I've got Amber Morgan here today to share a smidge about her newest release, Through Her Eyes!
Take it away, darlin'!
Between submitting THROUGH HER EYES for publication and completing the final edits, I found myself reading a lot of true crime books. Lots of stuff on criminal profiling, unsolved cases, and serial killers. It was coincidence, but it was also great timing when the edits came in! I didn't want to make the story procedural-heavy, but as the hero, Dom, is a police detective, I think I was able to make him a little more real by working in some of the facts I'd picked up. I was also able to flesh out the villain of the story by adding in little behavioural cues based on real-life serial killers. I didn't want to shoehorn anything in, like “look at me, I read some stuff!!!”, but hopefully the extras I did squeeze in help to build the tension and chills in the story!
His intentions were fiercely clear when he kissed her.
She gasped into his mouth, thrilled by the heat of his kiss. He knotted one hand in her hair, forcing her head back. At the same time, he backed her against the wall, pinning her in place while he devoured her mouth with his, forceful and almost painfully demanding. She moaned, a mixture of pleasure and pain. His touch, his kiss, his hands... It was all exquisite, but this position – forced against the wall, held firm by a powerful man... It stirred dark memories.
Dom must have sensed her inner turmoil, because he broke the kiss, stepping back with a groan. "Dammit, Keira—"
"I don't want you to stop," she said quickly, afraid he'd end things before they'd even begun.
"I'm not bloody stopping." He gripped her shoulders, pulling her in close. "Believe me, I'm not. But all the times I imagined fucking you, Keira Swanson, I never once imagined doing it in my front room with a half-eaten pizza at our feet."
She laughed, heart hammering and making her feel bold and reckless. "How did you imagine it?"
"All kinds of ways." He traced her lips with his finger. "Rough, slow, in silk sheets, in the shower, with blindfolds, strawberries, ice cubes, handcuffs..." He ground against her and nipped her earlobe. Keira shivered in delight, pressing back against him. "Drove myself mad imagining all the things we could do. But pizza boxes were definitely never involved."
She shivered pleasurably, electricity seeming to zip between her clit and her nipples at his words and his touch. She'd imagined it too – all those scenarios and countless more, and the thought of actually doing it was as surreal as any outer-body experience. It made her fears about initiating intimacy fall away. Dom wanted her. It was plain in every line of his body, in the way he pushed his hips against her, the way he stared at her so hungrily. She didn't need to wonder how to do this. It would be as natural as breathing.
Amber is the secret identity of a writer who normally pens urban fantasy, but feels like stretching her wings. Amber loves darker romance, anti-heroes, good red wine, and expensive chocolate (sometimes all at once). She's based in the UK and lives in an adorable cottage with her dream man and a demanding cat.
Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/AmberMorganWrites
Twitter - https://twitter.com/AmberMothling
Blog - http://ambermorganwrites.weebly.com/
Winners is the third installment in the Marking Time series, and follows the development of the relationship between Sinclair and her men, Ashton and Craig, as well as Candy’s relationship with Reece. The friendship between all five characters is heartwarming, and while there is no sexual component between the friends, that’s definitely not the case in the ménage and the MF pairing! Add in a little kink and you have a great read!
Vet-in-training Sinclair Renton, and her cowboys, Craig and Ashton Russell, are finding their way in ménage, just as Sheriff Reece Murdoch and poor little rich girl Candy Grant are rediscovering their historical connection—now flavored with a little kink, too.
But it seems love and passion can’t solve everything. Sinclair must face a personal demon in the form of the first woman Craig and Ash shared, while the brothers need to find ways to accept Sinclair’s profession and all the risks it carries. Candy, on the other hand, must deal with the legacy of her father’s benign neglect, and Reece has to face a surprising worry that he might not be enough for the woman he’s waited for. Will the lovers be able to overcome the challenges they face? Will they end up losing all they have fought for, or will they be winners in love?
