Hello dear readers! As you know this is release week for my latest historical, Disciplining the Duchess. The official release date is Feb. 28 but it might be available after Tuesday. It will be available at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Smashwords, and All Romance ebooks. Smashwords will also distribute it to places like the Apple Store, Sony Bookstore, Kobo, etc, although you may have to wait a little longer.

In the meantime, here’s one last snippet to get you excited. If you don’t know the background of the story, you can read a blurb for it here. (click!) Suffice it to say, Harmony and her duke are not, on the surface, a perfect match, but when they get together, something happens… This scene takes place one night after dinner, shortly after their marriage. I love Harmony’s innocent flirtation, while Court is doing everything in his power not to throw her down and ravish her.

I think all my pervy readers will love this book!

     “Grand and tall, am I?” he said, his fingers teasing at the curve of her waist.

     “Yes.” She laughed, a light, pretty sound. “You know very well that you are. You make such a fine figure when you are all dressed for dinner in your handsome coat and neckcloth.” Her hands traced up again to rest on either side of his collar. She studied his neckwear, her forehead crinkling with those familiar lines. “Is it you who ties them so beautifully, and puts in these little pins?”

     “No, it is my man,” he said, his voice gone slightly raspy. “My valet.”

     “Would he teach me how? I should like to be able to do such a thing, to arrange your collars and cravats.” She leaned to brush her cheek against his neck and almost lost her balance. His arm came around her waist to steady her, though he himself was quickly losing grasp of his control. The savage was awakening, beckoned by her slightly parted lips, the possessive approval in her gaze.

     “You are not to fraternize with my valet,” he managed to say. “Duchesses do not need to learn how to tie cravats.”

     She frowned. “Even yours?”

     “Stay away from my valet. You are far too curious. Next you would be asking how to shave me and how to polish my boots.”

     She scratched her fingertips through his evening stubble. “I should love to shave you, Court. I really should.”

     “I’m afraid that is an absolute no.” He kissed her on her pout, tightening his arm around her waist.

     “But I love this part of you. Your rough, strong jaw and your neck.” Her fingers traced down to the sides of his collar, just below his ears, then up to linger beneath his chin. He had never imagined marriage like this, with teasing talk and affectionate touches. “I remember the first time I saw you in your formal clothes,” she said, staring into his eyes. “You walked into the Darlingtons’ drawing room and stood and looked around, and you appeared so steadfast and haughty.”

     “Haughty, Harmony?” He struggled to swallow. “I am not haughty.”

     “Sometimes you are. That night, you were haughty and dark and tall, and so very handsome, and very forbidding. All the ladies noted it. When you dress for dinner I always think of that night. When I see you like this…” Her hands were back to teasing at the folds of his cravat. “I…I do not know what comes over me. I have the most…unladylike…thoughts.”

     Court came to a slow and bemused realization. His wife was trying to seduce him—whether intentionally or innocently, he did not know. He did not care.

     “Untie it,” he said in a low voice.

Oh my gosh, the duke does it for me in a big way. And yes, he does go on to ravish her. This is an Annabel Joseph book after all!

Anyway…be on the lookout for Disciplining the Duchess and if you can, spread the word for me! Thanks for your patience between releases, and for all your encouragement and support.

Well, in honor of my recent mention in Publishers Weekly, I thought I’d highlight a snippet from Caressa’s Knees.

I took some time to re-read it this week and it made me think about the little moments that can make a romance or a scene special. I try hard to create those moments in my books and I felt like Caressa’s Knees had a lot of them, maybe the most of any of my books.

I pulled out this one to share. It’s the scene where Kyle and Caressa sit and chat in the diner while they’re waiting for her cello to be fixed. It’s just one short, sweet moment but so much is communicated in this little exchange. I love the way Caressa dances around her fears of stopping, and failure, and the way Kyle so easily understands. Isn’t the what love is all about, at the end of it? Understanding each other?

     “So who is this guy, Caressa? You must really trust him, to leave your cello with him.”

     “He’s the one who found it for me in the first place.”

