Fan of a Friend: Cecilia Tan's Prince's Boy Cover Reveal

I may have written about this before, but I've been reading Cecilia Tan's work since my very first encounters with erotica (I know, lucky me—I found some great stuff right away). And there are few writers I admire more. I'm picky about my BDSM these days, and I trust Cecilia's to the point that I'll read it without worrying about the pairing, the perspective, the specific actions, whatever. I know that if her name's on the work, it'll be hot, emotional, insightful, and often magical.

So I'm honored to help her spread the word about her upcoming collection, The Prince's Boy. Here's some early info about what's on the way:

The Prince's Boy: Collection

by Cecilia Tan

$9.99 ebook bundle

ISBN 978-1-61390-015-4

Dark erotic magic ensnares a prince and his whipping boy in a world of castle intrigue. THE PRINCE'S BOY tells the story of Kenet, prince of Maldevar, and his whipping boy Jorin, as they fight to save their country—and their love—from evil.

The much-lauded tale of men, lust, and dark magic, now collected into one complete tale! Includes the full text of volumes one and two and two bonus stories.

Honorable mention in the Rainbow Awards (for gay fantasy fiction)

Honorable mention in the NLA Writing Awards (for BDSM-positive fiction)

In a fantasy world where the lust of male for male fuels Night Magic, Prince Kenet lives a sheltered life. Isolated from the war that threatens the kingdom, he and his whipping boy Jorin are of age, but still sneak forbidden pleasures in their bed at night. When a dark mage tries to bespell Kenet into sexual submission, the prince and his boy are thrust into the world of intrigue, sex, and war.

Drawing on complex themes of dominance and submission, the need for secrecy in a world where homosexuality is not accepted, and the intertwining of sex with magic, Tan weaves a complex, sex-filled adventure that is part "Three Musketeers" and part "Claiming of Sleeping Beauty."

Cecilia Tan is “simply one of the most important writers, editors, and innovators in contemporary American erotic literature,” according to Susie Bright. She is the author of many novels and short stories, editor of dozens of erotic short story anthologies, and the founder of Circlet Press. She was inducted into the Saints and Sinners Hall of Fame for GLBT writers in 2010.

Praise for THE PRINCE'S BOY:

"Brilliant from start to finish, but whew! What a marathon! You'd better train up for this one, or be prepared to read it in small bite sized pieces (if you can put it down, and yes, it is that good). It is not for the faint of heart. There is graphic torture, rape, slavery, every form of questionable behavior one could think of. And with all that? A story not to be missed. By turns gritty and lyrical. It is the chiming of tiny crystal hand bells and the inescapable, thundering peal of the bells of Notre Dame. A powerhouse, a tour de force. Not to be missed. But buckle up baby. It's one hell of a ride." —Elisa Rolle, The Rainbow Awards

"The story is a good one, the characters are well developed. I went looking for the next installment more for the story than the sex, though I will also say that there are areas that the sex carries the story." —BDSM Book Reviews

***

Do you want to see the pictures all huge and gorgeous on Cecilia's own website? You can, here! Do you want to preorder the book now? Also possible, at Amazon. Cecilia tells me the ebook bundle is set to go live on November 15th. :)

I Like to Be Tied Up

It’s not that I thought the transition from fantasy kink to real life kink would be easy, it’s that I didn’t think about it at all. After years of hoovering novels about kink and thinking about it all the time, it was a big deal for me to show up in person to real events. That seemed like the big hurdle.

At the time, I identified as a submissive. I didn’t really know the difference between submissive and bottom. I didn’t know a lot of other words. I knew I was into bondage and pain. I didn’t know that it was possible to be into only one of those, or both, or neither, or other things altogether.

I think part of the problem was the novels I’d read. In those books, the narrative focus was often on making a woman admit she was submissive. That seemed to mean gets-wet-when-ordered-around. I don’t recall coming across novels that told a story about a submissive woman painstakingly defining the nuances of her identity, though perhaps they exist. In most of what I read, tops defined the identities of submissives for them.

I could write a long, long essay, and probably also a novel, about my relationship to the word submissive alone.

The Many Note Challenge got me thinking about something that seems much simpler than that on the surface: trying to tell people you’re into rope.

