Sunday, September 4, 2016

Sunday's Safe Word Shelf: Override by SJD Peterson


Summary:
Don’t judge a book by its cover….

At over six feet, with a body honed in the gym, auto worker Donavan Gregory is used to people assuming he’s a dominant top. Unfortunately, they’re wrong, and Donavan’s desire to explore his submissive side goes unfulfilled.

Smaller and older than Donavan, Doctor Seth Manning might not look like a typical dominant, but when the two men meet at Pride, Donavan realized Seth might be his perfect counterpart. The trouble is, Donavan doesn’t have as much experience with the BDSM world as he’d like. What could an educated, handsome, and confident man like Seth possibly see in someone like him? Seth must convince him that despite the differences on the surface, when it comes to kinky fun and discovery, they’ll fit together just fine.



Chapter One
AS THE sun began to set on the last night of Pride, Donavan Gregory was surprised his head hadn’t exploded from sensory overload. He’d spent the day enjoying the sights and sounds, and—oh holy fuck—what sights they had been. Half-naked men running around laughing, touching, loving in an unadulterated freedom only a celebration of this type could afford.

The afternoon was spent wandering the town, joining in on discussions, meeting new people, taking in the flash and flare of the parade. But it was the fetish booths, the leather daddies, and BDSM demonstrations that kept grabbing his attention. He’d often wondered what it would be like to give up complete control, to kneel at another man’s feet, to feel the kiss of his leather. He’d spent countless hours wanking to bondage and kinky flicks, hooked up with a couple of guys who got off on spanking his ass while they fucked him, and yet he hadn’t gathered up the courage to take it to the next level.

So it was no surprise when the last rays of the sun disappeared below the horizon that Donavan found himself once again on 5th Street. He leaned against a brick wall, trying not to draw attention to himself. It didn’t help that his loose jeans and maize-and-blue college T-shirt made him stick out like a sore thumb among the sea of flesh and leather. Still, he did his best to shrink into the background as much as his size would allow.

People looking at him would, no doubt, find it hard to believe his fantasies revolved around submitting. Standing at six foot two and topping the scales at 230 thanks to good genes and his dedication to the gym, he looked like he would be the dominant partner. That he’d be the one wielding the crop, the one to bind a body, to take charge.

In the center of the road, within a roped-off area, two St. Andrew’s crosses had been erected upon a stage. A man dressed in nothing but a pair of tight black shorts was bound to one with his chest pressed against it. A smaller blond-haired man, completely devoid of clothing, stood with his back to the other cross. Donavan’s pulse kicked up as he watched the naked man’s wrists, forearms, and biceps being wrapped with red ropes. The act was simple yet erotic. The way the Dom moved, the way the ropes slid through his fingers, and the look of concentration on his handsome face kept Donavan captivated.

“You like what you see?”

Donavan jerked his head to the right to find a lean dark-haired man staring up at him with hungry eyes.

Unable to look away from his unwavering gaze, Donavan had the uncanny feeling the stranger was not only looking at him but within him. The man stood about five foot nine and couldn’t weigh more than 170 pounds, max. An air of authority and confidence shining in those dark eyes was unmistakable.

Shaking off the strange feeling, Donavan turned back to the demonstration. “Umm, yeah, it’s interesting.”

Donavan’s breath hitched when the stranger inched closer. He smelled of clean sweat, musk, and a rich, pleasing cologne. Donavan watched out of the corner of his eye as the smaller man leaned back, propped his booted foot against the wall, and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Have you ever been bound?”

Donavan shook his head.

“You’ve thought about it,” the stranger said, sounding sure.

But that was ridiculous. No way could this guy know what Donavan fantasized about. Instead of answering, he turned it back on the newcomer. “Have you ever let someone tie you up?”

“I do the tying,” he said curtly.

Donavan turned his head and studied the man for a few seconds. He had prominent cheekbones, a regal nose, and his full lips were made for long lingering kisses. While he was handsome, there was nothing physically imposing about him, nor did his attire—black slacks and a finely tailored pale blue dress shirt—scream leather daddy.

“You?” Donavan asked incredulously.

“You know what they say about size not mattering?”

“Yeah.”

The stranger tilted his head up, a sly grin curling his full upper lip. “In this case, it’s quite true.” He pushed off the wall and held out his hand. “Seth Manning.”

Donavan shook the offered hand. “Nice to meet you. Donavan Gregory.” He started to pull his hand back, but Seth tightened his grip.

As he rubbed his thumb back and forth across the back of Donavan’s hand, Seth held his gaze. “Would you like to experience what it’s like to be bound, Donavan?” His voice was low and seductive, the tone deeper than Donavan would have expected.

“Perhaps someday.”

“There is no time like the present, I always say,” Seth countered.