     “Really?” He tried to reconcile the scruffy, disorganized man with the “priceless” value of Caressa’s beloved instrument.

      “Dominic is a direct link to Sergio Peresson,” she explained. “Before Peresson died, he and Dominic were friends. They worked on instruments together. Dominic used to do work on du Pré’s cello.”

     “What’s a du Pré?”

     Caressa snorted. “Not what. Who. Jacqueline du Pré. She was a famous cellist.” She paused, stirring her coffee thoughtfully. “People sometimes compare me to her.”

     “She was crazy too?”

     Ah, nice eye roll. Caressa stared down into her cup and shrugged, her sandwich barely touched. “She was a lot like me, I guess. She started young. She was truly a genius, and yes, a little crazy. She was really…I don’t know. If you watch the old films of her playing, it’s so obvious that she…that she had a gift. That she was something completely singular. One of a kind.”

     Kyle took Caressa’s hand. “Then you are a lot like her.”

     “No, I’m not,” she said, pulling away. “Anyway, Jacqueline du Pré got multiple sclerosis. She had to stop playing. Can you imagine?” Her voice faltered a little, and she took a deep breath. “She played her last concert when she was only twenty-eight.”

     Kyle thought she might cry. “That’s tragic,” he said quietly. “Are you afraid that will happen to you?”

     Caressa didn’t answer, just flipped her sandwich over and ate some of the corned beef. “I do like having a link to her. I like that she played a Peresson too. I wish I had her cello, but after she died, they loaned it to some friend of her husband’s. I would have loved to play it, just once.”

     Kyle frowned, finishing off his burger. “Someday, some cellist is going to wish to play Caressa Gallo’s cello.” He immediately wished to take the words back, thinking them too morbid, but she surprised him and slid him a flirtatious look.

     “Like you played it?”

     He hid a smile, remembering “f-holes” and black lines on skin. “Well…”

     If you’ve read the book, you probably remember the scene where he drew the f-holes on her. That was a pretty intense “moment” too, heh heh.

In other news, I’ll be posting this Wednesday about my “Next Big Thing” which is Disciplining the Duchess! If you’d like to add the book to your TBR list on Goodreads you can find the listing for it here (click!)

{NOTE: this work changed significantly in the process and so this scene is no longer in Waking Kiss. You MAY see this scene again in something else, but it ended up not fitting in the flow of the story. I guess that’s part of the danger of sharing pre-publication snippets! Many apologies!}

Usually I post snippets from my published stuff on Sundays, but every so often I like to share things from my works in progress, with the warning that it’s not edited or set in stone yet.

So to celebrate Valentine’s Day I thought I’d share a sizzling hot snippet from Waking Kiss. If you follow me on Twitter you probably know that this book is giving me conniption fits, but that’s because the characters are both so intense and complex. And when they get together, crazy schizzle happens…which is why they’re driving me crazy!

This book is set in the world of ballet, like Mercy and Firebird, but it definitely has its own feel. Ashleigh is a dancer at the London City Ballet, and Liam the closest friend of her dance idol-slash-nemesis. (Long story.) Liam owns a security agency…Ironclad Security. Maybe you’ve heard of it? 😉

I don’t want to hand out much more info than that, but I think you’ll enjoy this snippet anyway. They’re halfway through a semi-serious, semi-reckless dirty talk and spank session that eventually (inexorably) leads to smoking sex. Liam’s main kink is rough, crazy sex, and he and Ashleigh seem to have a lot of it when they get together!

     “You’ve pushed me and pushed me,” he said, grinding his hard length against me. “You flaunt your succulent little body, pretending you’re so sweet and innocent. You’re not sweet and innocent, are you?”

     I whimpered against his shoulder. “I am. I’m sweet and innocent.”

     “You’re a little fuck slut. A lying, teasing fuck slut. I want to tear you to pieces. That’s what you deserve.”

     “No,” I wailed, even though we both knew I meant yes.

     “You’ve been teasing and flirting and trying to drive me insane. You’ve been doing it on purpose.”