For the challenge, I showed a variety of moods, a lot of different ways rope might feel to two people who are playing with it. That points to a problem I experienced when trying to move from fantasy kink to real life kink. At first, I thought all I needed to tell people was, “I want to be tied up.”

It felt that way at first, especially when I was bursting with enthusiasm and it seemed like any way of being tied up would be great with me. I just had a bottomless (haha) urge to have someone put rope on me.

Over time, though, I started to notice dissonances when I talked to other people who liked to be tied up.

***

Here are some examples of questions that point to possible distinctions:

Do you like to be tied up to look pretty?

Do you like to be tied up to feel athletic?

Do you like to be tied up in a way that’s uncomfortable?

Do you like for sexual things to happen after you’re tied up?

Do you like for painful things to happen after you’re tied up?

Are painful things sexual to you?

Does being tied up put you into a particular mood? (Do you feel helpless, silly, excited, sleepy, etc?)

Do you like to be tied up in a way that challenges you?

Do you like to be tied up in a way that comforts you?

Are there shapes/ties that feel particularly good to your body? That feel particularly bad to your body?

***

I could go on and on.

Of course, the questions I just wrote are from a bottom’s perspective. I have much less experience topping, but I do have a little. Here are some top-perspective questions I can think of, even with that limited background, that reveal similar shades in what’s interesting to different people:

Do you like to tie people up as an end in itself?

Do you like to tie people up as a means to some other end?

Do you like to tie up someone who is very obedient about it?

Do you enjoy a battle of wills with the person you’re tying up?

Do you focus on creating particular designs with your rope?

Do you enjoy when the person you’re tying up reacts in particular ways?

Do you like to institute protocol around tying someone up?

Does tying someone up put you in a particular mood? (Do you feel powerful, nervous, serious, giggly, etc?)

***

I’m sure people could add to either set of questions.

The point I’m making is that even if people’s interests sound similar on the surface (i.e. “We both like to be tied up!”), there can be a lot of difference in what that means to them, or what they like about those activities.

In the kink community, it took me years before I could articulate that, and before I learned to ask questions like what I listed above and have discussions around them. (Otherwise, it’s possible to end up in situations when you’re wondering when the hell the sexy part is going to start as a top painstakingly ties decorative rope all over your body, while for them the experience is about giving you a gift and crafting a lovely piece for you to wear… Or thousands of other mismatched situations.)

As a writer, I think this incredible multiplicity is really good news. One of the main things I took away from the Many Note Challenge was that I could probably have kept going for weeks, writing dozens of vastly different vignettes around the same simple box tie. Even of the six I wrote, two grabbed me enough that they made me want to expand them into larger stories.

If I introduced just a shade more variation—say, putting three characters there instead of two—I could write dozens more. There’s so much to explore.

And every time we, as writers, get into subtleties about who the people we’re writing about are and why they’re engaging in these particular acts, we’re creating more ways that people can possibly identify with our work. One of my favorite things as an erotica reader is finding a description of a mood I’ve felt but never quite articulated, or of a mood I’d like to try to feel.

So, here’s to many notes!

The Many Note Challenge, Part Three

On Friday, I made up an exercise for myself: writing the same basic scene with a variety of moods. These are the last two entries in that short series, and I’ve gotten a lot out of the experience—I hope you enjoyed reading them.

Remember, If you think it would be interesting to do this, too, I invite you to participate. I kept the dialogue and specific actions very similar in mine—you could imitate that, or go your own way. Feel free to tag me on Twitter @AnnabethLeong with what you come up with. I would be so excited to see how others might present the same simple action.

And you can find out about the back story and read the other vignettes here and here.

(Image by Beverly Yuen Thompson, licensed under Creative Commons)

Five:

She pulls my arms behind my back, and instantly my mind goes blank. From the moment I saw the rope out of the corner of my eye, my worries began to drain away. I don’t need to be anything special now. I don’t even really need a name. I’m just hers. Meditation’s got nothing on this.

“You ready?” She knows how fast I drop into that wordless place. I smile, because I know the question is a bit of a tease.

To tease her back, I don’t use words to answer. I just nod.

My body knows this position. Arms behind, chest pushed forward, wrists lined up with elbows. At first, I couldn’t get into the classic, traditional shape of this, but this is my peace, my personal version of yoga. I’ve practiced a lot, so now I slide into place easily as she guides me with her hands. She pulls my head back, emphasizing the arch of my neck and spine. I feel so beautiful this way.