“Now?” Donavan found himself asking, rather than voicing the refusal that first popped into his head.

“Why not? It’s Pride. This is your chance to let go, have some fun in a nonjudgmental atmosphere. What do you say?”

Donavan was certainly intrigued by the offer. Given the way his skin tingled and the rapid beating of his heart, his body was certainly on board. He cut a quick glance at the demonstration and the crowds of people. Doubt skittered down his spine. He’d never been an exhibitionist.

“C’mon, Donavan, take a chance,” Seth encouraged.

Donavan held Seth’s gaze. It was so, so tempting. It certainly wouldn’t be a hardship to have someone as good-looking as Seth putting his hands on him.

“Just a little rope play. I won’t even ask you to strip.” Seth winked. “This time.”

“Awful sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Seth drawled without hesitation.

Donavan had apparently been influenced by the freedom of Pride, or maybe he’d lost his goddamn mind, but he found himself conceding. “All right, but I’m keeping my clothes on.” He pointed a warning finger at Seth. “And no trying to bang me once I’m tied up. I don’t do public porn.”

Donavan’s threat didn’t seem to faze Seth in the slightest. He blatantly ran his eyes up and down Donavan’s body. “Pity, but you have a deal. Give me a second to set it up.”

Seth pushed his way through the crowd, dipped under the roped-off area, and walked up to a large bald man standing near the stage.

Donavan blew out a long breath. Wow! What the hell have I just done? In public? With a stranger? He most certainly had lost his mind. He’d always been a private man, never comfortable in the spotlight, but obviously the craziness of the day had worn off on him. It had a damn good hold on him too because he wasn’t turning and running like hell. Instead he was standing there, nearly giddy with the buzz of arousal zinging through him, his dick rock hard.

Seth gestured him over, a wide self-assured smile on his handsome face.

Donavan hesitated a moment, then pushed off the wall and walked through the crowd to join Seth.

“Are you ready?”

Apparently, since he was standing there, but Donavan’s uncertainty lingered. It was evident in his voice when it cracked. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Seth ran his hand down Donavan’s breastbone. “You look tense, and you’re shaking. Take a deep breath. This won’t hurt a bit, I promise.”

Donavan focused on Seth’s dark eyes as he inhaled deeply and let it out slowly. A calm settled over him as he continued to hold Seth’s gaze. A few more deep breaths and the trembling eased.

“Very good,” Seth praised. “Keep that focus on me and the feel of the ropes against your skin. You’re in for a hell of a treat.”

The crowd around them applauded, and Donavan’s attention was drawn to the stage. The man dressed in all leather was taking a bow, with the smaller man kneeling next to him, lowered.

“We have something special for you, today,” Rope Guy announced. “Master Seth has agreed to show us some of his knots. Give him a hand.”

The crowd clapped and cheered.

Donavan arched a brow in question. “Master Seth?”

“That’s what they call me. C’mon.” Seth took Donavan’s hand and led him onto the stage.

“Donavan, this is Master Rick. He taught me everything I know about knots.”

“Nice to meet you,” Donavan said.

“Same,” Rick said with a wide smile, then turned his head toward Seth. “Modest as always. Anything specific you need?”

Seth considered Donavan for a moment, his lip curling ever so slightly. “I might need a step stool, but that may take away from my big, bad Dom image. How about something for Donavan to sit on?”

“Boy, fetch a chair for Master Seth,” Rick instructed.

The man kneeling next to Rick jumped to his feet. “Yes, Sir.”

“If you could set it in front of the cross, I’d much appreciate it,” Seth said.

Once it was in place, Seth led Donavan to it. “Have a seat, please.”

Donavan sat with his back pressed against the cross. His skin prickled with the thought of every person in the audience watching him. His cheeks heated, and he instinctively bowed his head.

“You’re a natural.” Seth ran his fingers through Donavan’s hair.

Donavan’s throat was dry, barely able to swallow, so he didn’t respond, not trusting his voice. It was ridiculous how his body reacted to Seth’s praise. This was nothing more than an innocent exhibition, and yet Donavan couldn’t help but think it was more. A first step.

Seth slid a red rope through his hands, drawing Donavan’s gaze as Seth’s long fingers stroked over the nylon lengths. He then took Donavan’s hand in his. The first contact sent a rush of heat to Donavan’s groin. Seth positioned Donavan’s arm up and out from his body, then wrapped the rope around his wrist and secured it to the cross.

Seth worked silently, a look of concentration on his face as he continued to wrap the rope around Donavan’s forearm and bicep. By the time Seth had bound Donavan’s other arm, Donavan was breathing hard. He was beyond turned on. It was as though Seth had been working his cock rather than the ropes.

“How does that feel? Not too tight?” Seth asked.