     “I’m sorry!”

     “I’m sorry, Sir,” he said, shaking me a little. “In this room you’ll call me Sir, and you’ll obey every fucking thing I tell you. If you don’t like it, tough shit. That’s what you get for being a little cock-tease fuck slut.” He bit my lip just to the point I couldn’t bear it. “That’s what you get for pushing me too far.”

     “Please, no,” I said, squirming under him. I felt real tears gather in my eyes.

     “Please, no, Sir,” he corrected me, and then he yanked up the skirt of my dress and swatted me on the side of my ass. Pain bloomed in a cloud of heat and I literally felt my pussy go wet. He smacked me again, harder this time.

     “Please, Sir, that hurts. Don’t hurt me!”

     In an instant he had me turned and pinned on my stomach. He bunched my dress up to my waist and yanked down my black silk panties. While I wiggled and struggled, he landed a smarting volley of smacks to both cheeks. His hands were so big and so hard; each spank was a shock of sensation. I half laughed, half cried in panic. I reached back to fight with him, only to receive another sharp slap under the curve of my ass.

     “See what happens to bad girls like you?” he snapped. “How does that feel?”

     I could tell he expected an answer, and that somewhere in that answer I had to say Sir. I did the best I could in my state of overstimulation. “It hurts, Sir. It stings. Please, I won’t flaunt myself at you anymore.”

     He grabbed my arm and pulled it across my back, leaning over me. “I had to leave dinner to come deal with your shit. I had to make up excuses, all for what? To come deal with a horny, naughty girl.”

    I shook my head against the bedcovers. My ass still felt hot where he’d hit me and I knew he was going to hit me again. “I’m sorry!”

     “Sorry?” He smacked me under the other ass cheek. I cried out at the billowing sting. “You’re sorry? I’ve been lying awake at night, every night, for hours. Do you know why?”

     “Why?” I asked, my voice quavering.

     “Because bad little girls like you make me crazy. You pretend you’re good and pure. You pretend that you don’t understand the things you do to me, but really, deep inside, you know what you are?”

     He squeezed my ass, one of his fingers straying threateningly between my cheeks. I covered my face with my free hand. “What am I, Sir?”

     “You’re a disgusting, horny little fuck slut.”

     I don’t know if you’ve ever been called a disgusting, horny little fuck slut. Maybe you think it should have hurt my feelings or pissed me off. But you would have to hear the way he said it. He said it like being a disgusting, horny little fuck slut was the coolest thing in the universe.

     “I’m not a disgusting, horny little fuck slut,” I whimpered. “Please, I’m sweet and pure. You’re brutal and mean and you’re hurting me. You hurt my ass.”

     “If you don’t start addressing me the way I told you–“

     “You hurt my ass, Sir,” I yelled at him.

     He twisted his hand in my hair. “So, so bad. Such a bad girl.”

     His hands went to the buckle of his belt, and then I started fighting for real.

Okay, sorry, that’s all your getting, but it’s a taste of the hotness that is Liam and Ashleigh when they get together. Waking Kiss is shaping up to be an extremely hot book. I’ll be hard at work to get it ready for release before summer.

Happy Valentines Day to all my readers!

Whenever people ask me my favorite book I’ve written I always say it’s a tie between two of them: Caressa’s Knees and Fortune.

I can’t say why those two are my favorites. I wouldn’t classify them as the ultimate best, or ultimate sexiest, or the ultimate in literary prowess. They’re just the two that touch me, personally, the most.

There are actually a lot of things in Fortune I thought might annoy people. Kat isn’t your traditional have-it-all-together heroine, and Ryan can be a bit controlling (can we say health nut?) Maybe that’s why I like Fortune so much, because the hero and heroine are regular, flawed, struggling people who happen to bring out the best in each other.

Another thing I like in Fortune is Kat’s close-knit family, especially her Russian fortune teller mom. Kat’s mama is based on some older, slightly crazy great-aunts I had growing up. I always sensed that they had ESP or clairvoyant abilities but now that I’m older I realize they were just really, really, really tuned in to people’s subconscious signals. I love the way Kat’s mom works to keep bringing these two together, and the way we’re never really sure if she has special mental powers or is just the world’s best manipulator.