Be Warned: menage sex (MFM), spanking, sex toys, anal sex
They adjourned for the game, the men clearing the table while the women stacked the dishwasher, all talk of roles aside. Sinclair squeezed in between the brothers on the couch, her head resting on Craig’s shoulder, her feet tucked up on Ash’s thigh. Reece took the big easy chair and settled Candace on his lap, his hand slipping up beneath the hem of her dress to cup her buttock, his possessive touch screened by the position of her body. She snuggled close and pressed her head beneath his chin.
His team was doing well, a good thing, considering his inability to exhort them to victory, his attention drawn to the curvy bundle of woman on his lap. She smelled of carnations, something that now never failed to trigger his libido, and his fingers slipped to find their way beneath the scrap of material covering her sex. Hot, wet flesh greeted them, and she squirmed to give him easier access. Reece was transported back to high school when he and Candace stole similar moments, the forbidden, exciting sensations making him impossibly hard. He wondered how long their guests planned to stay.
“Behave yourself,” she whispered, but he noted she arched into his questing hand.
Withdrawing his fingers, he couldn’t restrain a smirk at her pout. He rearranged her on his lap, the better to ease the pressure on his erection, and winced as she shifted back. Yup, never a dull moment.
Sinclair didn’t much care for sports, but she figured she could manage the occasional game, especially if she could sit between her guys. The man chairs at home had to go—maybe they could get one of those sectional things with the seats at either end that reclined. She’d get the middle seat, and do away with the insert to hold the remotes and drinks. She could hold anything that needed holding, and her risqué thought made her lips quirk. Candy was right to infer she was turning into someone obsessed with sex. But it was more than that, far more. She loved her men with every ounce of her being, and once again thanked the powers that be for them coming to their senses. Otherwise she’d be someplace else, functioning, but without purpose. It should be frightening to realize her happiness was directly dependent on Ashton and Craig, except it wasn’t. She trusted them wholeheartedly.
Craig’s breath stirred her hair, and Ash traced lazy circles on her calf. Her entire being sparked like a static charge, and the air caught in her lungs with a delicious hitch. She was intensely warmed by the heat emanating from their big bodies, all muscled, honed from hard work on the ranch. Maybe they didn’t have to stay for the entire game, although the guys were focused in apparent rapt attention on the screen as several large men ran down a smaller man clutching the football, and jumped on him. The huffing and crunching sounds made her wince, but one by one the yellow jerseys peeled off the red one at the bottom of the pile. The announcer babbled in excitement, and Craig said something about turnover on downs. An imp of mischief overcame her.
It was a simple matter to pretend to stretch and rub her ankle over the front of Ashton’s jeans in a long, slow stroke, and “accidentally” drift her hand over Craig’s groin. She was rewarded instantly by a stir of flesh and hid another smirk. No doubt she’d pay for teasing later, in a totally pleasant way, so she risked another contact.
Ash caught her ankle in one big hand, his fingers curling right around it, unobtrusively pulling it away from his crotch—and separating her legs as he did so. The seam of her jeans was suddenly chafing against her pussy in an extremely interesting fashion, and when Craig dropped his arm to place it around her ribcage, his thumb and forefinger caging the nipple of her right breast, Sinclair dampened her panties.
She cast a quick glance at Candy and Reece. Her friend appeared to be dozing against Reece’s chest, likely as bored with football as she was, and Reece was staring at the screen. Which was a good thing, because Ash’s free hand twitched into the space between Sinclair’s thighs to cup her pussy, right when Craig pinched her beading nub. She barely swallowed a gasp of arousal, and couldn’t contain a shiver. Ash kneaded her heating apex, and raised one brow in a wickedly suggestive manner, his clever fingers driving her toward orgasm, Craig sensuously tormenting her breast. Lord.