Donavan tested the restraints. They were tight, but not overly so. “No.”

“Good. How does it feel?” Seth asked again, his voice low and husky, seductive, like he already knew the answer.

“I like it,” Donavan admitted.

Seth’s gaze dropped to Donavan’s crotch, and he licked his lips. “I think you more than like it. If you like having your arms bound, then you’re going to love what’s coming next.”

A thrill raced through Donavan, causing his dick to twitch. Jesus! If it got any better, he was going to come in his fucking jeans. His entire body thrummed with want and need.

Seth situated himself between Donavan’s thighs and held out his hand. Someone handed him another length of rope, but Donavan couldn’t rip his gaze from Seth. While Donavan found Seth handsome, he’d seen better looking. He’d had the pleasure of bedding a few that could be described as drop-dead gorgeous. But none had captivated him as Seth did. Each brush of Seth’s fingers ignited him, made him burn.

Seth’s thighs rubbed side to side where they pressed against Donavan’s legs as Seth worked, fanning the flames. The crowd melted away, Donavan’s entire focus centering on the man before him. A connection was being forged. He was sure Seth felt it too. The thick bulge tenting Seth’s slacks gave credence to the belief. Donavan only needed to lean a few inches forward, grab those lean hips….

“Feels good, doesn’t it, Donavan? You like being bound and at my mercy.” Seth wasn’t asking but making a statement. He knew.

A deep rumbling moan escaped Donavan before he could swallow it down.

“That’s all the answer I need,” Seth murmured. He leaned down, his lips a mere hairsbreadth away from Donavan’s ear. “Oh, the things I would love to do to you right now. You are so fucking hot like this.”

A shudder ripped through Donavan.

Seth chuckled at Donavan’s response as he tied intricate knots across Donavan’s chest. Donavan wished he hadn’t been so hesitant. Ha! More like a big scared baby. And for what? Now he was missing out on feeling the bindings, as well as Seth’s touch, against his bare skin. He closed his eyes and imagined it, lost himself in his arousal and the gentle sway of Seth’s body. Donavan floated on a wave of pleasure, both erotic and calming, as strange as that seemed. He hung there, for how long he didn’t know, but it ended all too soon.

The applause of the crowd snapped Donavan back. He opened his eyes to find Seth standing near the edge of the stage, taking a bow.

Disappointment settled in Donavan’s gut when Seth returned and started removing the ropes. It was like being taken to the edge of orgasm and then being denied the ultimate high. He wanted to tell Seth to stop, beg him to take him to the edge and let him fall, but he’d lost his voice.

Once the ropes were removed, Seth held out his hand and helped Donavan to his feet. The crowd applauded again. Why, Donavan didn’t understand. The show had stopped before the climax. Why would that make them clap? Donavan swayed, and Seth slid an arm around his waist to steady him.

“From the first moment I laid eyes on you, I knew you’d enjoy it. Thank you for allowing me to use your body as my canvas. It’s quite lovely.”

“You’re welcome, but it should be me thanking you. It was quite the… experience.”

Seth flashed him a brilliant smile.

“Ummm… you wouldn’t want to get a drink or something, would you?” Donavan asked, suddenly feeling shy.

“Sorry, but I have a previous engagement.” Seth released his hold on Donavan and took a step back. He pulled a card from his pocket. “Call me sometime if you’d like to take it a step further.”

Donavan took the card and studied it. Dr. Seth Manning MD, OBGYN. “You’re a doctor?”

“Does that surprise you?”

“Yeah, it does,” Donavan admitted.

Seth glanced down at his watch. “Sorry, I’ve got to go.” He slid his hand around Donavan’s neck, pulled his head down, and planted a soft kiss on his lips. “Don’t keep me waiting too long.”

With that, Seth turned and strode from the stage, shaking hands with people as he went. Donavan stood there dumbstruck as he watched him go. A doctor? A doctor leather daddy? His day was full of surprises. He pocketed the card and, still in a daze, headed back into the crowd.

Author Bio:
It's been an amazing journey since DSP first contracted Lorcan's Desire in January 2011. I've published 2 free reads with the M/M Romance group, my back list is growing, met some great people and have made some amazing friends.

I'm still in shock that I'm listed among the many talented authors at Dreamspinner Press! The little voice in the back of my head is screaming, "You are so out of your league."

Shhhhh I won't tell them if you don't :)

You can call me Jo, everyone does :)


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Saturday, September 3, 2016

Saturday's Series Spotlight: Winters Sisters by Joanne Jaytanie


Author: Joanne Jaytanie
Series: Winters Sisters #1-4
Genre: Romantic Suspense with paranormal elements
Release Dates: Chasing Victory: July 31, 2016
Payton's Pursuit: July 31, 2016
Willow's Discovery: October 6, 2015
Corralling Kenzie:  April 18, 2016

Chasing Victory #1
Summary:
Everybody’s chasing Victory: a power-hungry scientist, a corrupt conglomerate, and her own government.