In this snippet, she’s with Kat at the hospital when Ryan comes in to check on her (as her physician). I love how she knows from the start these two were destined for each other. But you probably knew too…

   He stopped outside the door, looking through the window. The mama was sitting in Kat’s room by the bed. Kat was sitting up too, alert and awake. Her eyes flitted to his over her mother’s shoulder, her beautiful eyes that made him forget everything. Elena turned and saw him too.

     “Dr. Ryan McCarthy! You come in.” Not would you like to come in? Not why don’t you join us? It was an order as emphatic as any he’d received as a child. He pushed the door open slowly as Kat stared daggers at him.

     “I know you’re tired. I won’t stay. I just came by to—”

     “Come in and sit,” Elena ordered, getting up. “I have to go to…gift shop. You stay here, you sit with her. You stay, yes? While I am gone?”

     He was pretty sure the gift shop was closed, but he sat in the chair Elena shoved him toward and watched her sail out the door.

     He studied Kat. Good, she looked better. Some part of him had feared a hidden pocket, a slow bleed. He worried all day about being paged for emergency surgery. He couldn’t have done it, not on her.

     “You don’t have to stay,” she said at the same time he asked, “How are you feeling?”

     They both paused. “I’m feeling okay,” Kat finally said. “Less groggy. I’m sorry about my mother, she’s a little—”

     “Never apologize for your mother,” he said in a chiding tone that doubtlessly annoyed her. She stopped talking and stared at her hands. The awkward silence was stultifying. Just leave, you idiot. “So no pain? No visual disturbances?” Okay, that’s not leaving.

    “No bad pain. Just the bruises. And the twenty stitches along the back of my head,” she added ruefully.

     “Maybe I should just take a look while I’m here.” Idiot. Not your job! Leave now, before you touch her. If you touch her… She leaned forward and he put one hand on her hair even though he didn’t need to. He felt guilty, like one of those doctors who fondled patients on the sly. Her curls were as thick and soft as he imagined. He ran a thumb across her nape as he lifted the gauze to check the stitches. When she shivered a little he almost came undone. He replaced the bandage quickly and stepped back.

     “They look good, Kat. And any scar won’t show unless you pull your hair up. I’d say you’re a very lucky lady to come away with just a scar, considering the fall you took. But you’ll need to take things easy for a while. No late nights and bar hopping. No tabletop dancing.”

     She looked at him with that shuttered, slanted glance, and again he thought, Go, just go. Get out of here.

Ah, the trials of new love. If you haven’t read Fortune, you can click the cover below to read a blurb and find buy links. Don’t forget to pick up the first book in the series, Deep in the Woods, to see what Ryan was doing just before he found his true love. (hint: participating in menages!)

 

I will always remember Comfort Object as the book that started everything for me. It wasn’t my first book but it was the first book that a publisher picked up.

BUT it almost didn’t happen. I am quite sure that if the editor I submitted to wasn’t knowledgeable about the lifestyle, Comfort Object wouldn’t have seen the light of day. She had to fight for it, explaining to the publisher’s brass that some women really did find it sexy to be treated as an object and called not-so-nice names in the heat of a passionate scene.

When I got the rights back I toyed with the idea of toning down the objectification/degradation talk before I re-released it. BUT I only thought about it for a second. I really couldn’t do that and maintain the integrity of the book, and the integrity of Jeremy and Nell, who get off on some pretty dirty, degrading, and masochistic stuff. The important thing is that they both loved it…and eventually, both found lasting love.

One of my favorite scenes is when he takes her lingerie shopping and then forces her into a very uncomfortable sexual encounter–for his pleasure. (Although somehow I think she really enjoyed it too!)

     “Have you made yourself come since you left my bedroom?”

     “No, Jeremy.” I was glad I hadn’t, because in my current condition I would have been unable to lie.

