Luke, the reluctant hero in Nobody's Angel

I have been remiss in introducing you to one of the heroes in my upcoming release, Nobody's Angel. You've met Master Marc and Angelina in previous blog posts. but things are going to be a little more complicated. Master Marc's little subbie-in-training will be pursuing his Search-and-Rescue partner, Luke Denton.

Luke's wife was killed in an avalanche seven years earlier. Angelina doesn't know it yet, but her father died trying to rescue Luke's wife. Luke knows he and his wife shouldn't have been hiking where they were and is riddled with guilt. Once he learns whose daughter she is, Luke tries to shut down his attraction to her. 

My inspiration for Luke was Gerard Butler (but with a Texas accent).Despite the leather pants in this photo, Luke is not into the BDSM lifestyle Marc loves.

 

In this scene, the three are heading to Denver, where Luke and Marc live. (I don't want to put a spoiler in here, but she needs to get away from home for a while without her family finding out what has happened--and they have a very strong alpha-male need to protect  her.)

You are reading Marc's thoughts here:

He looked down at her, watching her breasts jiggle in the opening of her blouse as the SUV bounced along. They were entering the metro limits, so she’d have to wake up soon anyway. He reached over and began stroking her thigh. She moaned in her sleep. His pene hardened.

“Mmmmmm” Angelina spread her thighs apart and let her head roll against the back of the seat. Her eyes remained closed. She appeared to be sleeping, but he’d guess she was faking. He knew one thing she couldn’t fake. His fingers glided along her velvety skin until he reached the curls covering her pussy.

Very good, pet. No panties.

Marc slid his middle finger between the folds and into her wet opening. She gasped as he entered her without hesitation. Dio, she was so wet for him. He withdrew his finger and encircled her clit. Her breathing grew more shallow and rapid.

“Who is touching you?”

“Marc.” Her eyes remained closed.

“Who?” His finger stopped its motion.

She grimaced in frustration. Her eyes opened and her sleepy gaze met his. “Sir.”

“Better. Tell me what you want, bella.”

“More.”

“More what?”

“Marc, please.” Her frustration grew.

“What did you say?”

“Sir! You know what I need.”

“Of course, but I asked you to tell me, cara.”

Her groan tore at him, but she needed to learn to respond to his questions. He couldn’t read her mind—well, not all of the time.

“Touch me, Sir. Faster.”

“Touch you where, Amato.”

“There.”

“Where?”

“My clit!”

He'd work on respect later. His finger resumed his ministrations, increasing the speed he massaged her clit. Her breathless panting and gattino mewling told him she approached the crest. She leaned back against the seat and tilted her pelvis upward to give him easier access. He slid two fingers inside her, positioning his thumb over her engorged clit. 

This seemed as good a time as any to spell out a few more house rules for exactly what he expected of Angelina this week.

“Ask permission to come, pet.”

She opened her eyes, which held the glazed look of a woman about to reach an orgasm. Confused, she asked, “What?”

“Beginning now, you will ask and receive permission to come, or you will be punished. Ask.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Wrong question.” He halted the motion of his fingers and thumb. “I assure you that I would never joke about something as important as my pet’s orgasms.”

She shrugged. “Okay. Sir, can I come?” 

He’d definitely have to work on her attitude. And her grammar. Why was it Americans slaughtered their own language? “May I come?” he corrected her.

“What!?” His finger remained still. She tried to move against him.

“Remain still.”

She surrendered with a sigh. “May I come?”

“Sir.”

She looked over at Luke as if he would rescue her. Luke shrugged. “Sorry darlin'. That stuff’s between you two.”

She looked back at Marc and groaned, her frustration evident. “Sir, may I come? Now!”

“Are you asking sweetly or demanding?”

“Begging, actually. Dammit, Sir Marc, LET ME COME!!!”

Yes, she had a lot to learn about how to speak respectfully to him. “You’ll be punished for speaking to your dom in that tone.” Marc felt her vaginal muscles spasm around his fingers. He smiled. The thought of being disciplined aroused her, whether she fully accepted her nature as a submissive or not.

“Sir, please. I need to come! Please don’t bring me this close and leave me hanging.”

“You two are making it damned hard for me to keep this vehicle on the road,” Luke complained, his knuckles white as he held onto the steering wheel with a death grip.

Marc laughed, but his focus quickly returned to Angelina's training.

“When you obey, you’ll find your experience will be much more pleasurable.” Her request to come was far from where he wanted it. His fingers remained still.