She begins to loop rope around my wrists. I can feel the coarseness of the fibers, but I remind myself that I don’t have to react to it. I don’t have to squirm or move at all. My breathing is slow, and I focus on making it even slower.

“Hold still,” she teases, kissing the back of my head. “I won’t get this on right if you can’t hold still.” I can hear in her voice that her eyebrow is arched and one side of her mouth quirked up.

I don’t vary my breathing or position in the slightest. I’m already a statue. It’s amazing how powerfully I can tease back without doing anything at all.

Six:

I pull her arms behind her back with a jerk, fast and sharp to force her breath from her chest. Today I feel like playing rough.

“You ready?” I growl into her ear.

She nods.

The next few seconds are about me showing her she isn’t ready. Chest forward—farther than she wants it. Arms back—higher than she instinctively goes, and then an inch higher still. I know she can take this, and today I need to make it hurt. I pull until I hear her breath catch, then freeze there, watching her realize I’m going to tie her just like this, all the way at the limit of the position her body can hold. Her eyes widen. I pinch the inside of her wrist to see if I can make her gasp, and she flings her head back. She whimpers and looks helpless, and that’s what I need. Today I want to be the predator. I want to feel big and frightening and strong.

I begin looping the rope around her wrists. I want the coarse fibers to burn, and I zip them over her skin fast enough to leave marks. She squirms in discomfort, and that makes me smile. My head rushes with the force of the power she’s giving me.

“Hold still,” I tell her, my voice heavy with ironic sweetness. The rope and I are holding her tightly enough that there’s already not much room for her to move. I kiss the back of her head. I always like that sort of gesture while I’m being vicious—it emphasizes everything about the situation. “I won’t get this on right if you can’t hold still.”

Really, I hope she moves. If she gives me an excuse to punish her right now, god knows I’ll take it. I’m not sure how hard she wants to play. I’m hoping she wants to go all the way today, like me.

***

Obviously, one could keep going basically forever. It would be interesting to do this with different gendered partners, different numbers of partners, and on and on. I hope you've enjoyed this series!

The Many Note Challenge, Part Two

I got inspired yesterday to show the same BDSM situation in a variety of moods. These are my next two vignettes, both from the perspective of the top.

Remember, If you think it would be interesting to do this, too, I invite you to participate. I’m keeping the dialogue and specific actions very similar for fun—you could imitate that, or go your own way. Feel free to tag me on Twitter @AnnabethLeong with what you come up with. I would be so excited to see how others might present the same simple action.

And you can find out about the back story and read the first two vignettes here.

(Image by Beverly Yuen Thompson, licensed under Creative Commons)

Three:

When I pull her arms behind her back, I have a moment of panic. I definitely don’t know what I’m doing. I mean, technically I do—I’ve gone through books carefully, taken classes, even practiced on her—but nothing could have prepared me for actually trying to top her. I started feeling shy the moment I picked up my rope, and when her eyes widened when she noticed it, I wanted to just drop it and run away.

“You ready?” I say into her ear, trying to imitate the toppy growl I’ve heard instructors use.

She nods.

She lets me guide her into position. It’s incredible how pliable her body is under my hands. She’s smooth as a dancer, and I get distracted worrying that I won’t lead as well as people who’ve tied her in the past. Still, she ends up mostly in the right attitude—arms behind her, chest pushed forward. She flings her head back and presses a random kiss to the side of my forehead—the spot she happens to be able to reach.

I try not to let that distract me, and begin looping rope around her wrists. She squirms, and I realize the coarse fibers are tickling her as they drag across her skin. I’m not putting rope on the back of a chair—I’m putting it on a person, my lover, someone I’m supposed to be connected to.

I pull her closer and take a deep breath. “Hold still.” I kiss the back of her head, slow this down for a moment so I can gather my thoughts. I remember that she knows me, and she knows about my experience—or lack thereof. I don’t have to pretend to be Miss Toppy Top. “I won’t get this on right if you can’t hold still,” I confess, and she doesn’t have to say anything back to make me feel her gentle, unwavering support as I go on with the tie.

Four:

I pull her arms behind her back, careful of her range of motion. I know what an act of trust it was for her to ask for this. Every takate-kote is individual, and I push down a flash of anger at the top who hurt her, the one who tried to force her unique body into position as if the rope was a cookie-cutter and she was a raw piece of rolled dough.