     “Good girl. I want you to come now.”

     Oh Jesus, how I ached to, but my mind flew to the flimsy curtain separating Jeremy and me from Madame and the other customers outside in the boutique.

     “You don’t worry about that.” He stroked me, separating and probing my labia. I looked up at him, wide-eyed. “You just worry about doing as I ask.”

     “Yes, Jeremy,” I whispered.

     “Hold on to me. Put your hands on my shoulders if you think you’re going to fall.”

     I reached for him, closed my fingers over his muscular shoulders. I could feel his arms move under my hands as he manipulated me. I was torn between running my fingers all over his shoulders and chest and giving myself up to the growing pleasure at my core. I pressed my forehead against the front of his sweater. “Jeremy.” My voice came out a whisper.

    “Come on.” I drew in a deep breath. I relaxed and pushed my hips against his fingers. “Yes, that’s right,” he said. “More. I want you to moan.”

     I threw a wild look at the curtain, then turned pleading eyes on him.

     “I want moans, girl.” I recognized the obdurate expression already, knew he wouldn’t bend. I buried my face in his chest and let the moans come.

     And with his fingers, he kept drawing me closer and closer to that terrifying edge of climax, the terrifying loss of control. I didn’t know if I’d be able to let go, here, in Madame’s dressing room on Rodeo Drive with a curtain the only thing between us and the people outside. My quiet sounds rose in intensity. I shuddered against his front.

     “Do it. Obey me.”

     He stroked and fondled me so my hips moved and swayed of their own accord. His fingers slid over my clit, lubricated by the juices that, by now, soaked the garment I wore. My urgent lust sounds were uttered against soft gray cashmere. I rode his broad hand spread between my legs. As my orgasm drew closer, my movements grew wilder, undisciplined.

     “Hurry,” his voice rasped in my ear, “or she’ll return just as you’re coming. Won’t you look like a horny slut then?”

     I whimpered as his fingers manipulated, scratched, probed. His other hand came around the back of my neck to draw my lips to his. He kissed me deeply, his fingers pressing inside me at the same time.

     “Oh.” I moaned into his mouth. “Oh God.”

     “Yes, be a good girl. Come for me. Now.”

     He pinched my nipple through the bra, once, twice, a third time. I wanted to come, I had to come. I knew I had to let go. The pressure in my center was unbearable. It was painful anticipation, an urge that couldn’t be realized.

     “Please!” I begged against his lips.

     “Now. Now, girl!” he whispered. He bit my tongue softly and pulled me close to him, drove his fingers deep inside.

     “Oh, oh! Ohhhhh–” He caught my cries of orgasm with his mouth pressed hard over mine. I bucked against him, and he worked my clit while the waves of pleasure took me. It went on and on, sharp, undulating sensation. By the end I clung to his neck, far too weak to stand of my own accord.

     “Oh, Jeremy!” He shushed me and slowly drew his sodden fingers out of my slit and up the front of the garter belt and cincher I wore. I watched the broad, blunt fingers slide against the delicate pink material and then snake around my hip. I peered up into avid blue eyes. He looked down at me with an expression I couldn’t untangle.

     “Thank you, Jeremy,” I whispered.

     “Don’t thank me. I did that for me.”

If you haven’t read Comfort Object, you’re missing out on one hell of a tension-filled, torrid affair. You can click the cover below to go to the Comfort Object page for a blurb and buy links, and don’t forget to check out the follow up books, Caressa’s Knees, Odalisque, and Command Performance.

I’ve been on a real performance kick lately. I’ve been attending some local live performances, dug out my old ballet tapes, and even started a new book set in the ballet world called Waking Kiss.

I don’t know what it is about the arts and performance that moves me so much, but I know that since the very beginning I’ve wanted to write about performers and their struggles with life and love. I guess in a way performance and BDSM go perfectly together, since both of them involve a lot of boundary-pushing and physical struggle.