She bit her lower lip, taking slow, deep breaths. He watched her breasts rise and fall. Lovely.

“Please, Sir, may I come?” she pleaded.

He smiled. Much better. With his free hand, he reached over and pinched her right nipple—hard. His fingers resumed pumping in and out of her vagina as his thumb rubbed her erect clit.

“Oh, yes!” She reached out to grab his and Luke’s shirt sleeves and hung on for dear life. Her pelvis bucked against his hand as she crested and then tumbled over the peak. “Yesssss! Mio Dio! I’m coming!”

Of course you are. I permitted it. He smiled as she flew apart for him.

When her quivering vagina settled down to sporadic spasms, she looked over at Marc and smiled. “Thank you, Sir.” After a short pause, she added, “May I have another?”

Mio Dio was right. Absolutely enchanting. Marc grinned, then leaned over and kissed her.

 Comments always encouraged and welcome! Let me know what you think!

Six-Sentence Sunday excerpt from MASTERS AT ARMS

 This excerpt takes place a little later in the scene I posted in this blog June 17. Master Adam has been drawn from his office like a magnet to steel toward the bar area by the voice of a woman auditioning to perform at the Masters at Arms fetish club. He hasn’t seen her face, but is very attracted to her from what he has seen and heard. (Finnish Goth singer Tarja Turunen is my inspiration for Karla and that's her in the photo above. Karla is auditioning to "I Walk Alone" and thinking about her big brother, Ian.)

When Damián calls her by name, Adam is horrified to find he might be lusting after the 16-year-old runaway he rescued in a bus station nine years earlier. (They had kept in touch by correspondence over the years, from the time he was serving in Iraq, but strictly in a mentor/paternal role from Adam's perspective.) 

I wanted to put the three sentences preceding this week's "chosen six," too, but then I’d have nine. Oh, heck. I'm a rebel and they’re short, so I’ll do it anyway. I'll just separate them a bit. <smile>. Enjoy!

 No. Couldn’t be. No fucking way! 

As if in slow motion, Adam watched her brush away the tears and raise her gaze to Damián’s. She smiled, but he saw the quiver in her lips. Her face was much like he remembered, except her blue eyes didn’t sparkle anymore. Then she noticed Adam and her smile faded. What little color she had in her face drained away.

When she swayed on her feet, he rushed to the stage and caught her in his arms before she collapsed.

MASTERS AT ARMS will be published at Amazon, Smashwords, Barnes & Noble, and other booksellers in August 2011.

Read more Six Sentence Sunday blogs here http://www.sixsunday.com/ starting Sunday morning. (I had to post a little early this weekend.)

Hot teenaged sex at the beach (MASTERS AT ARMS)

Today, I sent MASTERS AT ARMS, the prequel to my RESCUE ME contemporary series of erotic romances, off to my editor to have her way with it. 

Then I realized you haven’t met the third heroine in the trilogy (whose story will be told in NOBODY'S PERFECT in early 2012). Savannah Gentry is wealthy, beautiful, and hiding a secret that isn’t talked about in the circles her family moves in—incest. The evening before this scene takes place, Damián Orlando rescues her from a dangerous situation in a hotel room with clients of her father's. Damián can’t help himself, even though the last time he rescued a woman (his big sister), he wound up spending eighteen months in juvenile detention.

This scene takes place the next day between the two 19-year-olds in a cave at Thousand Steps Beach (Laguna Beach, Calif.). No, that above photo wasn't taken there, but inspired me nonetheless. Neither wants to go back to their real worlds. where he’s been escaping since he’s had wheels. The beach cave holds a special memory for Savannah, as well, although at this point in the prequel, she only recognizes it as her safe place—where she goes in her mind to escape her father’s and his clients abuses.

The scene has just shifted into Damián’s point of view. Enjoy my hot Chicano master-to-be and his “Barbie” doll! (When he first saw her the day before in a restaurant where he works, he described her as follows: “The man in the suit sat with a gorgeous blonde who reminded him of his little sister’s Barbie doll—the one he decapitated when they were playing dolls and dragons as kids.” I remember my own kids, a boy and a girl, playing together and there were headless Barbies everywhere, although my son preferred dinosaurs to dragons.)

Grab a fan and enjoy! Unedited excerpt from Chapter Three, MASTERS AT ARMS (to be released August 2011):

 

Damián brushed the wetness away from her cheeks. Tears? Why? “What’s the matter, querida?”

She shook her head and more tears spilled from the outer corners of her eyes. “Just kiss me,” she whispered.

