry and sexual tension between the central characters, the historically accurate trivia, all combine to be one of the best books this author has EVER written and she has really come into her own. Loved, loved, loved this book." MsMarz - Amazon review of Rough Surrender I'm giving away a copy of 31 Flavors of Kink. Go here, to check it out. Yes, yes, yessss, it is contemporary but it's different. 31 Flavors of Kink is based on a true story. Rough Surrender Cairo 1910 At a time when airplanes are as new-fangled and sensational as the telephone, Faith dares to fly. The one territory she has not explored is her own sexuality. In Leonhardt Meisner she discovers the man who can teach her how a woman surrenders her body and her mind. However, Leonhardt has a shadowed past and his own learning to do. He doesn't have the right to keep Faith from flying, even if he thinks airplanes are flimsy death-traps made of canvas, timber and their inventor's prayers. Faith has her limits, Leonhardt has his flaws, and sometimes the nicest people get murdered by unscrupulous bastards. Even if Leonhardt can save the woman he loves, the battle for Faith’s heart will be the hardest one of all. WARNING: BDSM, anal sex, orgasms galore, and a Dom who likes to claim his property with pen, ink and bondage. Excerpt The front passenger seat was leather and hard under Faith's bottom. Her pulse already seemed to pound as loud as the throttled back engine. Mr. Meisner drove along to the lumber pile then turned the car so it faced down the road toward Mawson and his light. “Goggles?” he asked her. “Thank you.” She took the leather-and-brass pair from Mr. Meisner and put them over her eyes, shuffling them about on her face. As she reached back for the buckle, her fingers met Mr. Meisner’s. Faith jumped. “I can do this... Sir.” “Ah.” He brushed aside her fingers. “I see you’ve at least remembered the sir.” “One always calls gentlemen that, just as you--” With only a rustle of cloth to warn her, his teeth met in the lobe of her ear, sending a spark into her middle. Like the melt of winter snow, she felt heat pool in her lower body. Her fingers curled against her collarbone where her hands still rested either side of her neck. “I’m not a gentleman, Faith.” Seated as she was, her dress reached to just above her ankles. Mr. Meisner placed his hand on her lap and began gathering it, grasping fabric and pulling. Soon the hem of the dress had reached her upper thighs. Through it all, she stayed where she was, her hands in the same place, reveling in it, in how he exposed her, in the casual way her skin was bared. Without asking, or speaking again, he slipped his hand under her dress and a finger into her cleft. She settled lower in the seat, hooded her eyelids and breathed out a moan. “Good, girl.” He kissed her cheek once and drew away. What? Lust still muddled her. The engine revved. “Hang on tight.” The car lurched forward with a small scream of metal. It took her a moment to recover. They were hurtling down the track. Her pussy was swollen and hotter than the engine powering this car. She prayed the dress wouldn’t show if her moisture dribbled on it. She bit her lip and glared across at the man through the goggle lenses. How dare he treat her like some sort of object to be pawed, except... She sighed, oh, she had liked it. Fast as an eyeblink, they shot past Mawson and his light. By the time, Leonhardt had driven the car around again to the starting place at the lumber pile, she’d rearranged her dress and her mind. She’d show him. If there was one thing she knew, it was racing automobiles. They switched places. She refused to look at him. The pedals were a little far so she inched forward in the driver’s seat and poised her feet. “Ready?” drawled Mr. Meisner. “Yes. Sir.” “Go!” Her shoe rammed down on the metal. The car took off like a rabbit with a fox in sight. Switch gears with the selective and stamp her foot again. Bumps in the road juddered her hands on the wheel but she kept her grip loose enough to steer straight without losing control. The roar of the motor reached a peak then flash they were past Mawson. “Well done! I can see you know how to drive.” Hmph. Though the praise made her feel like glowing. “Thank you. Shall we see what Mawson says of the time?” She steered around and back to the man, braking with a little skid of dust and halting the car with Leonhardt’s door precisely opposite his servant. Dust washed in. Dash it, that had been good. If he’d meant to distract her with his little maneuver back there, it had not succeeded. She pulled off the goggles and strained her ears to hear Mawson’s reply. Twenty-five seconds for Mr. Meisner. Twenty-three seconds for her. Yes! “Thank you, Mawson. That is all I need you for.” Mr. Meisner climbed back in, clicked the door shut and shifted his body around to face her. “You have your win, Faith.” He added nothing more, just looked at her with that calm expression--patience and control personified. His gloved hand rested on his knee. The winner gets to command the other to do anything at all for the night. But what did she want him to do? “Mawson?” She