“You ready?” I murmur. I’m watching her carefully for signs of discomfort, my fingers light on her left shoulder joint, the one where she said she had the problem last time.

She gives me a nervous smile and nods.

I feel so protective of her. I guide her toward position, but not into position—I told her when we negotiated this that she would be the one to decide how far she wanted to stretch, but I show that, too, with the gentleness of my hands, the looseness of my grip. She pushes her chest forward, and puts her right arm all the way behind her, though I’m glad to see she doesn’t strain the elbow, letting her forearm fall into an obtuse angle. Her left arm nudges back, but not far.

She flings her head back, fixing me with a rueful stare. “It won’t be a real takate-kote,” she moans, looking ashamed.

I begin looping rope around her wrists. I let her feel the coarseness of the fibers, knowing that sometimes sensations like that can help people get out of their heads and into their bodies. “Who says it won’t be real?” I ask her. “It’s real to me. It can be to you, too, if you let it.”

She squirms.

“You feeling okay?” I ask. “You still want to do this?”

She nods again.

“Then hold still.” I kiss the back of her head to make the command as gentle as possible. “I want to be precise here, and that’ll work best if you hold still.”

***

Check back tomorrow for my last two vignettes!

The Many Note Challenge

Today, I got into a conversation on Twitter with @TGStoneButch (who writes incredible erotica under the name Xan West) about the way that representations of kink can sometimes feel one-note, as if there’s only one way to react to certain sensations and experiences.

I commented that this phenomenon feels isolating to me. As someone who always worried that my sexual reactions were “wrong,” sometimes the experience of reading kink erotica or hearing presentations at cons can make me feel alone in an environment where I had hoped to be included.

I think it’s really important to think about how the same actions might be given and received from very different perspectives.

Indeed, what kicked off that conversation was something from the Forbidden Fiction release party last night. There, I was talking about how I initially got a thrill from seeing trangressive words or actions in erotica, but that over time that faded. Now, what gets me—interested and/or aroused—is characterization and psychological intent. All of which depends on the opposite of that one-note approach.

It’s serious, important stuff, and I want to think a lot more about it. That led me to an idea for a fun exercise.

I want to show this variety of characterization and intent in action. So I’ve written a series of short snippets about the same simple activity, each one demonstrating a different mood. I’m calling it the Many Note Challenge.

The activity I’ve focused on is the tying of a takate kote—a box tie that fastens a rope bottom’s arms behind their back.

I wrote six of them. I’ll post the first two now (so I’m never showing one mood in isolation!), and then the rest over the course of the weekend. The first ones I wrote were from the bottom’s perspective, but I wound up writing an even number from the top’s as well.

If you think it would be interesting to do this, too, I invite you to participate. I’m keeping the dialogue and specific actions very similar for fun—you could imitate that, or go your own way. Feel free to tag me on Twitter @AnnabethLeong with what you come up with. I would be so excited to see how others might present the same simple action.

(Image by Beverly Yuen Thompson, licensed under Creative Commons)

One:

When she pulls my arms behind my back, I giggle. From the moment I caught sight of her rope out of the corner of my eye, I knew playtime was about to start. Just that word, playtime, makes me happy. I feel like a kid again, being just naughty enough to have a good time.

“You ready?” She purrs into my ear.

I nod.

I feel silly in the position she guides me into—arms behind me, chest pushed forward. I ham it up, flinging my head back as if I’m on the cover of an old-style romance novel and she’s ravishing me. We both giggle this time.

She begins to loop rope around my wrists. Its coarse fibers tickle me, and I squirm in her arms.

“Hold still,” she admonishes playfully, kissing the back of my head. “I won’t get this on right if you can’t hold still.”

Two:

When she pulls my arms behind my back, I drop straight into the feelings I normally pretend I don’t have. Rage. Helplessness. Rage. From the moment I caught sight of the rope out of the corner of my eye, I knew where she wanted to take me. I think I can do this today—I think I want to—but I can never quite be sure until it’s happening.

“You ready?” She whispers into my ear.

If this goes the way we both want it to, it’ll clean me out, leave me exhausted but purified, give her the feeling that she does have a way to reach the deep parts of me that I normally keep from her. If it doesn’t—well, we’ll have a long conversation ahead. Nothing we haven’t dealt with before.