He had no idea what had happened to the mood from when she’d been giggling on the beach. But the hard-on he’d been fighting against since he’d held her last night demanded he worry about all that stuff later. Right now, he held the most perfect woman in the world in his arms. She wanted to be kissed. By him. Before she vanished into thin air, he would give the lady what she wanted.

His head lowered to hers, capturing her lips. So sweet—better than honey on sopapillas. He drew her lower lip between his teeth and into his mouth, sucking gently. When she moaned and pressed her pelvis against his, he decided he wouldn’t be able to slow this down. He needed to be inside her. Now.

Mierda. How would he ever last long enough to make it good for her?

His tongue entered her softness, then he sucked her sweet tongue into his mouth. He held her lower back with one hand, pressing her body against his hard-on. With his other hand, he brushed his fingers down her arm, then reached between their bodies to cup her tit. So full. Firm. Her nipple was rock-hard even before he squeezed it. Her hips jolted toward his.

Damn. He needed to feel her naked skin against his. To see her beautiful body in this setting, erasing the image of the grotesque position he’d found her in yesterday. He wanted to see her hot and writhing beneath him, waiting for him to please her.

Stepping back, he took the towel from her and spread it open on the wet sand to protect as much of her skin as he could. Then he unzipped his leather jacket with shaking hands and slid it down her arms. Rolling it into a pillow for her head, he placed it near one end of the towel.

He reached down with both arms and pulled the hem of her dress up. She lifted his arms to aid him in removing her dress. His dick pressed painfully against his zipper. Precum wet his jeans.

Jesús. Please let me last long enough to make it good for her.

He reached between her breasts to unhook her black lace bra. Her breasts spilled out and he cupped them. She had bruises from the ropes last night. He hoped he wasn’t hurting her. His brown skin against her snow-white breasts caused his dick to strain even more. Then she skimmed her panties down her legs, careful not to pull at the bandages on her thighs. He throbbed when he saw her natural golden triangle of soft curls.

Mierda. The only thought remaining in his brain was how much he needed to bury himself inside her. But he froze, unable to keep from staring at her body. Perfection. Her nipples became swollen, begging for attention. He bent down to draw one hard peak inside his mouth, flicking his tongue against it, causing her nipple to swell even more. She hissed air between her teeth, grabbing him by the sides of his head, causing his dick to throb even harder. His hand cupped the neglected other peak and he rolled it between his fingers. Hard. She gasped, tilting her golden triangle against his zippered fly. His dick pulsated even more.

Madre de Dios, he couldn’t wait much longer. Maybe if he kept his jeans on, he’d be able to stretch this moment out. Pressing her down onto the towel and his jacket, he kissed her lips again, his hand skimming lightly along her abdomen as he sought the downy curls between her thighs. His finger stroked between her outer lips and she opened her legs for him. Wet. Her pussy was so fucking wet.

Pulling away, he looked down at her.

“I’m sorry. I can’t wait. I need to be inside you.”

She smiled and nodded, reaching down to grab his dick through the denim.

He pulled away. “If you touch me like that, I’m not going to last until I get inside you.” He quirked the corner of his mouth and shrugged. She released him and smiled.

“Open for me, querida.”

When she spread her wings wide for him, like the beautiful mariposa she was, he felt pride surge in his chest. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. How had something so delicate, so perfect, flitted into his life?

Knowing this moment would be fleeting, in more ways than one, he planned to create enough memories to last a lifetime.

Comments and critiques welcome! See cover art and another excerpt from MASTERS AT ARMS that includes Master Damián years later here. Savannah won't come by into his life for many more years and many secrets, old and new, will be revealed.

Six-Sentence Sunday excerpt from NOBODY'S ANGEL

This excerpt contains the next six sentences that follow the excerpt I published here yesterday. (See the June 18 blog for the setup). This is from the prologue of Nobody’s Angel—which will be released in August 2011.

“Shhhh, I have you.” Her nipple beaded to a hard point against the underside of his forearm. She moaned—definitely not from pain this time.

“Ohhhhh!”

Oh, shit.

The newbie sub was going to come.

Read more Six Sentence Sunday blogs here http://www.sixsunday.com/.

Snippet from the prologue of NOBODY’S ANGEL

When I originally wrote NOBODY'S ANGEL (in May 2009), it was about Chapter Four before anyone had an orgasm. (I do like to develop the characters and their relationship a bit and not have them humping like rabbits on page 3, but that’s still a bit long for an erotic romance.)