Sinclair took in little hits of air through her nose, trying to manage her breathing and not pant too obviously. Okay, she’d started this, and in their inimitable style, her guys were finishing it, but she hadn’t thought it through. She didn’t want to come in the presence of others. Or did she? She had to admit to an illicit thrill of being pleasured in the same room with her best friend and her man, but she also felt safe—not judged. Ash pressed just so, and the burgeoning sensations crested. Sinclair went over with a shudder and a whimpering moan, masked by another outburst of the sports announcer. When she opened her eyes, Craig was staring down at her with love and tenderness, his cock an unmistakable solid presence against her hip. She knew Ashton was as aroused, but she wasn’t looking in his direction, the now sated imp of mischief suggesting she ignore him.
Allyson YoungAllyson Young lives in cottage country in Manitoba, Canada with her husband of many years and numerous pets. She worked in the human services all across Canada and has seen the best and worst of what people bring to the table. Allyson has written for years, mostly short stories and poetry, published in small newspapers and the like, although her work appeared in her high school yearbooks too! After reading an erotic romance, quite by accident, she decided to try her hand at penning erotica.
Allyson will write until whatever she has inside her is satisfied- when all the heroes man up and all the heroines get what they deserve. Love isn’t always sweet, and Allyson favours the dark side of romance.
The idea for this story came about when Evernight Publishing put out a call for a men in uniform antho…
As ever my mind started to race… This was a result. Not for the antho though…
His Boss, Her Dom
His Boss Her Dom
by Raven McAllan
Publisher: Evernight Publishing
Release Date: January 26, 2015
Contemporary, BDSM, Erotic, Rubenesque
Having a relationship with your boss is never easy, especially when it involves kink. Jamie might need to salute Eva and call her Ma'am at work, but when it's just the two of them, he is Master to his puss.
They are determined to make their unusual situation work, but, first they have to solve the case of the shady next door neighbors.
Jamie, she had to assume it was him, and not A. N. Other, kicked her legs apart. Something cold touched each ankle, before her scarred ankle was wrapped in toweling and whatever it was fastened tightly with cord or some such thing to both ankles. Eva wriggled her toes and flexed her legs as best she could and discovered her feet were held about eighteen inches apart. What on earth had he used? Then she thought about the shape of whatever it was on her unbroken ankle. Her overlong fire irons?
"Such handy, everyday items you can find when you look," Jamie said, and stroked each globe of her ass. He pulled the back of her thong hard and up into the crack and did a seesaw movement with it. It really did feel like the proverbial cheese grater. Luckily he stopped before she decided it was sawing her in half.
"What a beautiful sight, seeing you spread out like that. I wonder, puss, if you can lift away from the settee just enough for me to reach your tits? Try for me."
Bloody hell, does he think I'm a contortionist? However, it was amazing what a person would try when their Dom spoke to them in such a way. Eva arched her back and her boobs left the contours of the sofa back. Ross pulled on each one and kneaded them. Then he tugged and pinched each nipple so hard, she gasped.
"Color," he said brusquely.
"Green, Sir." Why did he ask? He knew how hard they'd played on their other occasion together and she'd been green all the way.
"Good girl, now breathe." The pain in first one nipple and then the other as he attached something tightly to each took her breath away. She whimpered. How the hell could she take it?
"Breathe, puss, or cry red. Do it now." He roared out the last word, and Eva let out her breath in a whoosh.
It hurt, oh how it hurt, but the invisible string of sensation from her tits to her clit got ever stronger. The pain morphed into intense pleasure, so much so she shook.
"G... green, oh…."
Jamie removed one of whatever clamped onto her nipple and she moaned her disappointment. He nipped and tugged the nipple until she wondered how it held onto the rest of her boob, before he reattached the instrument of pleasure and pain. "Lean forward again, puss. Press those lovely tits into the sofa and increase the pressure of the clamps." Eva obeyed instantly. His deep velvety voice demanded instant submission and got it.