“If either of us says no at any time, everything stops, right?”

We both know that, but I always have to say it.

“Of course,” she says. Her fingers tighten on my arms, and I can feel how badly she wants this.

I nod. “Go ahead.”

She guides me into position—arms back, chest forward. I already hate it. There’s a slight strain on my shoulders and an unpleasant stretch across my sternum. I fling my head back to get a big, clean breath of air as I endure it. I remind myself that I usually like what I find on the other side of a session like this.

She begins to loop rope around my wrists. The sensation of its coarse fibers gives me slight relief from the stormclouds already gathering in my head. I squirm in her arms, trying to feel more of them.

“Hold still,” she admonishes, giving the back of my head a kiss that I know is meant to show she’s not upset with me. “I won’t get this on right if you can’t hold still.”

***

That's it for today. Check back tomorrow for the next two vignettes!

A Change of Perspective

I had stepped into someone else's life. Everything I had on was new or rented—the tuxedo, the shining black leather shoes, the binder that concealed my breasts, the cock stuffed into the front of my pants.

The woman on the other end of the leash I was holding didn't belong to me either. Kristina, my best friend, had begged me to put on this show for just one night, for just this party, and I had agreed.

I had stripped her naked, buckled her into a leather collar so thick she couldn't bend her neck, locked it with the padlock she had given me, and led her into the main party room by a leash handle that could double as a spanking implement. The temptation was to clutch it because I wasn't sure I knew what I was doing, but I forced myself to hold it loosely instead. Max, the character I was playing tonight, wasn't the type to over-grip. He was the definition of cool and smooth, because I'd made him up to be that way, and I focused on walking and moving like I'd imagined he would.

Those are the opening paragraphs of "A Change of Perspective," my new story in Silence is Golden. The more the main character focuses on walking and moving the way Max would, the more she discovers about herself—hot, feral, toppy feelings; attraction to her best friend; and the alluring sensation of embodying a a handsome, sexy, well-put-together man.

Here's a description of the anthology:

If someone is unable to speak, how do they communicate with their partner? If a sub or Dom can't hear well in crowds but loves to play at parties, what mechanisms are in place to ensure everyone stays safe?

The kink-inspired stories in Silence is Golden are sexy and bold. You'll meet strong, diverse characters across the spectrum of sexuality who revel in their desires. From silent Doms and Deaf lovers to submissives who can't be silenced and those who seek out the quiet. This sizzling collection brings together the finest erotic stories from Annabeth Leong, Dale Cameron Lowry, Sienna Saint-Cyr, Leandra Vane, Anna Sky and Janine Ashbless.

I'm really excited about my story for this, and I'm looking forward to reading the others. Also, can I fangirl for a moment about being anthology buddies with Janine Ashbless? She's one of my heroes. (Check out Named and Shamed, for example, which is one of my favorite erotic novels ever.)

I hope you'll take a look at Silence is Golden. You can find it here.

Sexy as Hell Trilogy - The Virgin, The Player and The Vixen By Harlem Dae

Wow, these books sound hot! Enjoy!

***



Sexy as Hell is an erotic trilogy that will submerge you into the black heart of a world of bondage and discipline, Dominance and submission, sadism and masochism.

Dare to take this twisting journey with Victor and you’ll learn the ropes with him, experience every carnal sensation and fall into a dark and dangerous love that grips like a fist and binds like a collar.

Get to know Zara, his sultry teacher, and you’ll gasp when she doles out her sinful instructions but then delight in the stunning results she not only demands but achieves. It seems Heaven and Hell are not so far apart when she holds the reins.

Victor has his layers peeled back, but when he does the same to try to get to his Vixen’s core, a revelation appears. Because Zara is a woman whose vast sexual experience is both her strength and her weakness; she can inflict pain and pleasure, make lusty demands and instruct, but she needs so much more, she needs…

Yes, the time has come to for her to admit to her needs and confess to the repairing her soul hungers for. A sea of memories, a lifetime of control requires an acknowledgement that will cut through her barriers, and there’s only one man up for the job—her virgin, her student, her newly trained monster, Victor Partridge.

Please note, in order to enjoy Victor and Zara’s adventures, the trilogy must be read in order.