tilted her head. “He’s walking home. It’s not far from here.” “I see. Um. Good.” Her imagination conjured up all sorts of things. Mr. Meisner serving her at a table or kneeling at her feet--no she couldn’t embarrass him like that. Wearing his jacket inside out. Silly ideas, all of them, some of them humiliating to a man of such composure. Maybe she could wait until they were alone and she could tie him up? The image that revealed made her stomach turn. She couldn’t... She didn’t want to see him like that. And anything else she thought of just seemed wrong. Besides, she’d wanted him to teach her, not the other way around. “What is your command?” he asked. Such a big man. The top of his head almost brushed the car’s fabric roof and his shoulders inside that great coat filled the gap between seat back and windshield. If he were any larger the car would burst. Her mouth dried. Her heart picked up pace, thumping at her chest, at her temples. Oh, hell and damnation. She met his eyes. She didn’t want anything from him except...him. This was appalling and yet exhilarating all at once. She let out a long, measured breath. How to say this? “My command is that...you have to...do whatever you want, tonight. In other words, I don’t want to command you.” She shrugged. “You don’t want me at your feet?” One corner of his mouth curved. “Ugh. No.” “But I might want you at mine.” Yes, her heart sang to her. Oh yes, please. It was an effort not to squeeze her thighs tightly, one against the other. How far did he mean to go? There was a limit to this. Below here is the list of blogs participating in the hop.
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follow the blog, and comment. Click on it to go there.  I found out today that Rough Surrender has been awarded Top Pick at The Romance Reviews and I think that must be worth a blog post? From the looks of it, I've finally found a subgenre of BDSM Romance that appeals to a fair swathe of readers. Which is a relief. "A historical BDSM that is both scorching and hot but not too hardcore. It is so sensual, touching, mesmerizing. I'm not really fond of historicals but this book was so different and so captivating. The part that really just set me off giggling was Leonhardt and his determination of his penmanship on Faith's backside." CozyReader On Goodreads I have 18 or so 5 stars too, out of 26 ratings. So, phew, I'm happy  Rough SurrenderHere's a little sample to celebrate! More to be found here (Chapter One)
At a time when airplanes are as new-fangled and sensational as the telephone, Faith dares to fly. The one territory she has not explored is her own sexuality. In Leonhardt she discovers the man who can teach her how a woman surrenders her body and her mind. However, Leonhardt has a shadowed past and his own learning to do. He doesn't have the right to keep Faith from flying, even if he thinks airplanes are flimsy death-traps made of canvas, timber and their inventor's prayers. Faith has her limits, Leonhardt has his flaws, and sometimes the nicest people get murdered by unscrupulous bastards. Even if Leonhardt can save the woman he loves, the battle for Faith’s heart will be the hardest one of all. WARNING: BDSM, anal sex, orgasms galore, and a Dom who likes to claim his property with pen, ink and bondage. Together, they walked to her door, the Oriental carpet underfoot muffling the sound of shoe on floor. Number three hundred and twelve. Mr. Meisner unlocked the door then pushed it open. Not daring to look at him, Faith drew a smooth yet deep breath, and went in. The little entryway held a slim cabinet and a silver vase with swans for the handles. Art Nouveau, as was the bedroom beyond. Everything flowed with curves and the shapes of animals and plants. In the center of the wide floor sat the double bed with a shimmering peacock-and-lily quilt that fairly begged one to sprawl upon it. The outline of lilies showed in the cast iron bedhead and curled up the four corners of a chest of drawers. Gold curtains to her right covered a set of French doors that must lead to a balcony. The room sang with honeyed hues and electric blue vibrancy. Bracing herself, she turned to find Mr. Meisner had discovered a chaise lounge and sat upon it--one ankle atop the other knee, his trousers sliding up to reveal his sock. “Come here, Faith. Please. Sit.” He patted the lounge. “I don’t usually invite men... I mean I’ve never...” Oh, Lord. Now she had him in her room, she really wasn’t sure she wanted to get close. “I know. Sit here.” He sighed and uncrossed his leg. “I won’t bite. We need to talk.” “I think perhaps--” She made as if to sit on the bed. “Faith,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “Either you come over here and we talk, or I come over there and ravish you on the bed.” “Ah.” Only minutes ago, being ravished had seemed a great idea. Admit it. I don’t know what I want. Trying to act unaffected by his threat, she went over and sat on the very edge of the lounge. Casually, he wrapped a hand around her waist and pulled her in close to his side. “Mr. Meisner!” She stiffened. “Stay. And it’s Leonhardt. You