A hard slap on her ass was her reward. It was followed by several more, each more intense than the last. Jamie continued the assault on her rear with something flat and possibly plastic. In one corner of her mind Eva reckoned she'd never look at her furnishings in the same light again. She began to fly, and enter that special place where everything morphed into pleasure.
The spanking stopped suddenly and she wanted to cry. It was nowhere near enough. She craved her subspace like an addict craved their next fix.
"Because I say so, puss." He kissed her neck. "And because when I let you go to your special place, you need time to savor it. Sadly tonight, we haven't got that luxury."
If she hadn’t fallen into the zone so fast and furious she would have realized that.
"So…now then." His voice was soft and soothing. "Let's see what we can do for each other, eh, my puss?"
A ripping noise infiltrated her mind, and her thong left her ass crack. One thong destroyed.
"The next thing you feel in your ass will be my cock," Jamie said as he stroked each globe in soft circles. "But first I'm going to fuck your pussy and make you come."
The noise of his zipper was loud in the room, and then Eva heard shuffling sounds as she presumed he kicked off his denims. She waited with hard suppressed excitement.
One long finger probed inside her pussy hole. "Ah, so ready aren't you, puss." The finger withdrew, and her juices ran down her legs. "Let me protect us. One moment."
She heard a rustle and then Jamie thrust into her hard and deep and began a fast fucking, which rocked her fastened legs and made her breasts bump off the settee. The clamps knocked it and pinched her nipples harder as she moved with Jamie's thrusts. Her arousal filled her like molten lava and her skin tingled as if she'd been stung. The tingles and stabs of pleasure increased faster than she'd ever known before, and Eva knew she teetered on the brink of coming.
"Come now, puss." Jamie pinched her clit and she screamed, tumbling into a fast and furious climax as stars danced behind her closed eyelids.
Her legs shook, as Jamie shouted and shuddered his own climax inside her, and then fell forward across her back. She savored his weight and stayed still as his breathing steadied.
The clock chimed the hour. Jamie groaned. "Let me untie you, and make you comfortable in a conformist manner."
Eva flinched as he lifted from her and her nipples moved on the coarse fabric of the settee.
"Aww, does it hurt? I'll kiss them better in a sec."
The blindfold was lifted and she blinked to make her eyes work as Jamie busied himself with her other ties. When she saw the fire iron she grinned. He was correct. There were very useful items around the house.
The sprung wooden clothes pegs attached to her nipples made her swallow as her mouth went dry and her pussy muscles contracted. No wonder they pinched. She had caught her finger in one once and it had been bloody sore.
"One second, puss." The air stirred as presumably he moved to dispose of the condom, and then she was lifted into his arms. Her nipple, plus attachment slid over his chest and she hissed at the non-pleasurable pain that shot from nipple to clit.
“Ssh, not long now." Jamie walked around the settee and sat her down on his naked lap. His quiescent cock stirred slightly and he whistled. "Sheesh, I'm fucked and my cock is saying ‘again soon, please.’ It must want your ass, puss."
She is used to sharing her life with the occasional deer, red squirrel, and lost tourist, to say nothing of the scourge of Scotland—the midge. As once she is writing she is oblivious to everything else, her lovely long-suffering husband is learning to love the dust bunnies, work the Aga, and be on stand-by with a glass of wine.
Well what can I say?
I'm growing old disgracefully and loving it.
Dh and I live on the edge of a Scottish forest, and rattle around in a house much too big for us.
Our kids have grown up and flown the nest, but roll back up when they want to take a deep breath and smell the daisies so to speak.
I write in my study, which overlooks the garden and the lane. I'm often seen procrastinating, by checking out the wild life, looking—only looking—at the ironing basket and assuring tourists that indeed, I'm not the bed and breakfast. That would mean cooking fried eggs without breaking the yolks, and disturbing the dust bunnies as they procreate under the beds. Not to be thought of.
Being able to do what I love, and knowing people get pleasure from my writing is fantastic. Long may it last.
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