If you’ve read Mercy, you know that pain is a big part of Lucy’s relationship with Matthew. Sometimes she really enjoys the pain he deals her in a masochistic sense, but other times, it’s real emotional pain tearing her apart…and him too, of course. More than anything, I think Mercy was my ode to masochism in all its psychological complexity. Like many masochists, Lucy has trouble admitting that she wants and enjoys pain.

Today I’ll share a snippet from the coffee shop scene which is a particular favorite of a friend of mine. This is a scene where no physical sex takes place, but the mental back and forth is nearly as intimate. Will Matthew convince Lucy to give sado-masochism a whirl with him? (Spoiler: he does!)

     “Lucy, what do you think is happening here?”

     “I really don’t know. I wish I did!”

     “I think you do know, but I’ll play along. What did you think of me? How do you feel around me?”

     “I… I…”

     “Think first, and then tell me the truth.”

     “You scare me.”

     “Why do I scare you?”

     I looked down at my hands, swallowed hard. “Because of how you make me feel.”

     “How do I make you feel?”

     I shook my head. I couldn’t admit it, never.

     “Answer me,” he pressed. “We won’t get anywhere until you talk to me. Just say it.”

     “I…you… You make me… I want you to… I want…”

     My voice trailed off, my face on fire. I want you to be an animal. I want you to eat me alive.

     “Can’t you say it?” he asked. “I’ll tell you, Lucy, since you seem unable to form the words.” He paused and looked right at me. “You want me to master you. You want me to rough you up a little, don’t you?”

     I bit my lip. I had no idea what to answer to that. Again, I felt dangerously close to tears, even after all the tears I’d already shed. I brought my cup to my lips and drank the coffee to assuage the tightness in my throat.

     “Your fiancé, he didn’t understand, did he? What you like. What you need.”

     “I don’t understand either.”

     “You will,” he said.

Oh man, I have such an abiding crush on Matthew, and he’s definitely my most-talked-about Dom. I have tried to reproduce him but I fear he may be one of a kind. There’s something about the way he’s both teacher and tormentor to Lucy that is very affecting to me.

Mercy has a reputation as a “hardcore” book, but I think it offers a lot of compelling emotional content too. If you haven’t read it, you might want to give it a try. To me, it’s a very sweet book about two people who desperately love each other. Click the cover below for buy links and a blurb!

I’ve been hard at work on a new historical novel for my readers, because what is hotter than an old-fashioned kink relationship?

The new one will be called Disciplining the Duchess and if you follow my blog regularly, then you’ve read snippets from it here and here. I hope to have the Duchess book out by March at the latest. I would share more but I don’t want to tease. (ha! what a tease!)

In the meantime, if you haven’t read Lily Mine yet, you might want to give it a try. Historical heroes are so, so yummy. Lord Ashbourne, the hero of Lily Mine, is wonderfully uptight like so many gentlemen of that period, but also warm and sensual in more private moments. One of my favorite parts of the book is the awkwardness between him and Lily in the beginning of the story, and their curiosity about each other as aristocrat and commoner.

     He watched her from the length of the table. Everything she did seemed novel to him. The way she handled her utensils, the self-conscious way she looked up at him. The way she poured milk in her chocolate, a treat she had exclaimed over, all the rigid role-playing falling away. Did commoners believe the gentry were stiff as all that? Or did she just think him stiff? She had immediately covered her mouth as if she’d misspoken, but he wanted her to yell to the rafters about the treat of drinking chocolate if that’s how she felt. In truth, he felt a growing fondness for her that alarmed him.

     Well, why not feel fond? It was a wondrous thing to have company again. He had eaten in here so many weeks now by himself, rattled around the stuffy country manor, a lonely cuckold. Cuckold. An ugly and humiliating word, even if you were not truly cuckolded because your marriage was fraudulent in the first place. The effect was the same.

     Why was she sitting so far away? The table was yards long, and they at either end of it. No wonder she thought him stuffy. He had not said so much as a word to her as they dined, for nerves. The only sound to break the stultifying silence was the occasional clink of china and the never-ending pitter-pat of late summer rain. Even if they had something to talk about, they would have had to shout to be heard.

