I don't normally post about these sorts of things but it's New Year and this calls for champagne!
Four books I've written or co-written are up for Book of the Year at BDSM Book Reviews!
If you would like to vote in this, click on the highlighted writing above.
To join my MAILING LIST and keep up to date with my upcoming books go to:
Loose Id has given me the release date for Steel Dominance, my third book in the award-winning Steamwork Chronicles series.
(Best Erotic Steampunk 2011 The Romance reviews)
This one is the story of Dankyo, the Dom who emerged from Iron Dominance. He's a little meaner than Theo to start with but Sofia mellows him.
A brilliant researcher, Sofia must unravel the ancient puzzle of the Clockwork Warrior or her career will be in tatters. Yet the tomb of the warrior is in the dangerous city of Byzantium, inside the harem of the Emperor. She knew she’d have to pose as a slave—but not that her “owner” would be the incredibly bossy, gorgeous bodyguard she’s been assigned.
A life of military duty has left Dankyo unprepared for Sofia. He’s never met a woman quite like this. She’s smart and beautiful, and she’s something that he’s finding almost irresistible—despite the way she fights against masquerading as his slave, she’s submissive right down to the bottom of her soul. And that’s bringing out every dominant instinct in his body.
But even as he realizes she’s captured his heart, the city explodes into madness. Surviving seems impossible. Can love and a Dom who will never give up overcome sheer bloody-minded evil?
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.”
“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.
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.
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.
18 plus post - ADULTS ONLY
I was tagged by Leia Shaw for a fun lucky seven post. Here's the rules then my lucky seven.
1. Go to page 77 in your current manuscript
2. Go to line 7
3. Copy down the next seven lines as they are - no cheating
4. Tag 7 other authors (I did it on facebook since I don't follow blogs here)
Here's my lucky seven. And yes, I didn't cheat. Dankyo is always lucky...and naughty.
Even just this, holding her down, was enough to keep his cock standing at rock-hard attention. Nothing he’d done with Kirsten could compare. Nothing.
How far would she let him go? No. How far would he go? She’d said yes. But…
He pitched his voice low, so no one else could hear.
“You said you’re a woman where yes means yes and no means no. From now on, I trust you to keep to that. But you must trust me not to hurt you. Yes?”
18 plus excerpt.I feel like doing a six sentence thing again. Six sentence Tuesday? Whatever.
A sneak peek at Steel Dominance -- we're at an evening gathering in the city that once was Constantinople, but is now Istanbul. In my world, it's still called Byzantium. Dankyo and Sofia explore their attraction to each other.
The sight of Sofia lying before him, mostly naked, on her back on the table, waiting for whatever he might choose to do…god help him, it was a heady sensation. Kirsten had been totally different. They'd never found common ground. The few others at the Machine Room had not meant anything to him. He'd never had a woman truly offer herself up to him. This was not something he would rush.
I need a picture!
What of? Hmmm. A table? I'll see what I can find. Ahh, this below is better than a table.
Though edits for other books distracted me for a while, as did my evil crit partner Leia Shaw, I'm on 22,000 words today. Forging ahead into a labyrinth of intrigue, romance, mystery and bondage. Oh, and Dankyo says he's adding in more spanking and impact play, because that's what he likes.
I'm not sure I agree with that. Maybe we should talk. Or I can write while he's not looking...
From six hundred feet up, London’s harbor and the fleet of ironclads were as imposing as rubber ducks in a bathtub. Dankyo turned from his sightseeing. He wrapped his fingers about the thick gold rope that ran up to the balloon to steady himself against the push of the wild night winds. The party-goers on this opulent gondolier airship were getting into the swing of these early New Year celebrations. Eleven o’clock by his pocket watch. The overhead blue and yellow voltaic lights swung and sent shadows tilting.
The ambassador from Constantinople had brought his own entertainment and no one begrudged him showing them off. Two slave girls rose gracefully from their kneeling position at the clap of his hands. The other guests, in their suits and flamboyant gowns, spread to the edges of the gondolier.
Dankyo settled his back against the padded timber. The farthest slave with the short brunette hair reminded him of Kirsten. He sniffed and snagged a glass of champagne off the tray of a passing waiter. Sadness wasn’t him. Neither of them had suited the other. After a few weeks of Kirsten’s craziness he’d wanted to throw someone off a cliff and that simply wasn’t done.
