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
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 Surrender
Here'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.”
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.”