About the Authors

Lily Harlem and Natalie Dae have been writing together for several years on top of their individual author projects. Their joint name is now Harlem Dae. They enjoy being represented by traditional houses including HarperCollins and Total-E-Bound as well as self-publishing their sexy stories on Amazon. Both live in the UK and gain great satisfaction from bouncing characters and their raunchy antics back and forth, growing, nurturing and stoking plot lines until they steam off the page and push boundaries. They consider themselves to be solitary, whacky, spontaneous and desirous for many things including perfection and are frequently caught sending messages back and forth referring to each other as Rodney and Delboy.

About the Sexy as Hell Novels

The Virgin – Book #1

London – one meeting, one month of lessons and a landslide of depraved new desires.

My journey to Hell started with a decaf coffee. Nothing more than a grey mug full of dull-brown liquid devoid of its most useful ingredient.

One sip, one smile, one touch of her hand and it was soon clear my life wasn’t destined to stay dull. Oh, no, suddenly I had a month of bedroom education planned by a sultry vixen who intended to broaden my horizons beyond my usual peach-pink palette. 

She wanted to take me to deep purples and navy blues and the pitch blackness that was pure sin. And on the other side of that blackness was a place that might look like Hell, with debauchery and wantonness, people playing devil’s advocate, luring innocents into the hotter, steamier corners of the world.

Her world.

Oh, yes, she promised each night to take me there and paint me an orange-and-red picture that would come alive, flickering like flames, enticing me, holding me spellbound and eager to learn more. To touch, explore, drown in coming.

And drown I would. I was no match for her tricks and taunts. My only chance of survival was to show her that I was no vanilla virgin. I had a rainbow of mastery up my sleeve, too, and if she just opened her eyes, she might be dazzled enough to stay—stay and take ‘my’ lessons. If she didn’t kill me first, that was, with pleasure.

The Player – Book #2

Tuscany – New lovers, new lessons and an eruption of uncontrollable lust.

The real world was working for me, its pastel shades and straight-and-narrow route a familiar path to tread. It suited me, this normality; it was good for me too. Or so I thought, because the new light in my life, Catherine, was not quite fulfilling my needs. Her lack of colour, the weak whispers of her kisses were not touching my soul the way I’d become accustomed to. I needed more.

More of everything in my darkly addictive rainbow; the wicked wantonness of sin, the depraved pleasure of seedy seduction and the prism of delight I took in being struck…and of doing the striking. I missed the fireworks, the brilliant displays of Technicolor ecstasy that strung me out and bared me to my bones. I wanted to go there again, and take Catherine, too, see if I could have that pyrotechnic display with her. Did she have a riot of vibrant shades beneath her skin or was she magnolia to the core?

My teacher, Zara, told me I could discover her palette. That all I needed to do was show Catherine my world, my new world, the one I’d never inhabited alone. Zara couldn’t come with me this time, she had a new student now. I was on my own, it was down to me. Or was it?

It seemed my teacher had other ideas after all, and when she sashayed back into my life with her rules and murmurs of encouragement, I had no choice but to listen to her, take her advice, follow her lead, even though I knew nothing ever ended well with her. But resistance was futile, my protests fell on deaf ears. But that suited my plans, didn’t it?


The Vixen – Book #3

Venice – Two people, a shed load of baggage and a way forward that takes extreme to new limits.

In an explosion of clarity, the mist cleared and I understood what my lascivious teacher, Zara, really was beneath the surface. I couldn’t see her beautiful core. Like a dank fog warning off poor unfortunates who wandered her way, she wouldn’t let the darkness lift, refused to light the way. But she gave me a key. It was small, stiff, and I was afraid of what I’d find if I turned it. But I did. I couldn’t resist. She did that to me.

In a tumble of truths, I understood her bleak voids and why she filled them with sharp slicing reds and hostile bruising purples. What had happened, what they’d done, had bled her of colour and created a woman who needed so much more and always would—for all of time. But I could give her back that vibrancy, I was sure I could; my colours complimented hers and I had plenty of them. My needs could switch to take her to those grey places she needed to visit again in order to obliterate the memories that caused her pain. In the space they’d occupied, I’d create a pile of shimmering, perfectly cut-diamond memories, a rainbow cloud of sugar mist to replace that dankness. I could do it; I would help her become more beautiful than anything I’d seen before.