     He would tell Hanover to set places next to one another from now on so they could converse together. There were things that needed to be discussed before the new household staff arrived in the days ahead. Lily was making a good go of impersonating the lady of a manor, but no experienced servant would be fooled. As much as it galled him, he would have to tell her all he could about Lilliana. It was only fair to do so if he expected her to impersonate her convincingly.

     When they finished dining, he ushered her around Lilyvale on his arm. He showed her every room, every hall, every stairwell. They toured the kitchens and servants’ quarters, and by the end of their explorations she seemed more at ease. By then the rain had stopped and he led her along stone paths to some of the outbuildings. He avoided the stables for fear he might embarrass her with memories of the night before. He showed her the garden and greenhouse, and again found himself charmed by her awe and excitement at the manicured grounds he very much took for granted. She flitted through the plants and flowers, many going to ruin since the grounds staff had been dismissed weeks ago. She turned to look back at him with bright eyes and a solemn smile.

     “I can save these plants, my lord. If you wish it.”

     “Of course I wish it. I will not deny you the gardens. Please consider them your own. I will hire an army of gardeners to assist you.”

     She smiled wide, made an endearing attempt at schooling her expression to something more proper, and then gave up, much to his relief. He much more enjoyed seeing the true Lily coming alive before him in fits and spurts.

 

Of course, by the end of the story they get to know one another VERY well. If you’d like to experience the development of their relationship–and their sexy times together too–click the book cover to read the blurb and find buy links!

My goodness, I don’t think I’ve featured Odalisque yet in my Snippet Sundays. Odalisque was inspired one day when I was browsing  Fetlife.com and came across a group devoted to the Code d’Odalisque. Odalisques are female sexual slaves, and I thought if there was ever a great premise for an erotic romance, that was it!

The Code isn’t real, of course. It’s more of a kinky sexy thing, but boy, it’s fun for the people who are into it. In real life, of course, we don’t want women giving up everything to live as sex slaves to men, but for purposes of getting your kink on, it can be pretty hot. In this scene, Mason has just told his friend Kai about an encounter with an odalisque at a sex party, and he’s trying to convince Kai (our hero) that he needs to get an odalisque.

Kai pushed his plate away. “Well, thanks for the most arousing and utterly ridiculous conversation of my life. If nothing else, this would make a great movie plot, this whole odalisque thing. You should pitch it to your director friends.”

     “You want the guy’s card? The odalisque agent? I forcibly removed it from Jess.”

     “No, I really don’t.”

     “It’s right in my wallet.” Mason reached for his back pocket and somehow Kai couldn’t summon the impulse to shake his head. Mason fished out the embossed ivory rectangle and held it across the table.

     “I’m not taking it.”

     “Take it. I don’t want to argue with Jess about it anymore.”

     Kai swiped it from his fingers and looked down at the card’s tasteful, subtle design. Maison Odalisque, Agt. Sebastien Gaudet, and a phone number. “He doesn’t have email? A website?”

     Mason chuckled. “These kinds of arrangements don’t take place over the Internet. If you aren’t rich enough to get on your personal jet and fly to see Monsieur Gaudet face-to-face, you aren’t rich enough for one of these odalisques.”

     Kai tried to bite his tongue, but the question burst forth anyway. “How much? How much did your sheik pay?”

     “The math is straightforward, my friend. One flat mil a year. One million for a willing, horny, erotically trained cockslave at your beck and call for three hundred and sixty-five days.”

     Kai smiled. “A bargain.”

     “I think so,” said Mason, looking down at his phone. Kai could see his friend’s sex-siren wife on the phone’s display background. “I happen to think there’s no price too high to pay for sexual contentment. Sexual adventure, even.” Mason looked back up with a grin. “Life is short, don’t you think?”

Oh, that Mason Cooke, always stirring up trouble. But luckily he does convince Kai to go to France and procure an odalisque. And what happens then? Well, you have to read it to find out. Click the cover below to learn more about Odalisque and find buy links!