In late April, I began editing the story and a couple of weeks later shared the first four chapters with a new critique partner. Among her very insightful comments was the question “How can Marc tell Angelina is submissive?” I thought, well, there are signs, of course. (I actually used some in the Karla and Master Damian scene yesterday.)

But those didn't work in the bar scene where they have their "first" meet. So, I went to some of the forums where the Dom/sub relationship is discussed and realized it’s very difficult for a Dom to tell by looking. They have to ask, which also didn't work for their story. Hmmm. What to do?

The next morning, I woke up with an idea planted I am certain by my muse. The bar scene was NOT their first meet. They have a wee bit of history, although she won’t have any recollection of that first meet (except for erotic dreams of an angel-man-wolf who plagues her nights). It turns out that Master Marc, wearing his signature wolf half-mask while patrolling the Masters at Arms fetish club one Saturday night as Dungeon Monitor Supervisor, comes upon a scene that’s gotten way out of control where a newbie sub (Angelina) has been put into deep subspace by a sadistic dom, her boyfriend (dubbed Sir Asshole by Marc).

In the snippet below, Master Marc has just put an end to the scene and is removing her from the St. Andrew’s cross while trying to educate Sir Asshole on deep subspace so his next newbie sub won’t suffer the same fate. He’s trying to remain calm and noncombative (which is his role as DMS), but he’s not finding it easy. (Note to Reader: English is his second language, having been born in the Lombardy region of Italy, so his dialogue is more formal than an American-born character’s might be.)

“For whatever reason, she didn’t say her safe word when she reached her limit. Experienced submissives might have subspace as a goal, but she’s too new to this. Her mind disassociated from the pain when she could stand it no longer.”

She grunted as the last clip was undone and her right arm lowered from its stretched position. She collapsed into his arms with a grunt and he carried her to the dark leather loveseat in the corner. Marc pulled a blanket from the basket at one end and wrapped her naked body in the microfiber cloth to quickly bring up her body’s temperature. He covered her firm, full breasts as quickly as possible, quashing a desire to bend down and take a delectable peak into his mouth.

Marc held her tight against him. So soft. Her curves molded against his body and arms and he felt a hitch in his breathing as his pene bobbed to attention.

Regaining some control, he continued with his lesson for Sir Asshole, he said, “Then the endorphins kicked in to the point where she could no longer engage her brain to make a decision to speak the safe word.” He glanced up at the man in time to watch him look away. Guilt? “Did she speak her safe word?”

The man didn’t meet his gaze. “Well, I’m not sure…”

Goddamned bastard ought to be flogged himself—with a cat-o-nines.

“Here, I should do that….”

When Sir Asshole made a move toward them, as if to wrest her away, Marc said in a calm voice, but in no uncertain terms, “Leave her alone. If you want to learn how to administer aftercare properly, watch.” But don’t think I’m letting you put your fucking hands on her again as long as I’m here to stop you.

“I still have thirty minutes reserved on the room!” he wailed, waving the contract in his hand.

Obviously, he had no concern over her welfare. Marc knew there wouldn’t be a refund coming, but really wanted to get rid of the asshole. “Go discuss it with Master Adam.”

When the wannabe Dom puffed out his chest and stomped from the room, Marc texted Adam and told him what had happened in Room 8. He told him to ban the sonuvabitch from the club—for life. Looking around the room and not seeing any bottled water, Marc continued with the message asking Adam to send over a bottle. Then added, “& a Hershey bar.”

Putting the phone beside him, he looked down at the gorgeous woman in his arms. Olive skin, dark hair. He remembered her eyes were a rich brown. Definitely Italian. His pene bobbed again, surprising him. He usually avoided Italian women. Too close to home. Too strong-willed.

Marc wiped away the hot tears still flowing from her eyes. “You did well, cara. Shhhh. Just rest now.” He kept his voice soft, soothing. Her body shook with her sobs, or perhaps from chills. He pulled her head against his shoulder and laid his chin on her hair to infuse more heat into her body. The scent of lavender surrounded him. “Shhhh. It’s over. You were so brave, cara.”

He crooned to her for several minutes and knew the moment her mind and body reintegrated. The woman screamed in pain and fought him, trying to pull away, to escape the pain. He knew the more she struggled, the more her back and ass would burn. He took his hand and pressed her cheek against his chest to hold her still.

Be sure to check back tomorrow morning for my 6-Sentence Sunday excerpt—which happens to be the next six sentences in this scene—and NOT to be missed!

Let me know what you think so far! I welcome your comment (and hope Blogger's comment function is, well, functioning!)

Kally