And within that new, delicate ‘thing’ was us. Victor and Zara. Unconventional, extreme, romantic, we spanned every shimmering stroke of the rainbow and all the coal-black shadows on the way down to Hell. But together we could fight demons. I would be her knight in shining armour even if it pushed me to the very limits of what I ever believed I could do to a woman. And what thrilled me, was if I bared my soul, found the courage to be a monster as well as an angel, I had a very real chance of making her mine—or did I? Because the only thing predictable about Zara, was that she was completely unpredictable.

Sexy as Hell Magazine

Buy Links

Amazon US
The Virgin
The Player
The Vixen

Amazon UK
The Virgin
The Player
The Vixen

Author Links
Harlem Dae website
Harlem Dae on Facebook
Harlem Dae on Amazon US
Harlem Dae on Amazon UK

Excerpt from The Virgin

I sighed then sipped my coffee, wondering what on earth was the matter with me. Perhaps this game with Victor was dragging me down. If that was the case, I couldn’t wait for it to be over. I stared into space, working out what to show him next. There were the Swedes—mustn’t forget those—but maybe they’d be better off left for the finale. God, that would give him a last visual to remember his time with me by. I could only hope he learned from what I was teaching him and didn’t file it in the back of his mind. What a waste if he didn’t use it with future women, either as a sub or having a go at domination himself. When he’d got going last night he’d given off an unstoppable energy. It was muted assertiveness yes, but I was pretty sure it was there.

Bile rose into my throat.

Was I coming down with something? That would be all I’d need, being sick smack bang in the middle of a bet. I breathed deeply, waiting for a slash of nausea to strike, but nothing came. Maybe the milk in the coffee wasn’t as fresh as it could be. I shrugged, once again studying the men in the coffee shop. One of them, nice-looking and hair much like Victor’s, greying a bit at the temples but not quite as long at the back as his, was typing steadfastly on his laptop. I wondered what he did for a living that meant he spent his coffee break working. Or perhaps he wasn’t working at all. He might well be firing off saucy emails to a woman who read them while frigging her clit. Would Victor be up for something like that?

I wasn’t about to wait to find out. I reached into my bag and pulled out my phone. Having stored his email address in my mind, I tapped the icon for my mail app and typed it in, taking a moment to think on what to put. In the subject line I typed CAN YOU WALK PROPERLY TODAY? then proceeded with the main entry.

Dear Mr Doesn’t-Know-It-All-But-Knows-A-Bit-More-Than-Before,

I hope this email finds you in good spirits. How is your arse? Sore? I imagine it is. Mine isn’t, just in case you were wondering. I have a blissful kind of ache going on down there, and every time I move I think of you with your cock inside me. I have to admit, I’m wondering how that cock would feel in my cunt again, but we have plenty of time for me to find out, don’t we?

Now, about tonight. I doubt your back hole is up for any more invasions just yet, so I thought us watching a performance might be the best way to go. There’s an act you haven’t seen yet—The Harlequin; you’ll see why when you get there—and it will show you a thing or two.

8 o’clock sharp at Eden Street. If you don’t turn up this time…well, it’d be pointless if you didn’t. You know damn well I’ll only come and find you and do what I have in mind anyway. And you’ll enjoy it, I promise.

By the way, I’m enjoying a lovely coffee. Isn’t it about time you took a break?

Mistress Z

I smiled as I hit SEND, imagining his mail alarm tinkling, him opening his email browser thinking it was a client or one of his staff, only to find little old me had barged into his inbox. I wanted to barge into his inbox for real, but like I’d said to him, I didn’t think his arse could take another invasion so soon.

I sipped and gazed around while waiting for his response. If he didn’t send one immediately, then that was all right. He might be busy drawing or in a meeting or something. I hoped he wasn’t—hoped he was at his desk, bored and waiting for a decent distraction. Did he ever get bored at work, what with all those important projects to be getting on with?

My phone gave a solitary blip, and I looked down to see a number one in the corner of my mail icon. Excited, and wanting to laugh so loud it made people stare, I opened my mail.

Dear Mistress Z,

You are so naughty, emailing me like this. What did I tell you last night? I’m a busy man—too busy to be having filthy email conversations with you. Too busy to take a bloody break.

Yes, I’ll be at Eden Street at 8, not because you ordered me there but because I want to see The Harlequin. I enjoy a good show—perhaps you’d like me to take you to one of my kind some day? And yes, my arse is sore, thank you very much.