wanted me here. In thirty minutes, Mawson will be back and you can order me out if you so wish. Meanwhile, you sit here and keep me warm. That’s my due payment for having to listen to what is going through your pretty head, because this is not my idea.” Pretty head! “What? You’re the one who kissed me!” She wriggled but couldn’t get loose, not easily. Besides with his arm around her, tucking her against him...it was so comfortable and this was what she’d wanted, in a way. “A kiss?” He nuzzled her ear with his mouth and she heard him inhale. “You smell so nice, sweetheart. I kissed you before because you wanted me to. I’m here for the same reason. Another man would have you on your back on that bed squealing by now.” At those words, she froze. His tongue lapped out, circled her earlobe, licked. Wet. Soft, and so surely finding a spot that sent a spark of electricity zipping straight down below. Nice. Too nice. She angled her neck in the hope he’d do more of the same elsewhere. He chuckled, kissed once below her ear. “I’ll bet you’ve not even had sex.” A blatant, raw question but...no point in lying. “No. I haven’t.” “Then why do you want me here? Why the sudden loose morals? Didn’t your mother tell you not to invite strange men to your room?” Oh, what a dismal thing to say. Something within her evaporated. For a man who’d warned her off and said he had different tastes, Leonhardt was being awfully nice--almost as nice as Jeremy, her pot-of-custard man. Face it. For whatever reason, he was treating her, almost, like a little sister. She wanted...what she’d seen, felt, at the workshop--a man with fire in him, who had excited her like no other. She sighed and muttered, “Pot of custard.” “What?” “Never mind. This isn’t what I thought it would be. The way you...” She shook her head. “Never mind.” Yet, when she tried to rise, he held her still. “Mr. Meisner, let go.” “Leonhardt. What did you say first?” Anger filled her. “Oh! I said pot of custard! You’re just like Jeremy and every other man I ever met. Bland as custard. All right? Now. Let me go.” Exasperated, she turned her head, looked at him, and the room dropped a foot. The hardness was back in his eyes. His hand tightened on her waist. She flinched. “You don’t know what you ask.” “I’m sorry.” She shook her head, stared at the floor. “But, I didn’t ask for anything.” “Oh. You did. You did.” This time he sighed and she dared to glance at him again. At her waist, his arm had relaxed and his fingers stroked her through the dress. “You’re...like a feast laid out before me, Faith. I’d love to eat you all up, though I shouldn’t.” The air sizzled. Every breath she took woke another part of her until she thought nothing about him could possibly escape her knowledge. Her eyes drank in the world. Ever so quietly, she moved her hand to rest on his broad thigh. “Very well.” He played with a tendril of her hair above her ear. “Thirty minutes. I will show you what I like. You will let me do what I wish. No complaints. No comments from you except, yes, sir or, no, sir. If you tell me to stop, I will, and then we’re done. I’ll leave. Your answer is yes, sir.” 
My third book in the Steamworks Chronicles series, Steel Dominance, has been written. This time the story is mostly set in a steampunk Byzantium (the first name for Constantinople) and this is Dankyo's story. Early news from a couple of my beta readers, Candace Blevins and Bianca Sarble, is that it's turned out well.
From Candace Blevins, who really knows her BDSM back-to-front -- "You've got the perfect explanations and descriptions for when she is turned on by something only because he's doing it and it's turning him on. For that matter, the vast majority of their D/s interactions worked for me. Character development is great. Loved the world-building. I seriously loved some of the concepts, and the whole clockwork thing was nicely done -- with Zig-zag and the little writer bug thingies, and the way you wove it all into the story and plot. So, nice worldbuilding, great plot, good subplots, steaming sex scenes, and bonus points for finding a way to put her into a situation where slavery is real but she isn't actually a slave." From Bianca Sarble -"Dankyo - He reminds me of Leonhardt. They both have the quiet dominance without the overbearing masculine ego. I like this. I like this a lot :). He doesn't sugar coat things, and makes mistakes which makes him a much more likeable character for us and Sofia." I'm waiting for more feedback before I do the final tweaks, then it's off to Loose Id and my editor Crystal. |
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Copyright Cari Silverwood 2011. All rights reserved. No part of these publications may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of the author.
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 AuthorCari Silverwood is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling writer of kinky darkness or sometimes of dark kinkiness, depending on her moods and the amount of time she's spent staring into the night. Follow Cari Silverwood on...
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