From only two yards away, while sipping the tangy riesling, he watched the second slave undulate to the wavering music of the sitar. A black braid of hair hung to her waist -- swaying and whipping in circles to the music…even her full breasts moved. The gold mesh and fine silk of her costume revealed enough of her figure to make him sharpen his gaze. Someone else’s, a slave…but desirable. Her long neck begged a man to set his teeth there.
Ever since Claire had showed him the way, this new appreciation of women distracted him way too much. Dankyo swallowed more wine. Damn life for setting him these challenges. He could do without them.
Light boomed, sprinkled and blazed across the night sky.
The sitar faltered, small screams and shouts broke forth from the guests as they turned to see what happened far below. Something burned bright as day, and whistled skyward in rainbow colors.
Fireworks. Dankyo’s well-trained brain didn’t fail him. Early fireworks set off down amongst the ironclad battleships…a distraction. Why? The thoughts barely took seconds.
A tiny squeak made him look at the ambassador, who was staggering backward, hand at his chest. A small knife had sprouted there. Blood spread across his white shirt.
Assassination. No one near the man. The direction of the blade, the glimpse of the raven-haired slave’s eyes, told him where to run. He flung aside the glass and took off from his toes, felt his good leather shoes bend as he reached for the woman’s arm.
Their eyes met. With a fleeting yet wide smile and a miniscule shake of her head, she spun on her heel, and sprinted for the far edge of the gondolier.
Did she mock him? His fingers closed on air and he tore after her, barely two steps behind. Disbelieving, he saw her dive for the edge, flip into a somersault and vanish. His shoes skidded. He grabbed at a rope to stop himself.
Something dropped with a crack and creak from the belly of the gondolier airship -- a black thing, spinning. Then, in the flickering light of explosions and with moonlight painting splashes of silver, he saw wings snap out from the falling object -- it slipped sideways then soared into the night, smooth as an owl on a predatory errand.
“What in all the heavens,” he whispered. Admiration stung his voice. My god, the woman had stored a collapsible craft on the underside, and used it to escape.
Minutes later, he had the first slave kneeling head down before him. It seemed he was the only guest with any sense of organization. The ambassador was dead and they were descending to the ground, but there was time for interrogation.
“This one must be questioned,” he said to the ex-ambassador’s flustered assistant.
“Are you sure, sir?” The young blond fellow tilted his head. “I doubt Riane is involved. She has danced for the ambassador many times.”
“Ah.” Dankyo made sure to keep his expression stern as the slave girl peeked at him. Mostly bluff but she needn’t know. The answers would come faster. He rolled up his sleeves. “We must be sure of her innocence. We have time before we reach the ground. There’s a flogger and some ropes in my bag. Bring them to me.”
Though his eyebrows raised, the man scampered away.
Dankyo eyed the dark sky and wondered where the pretty killer was headed. “After I question you, Riane, there is another I must find. But first, remove your clothes.”
The widening of her eyes and the way her fingers bunched in the fine silk spoke of nervousness. She folded her arms across her waist and her breasts pushed forward -- her nipples peaking and showing through the small holes of the gold mesh.
“Here, sir!” The blond assistant slapped the flogger’s handle onto Dankyo’s palm. “And this.” He showed a coil of rope.
“Quickly, my dear. I’m sure you don’t want to irritate me.” Dankyo smiled down at the woman and swished the strands of the flogger on his thigh, feeling them wrap around and stick to the cloth of his trousers. And now to test his theory of interrogation that a woman would confess in the aftermath of extreme pleasure. “When you’re naked, you may choose whether to be tied in a standing position with your hands above your head, or kneeling over one of the divans.”
She squeaked and trembled like a cornered mouse. After a long, steadying breath she gathered the diaphanous silk then pulled it over her head. Like a wave in clear water, the material shimmied down her arms and puddled next to her feet. The cobweb-fine gold of her tunic glinted and clung to her body, revealing the tempting curves of her breasts and stomach.
“Good,” he murmured. “The rest also.”
Something told him, morning would not spell the end of this matter.
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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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Cari 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.
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