Mr Won’t-Take-Any-More-Orders-For-The-Rest-Of-The-Day

Ha! So he wasn’t so busy that he didn’t have time to respond. And as for not taking any more orders…he’d be taking them tonight.

Dear Mr I’m-Too-Busy-For-My-Mistress-Who-Likes-To-Put-Things-Up-My-Arse,

Thank you so much for your prompt response, despite being a very busy man. I appreciate you finding the time to squeeze me into your hectic schedule. I should be flattered. However, there’s always time for a bit of slap and tickle, and I aim to show you that all work and no play might make Victor a very dull man. And it had made you dull, hadn’t it? Admit it. When was the last time you had fun before you met me? Lighten up a little.

If you have a client sitting opposite your desk—and I can’t imagine you being so rude as to write filth to me if you did; again, not enough balls—or you have someone in your office, or perhaps you’re in someone else’s office and answering mail on your phone, just imagine what they’d think if they knew what we were talking about. Don’t you think it makes for an interesting deviance from your usual boring day? What a secret to have, sending raunchy messages to a woman when no one else knows.

What a secret to have when a woman emails you saying she’d like nothing more than to pay you a visit, yank down your trousers, and stuff your very hard cock into her mouth.

And you are hard, aren’t you?

Mistress Z

I sent the message and smiled. I was skating on thin ice here, risking annoying him or getting him so exasperated that the next response from him might not be so kind. Still, it was passing the time, and I could imagine him now, reading my message with a too-hard cock and no way to relieve it unless he visited the bathroom and took himself in hand. If he was in a meeting, all the better. A stiffy when sitting at a conference table could only make him want to see me tonight all the more.

My alert pinged.

Dear Mistress-Z-Who-Is-So-Infuriating-She-Makes-Me-Want-To-Scream,

I’m alone in my office, trying to work, and no, that doesn’t mean you can send me more of your dirty little messages. I really do need to get along here, and it’s all very well saying I should have secrets and should enjoy all this email sex malarkey—and I am in a way, I just wish you hadn’t chosen today to do it—but I have deadlines.

I don’t want to brush you off, believe me I don’t, but in answer to your question, yes, I’m too damn hard and it’s going to take a while for me to stop thinking about your pert little body and concentrate on work.

Now stop it. I mean it, just stop.

Mr Wants-To-Fuck-Around-With-You-But-Can’t

A grin a mile wide spread across my face. That was all I’d been after, him admitting he wanted me, giving me some assurance that he’d be at Eden Street tonight. Oh, I knew he’d said he’d be there, but after his no-show before, I’d had to make sure. And now I knew he wanted to fuck me, was sitting at his desk trying to deflate his cock, I was on cloud nine.

As I was just about to hug myself in victory, the man who looked a bit like Victor came up to my table. I stared at him, wondering what he could want, and slid my phone back into my bag.

“May I join you?” he asked.

“If you like,” I said, giving him my best I-can-hook-you-in-a-heartbeat smile. It felt wrong on my face, stretching it painfully, and I didn’t understand why. “So,” I said, following my usual patter, “what brings a hunk like you here?”

He grinned, blue eyes flashing, and placed his laptop on the table. “Having the chance to pick up a woman like you.”

Oh, someone else who thought he should be the one to run the show. I refrained from rolling my eyes and gave him another smile instead. Inwardly I sighed at having to go through this again, when all I wanted was to go home and think about tonight. I didn’t like other men encroaching on my time when I was teaching someone else.

So why were you here the other day then? The day Victor dropped in and caught you looking at other men?

I frowned. All right, so I was a hypocrite. I’d have to be honest with myself—this man wasn’t floating my boat, no matter how similar to Victor he was. No matter how attractive he was.

“I’m not here to be picked up,” I said. “I’m…well, I’m seeing someone.”

I stood and grabbed my bag, slinging the strap over my shoulder and heading to the door without looking back. I couldn’t believe I’d said that to him, had turned down the chance at a one-night stand come the end of the month. But it was all I’d been able to think of to get rid of him, to make my exit appear acceptable.

There was no other reason for saying what I had at all.

The future…

Look out for secondary characters in the trilogy, they all have their own sexy as hell stories to tell and they’re coming soon! More details about The Star, The Harlequin and The Mistress on the Harlem Dae website.