Victory Winters is on the run. A world-renowned geneticist, her mission involves conquering disease and improving quality of life. But a co-worker has been murdered, putting Victory and her mission in danger. Chasing her are all sorts of men who want to recruit and control her, manipulating her genetic secrets and research for their own corrupt purposes.

Naval officer Tristan Farraday is undercover investigating Biotec, a conglomerate that trumpets a better tomorrow in its bright, shiny annual reports. But Tristan’s bosses suspect that beneath Biotec’s carefully-managed exterior lies more than simple violations of a few experimental protocols.

Farraday is following a trail of murder, kidnapping, and blackmail. The trail leads him to Victory, who has been forced into Biotec’s world. Can Tristan chase down the truth and win the race for Victory?

Payton's Pursuit #2
Summary:
Will Payton’s pursuit of truth be her last?

Payton Winters is thrust into the position of CEO of The Winters Corporation after the sudden death of her parents. But the challenge of her new role is nothing compared to coping with her evolving enhanced abilities. Payton can ground those who possess psychic powers—some of whom have taken refuge at the Winters Corporation. Now she has unwillingly become a mental anchor for a man she wants no part of, Collin McBain. While on a routine mission, Collin is drugged, tortured, and injected with wolf DNA. Believed dead, he is secretly assigned to the Winters Campus; his only road back to life is through Payton.

Faced with her new roles, Payton realizes her life is based on half-truths. Now she’s compelled to pursue her mother’s research to understand why she and her two sisters were genetically altered before birth. Payton’s pursuit embroils her in a world of secrets, lies, kidnapping, and murder, but her future depends on deciphering the lies of the past.

Willow's Discovery #3
Summary:
Willow’s next discovery could get her killed.

Willow Winters has been safely ensconced in London managing the international division of the Winters Corporation. But the vicious Kaleidoscope Group is relentless in its pursuit of the Winters sisters and their scientific breakthroughs. They’ve planted a mole in the company ranks, making Willow’s paranormal abilities crucial in the search for the traitor. Unearthing this spy will expose Willow as a threat and put her squarely in the sights of the murderous Kaleidoscope Group.

Wyatt Farraday is a military liaison to the Winters Corporation. Consumed with keeping Victory and Payton Winters alive, he’s had no life of his own. Now the third triplet has returned home and his job just got exponentially harder. Willow outdoes her sisters in the hardheaded department. She’s independent and can take care of herself and she doesn’t need Wyatt to watch out for her. But Wyatt’s determined to watch her in every way he can.

Corralling Kenzie #4
Summary:
Will Kenzie ever find peace and security inside the corrals of her ranch again?

Kenzie Vaughn is lucky to have a big-city, big-paycheck position. But her great job serves as nothing more than the path to her dream: a horse boarding and training ranch outside the big city. Kenzie is a horsewoman who loves Dobermans and peaceful country living. Now she’s found the perfect ranch, right next door to a lovely campus that houses the Winters Corporation. Her luck is holding, for the Corporation is run by the Winters’ sisters, wonderful women who could easily grow to become great friends.

One night her peace was shattered by a gunshot that wounded her horse, Boone. Good thing for Kenzie, Victory Winters is a veterinarian. Still the gunshot was no accident, and Kenzie’s past and the Winters’ present are dangerously intertwined. Kenzie is sucked into a vortex of rogue scientists who only want her for her DNA. Fortunately, the Winters Corporation can help. Even better, a Special Ops team member, Logan Mendoza, is assigned to watch her ranch. He isn’t interested in Kenzie’s DNA; he wants her for much more. Logan takes Kenzie’s personal security personally.

Will corralling Kenzie become Logan’s full-time mission?


Chasing Victory #1
Whenever Victory found herself in an enclosed space or in a crowd of people, she would often get the feeling of being watched. Over the years she realized, it was merely her ability to sense people’s emotions. Coupled with her sharper-than-average hearing and it could make anyone neurotic. Had she not taught herself years ago how to filter out the bombardment of noise and emotion which now encompassed her, she would have fallen to her knees from the deluge of sensations.

Victory felt a whisper of electricity run the length of her spine. She paused. She didn’t hear a specific conversation, and yet she could feel a conversation; this was new—what kind of sensation was this? Slowing her pace, she glanced around, and surveyed her surroundings. People seemed to be going about their business, grooming dogs or talking with friends or studying the competition. For one brief instant, she saw the back of a massively built man with jet-black hair; her attention had been drawn to him. In the blink of an eye, he disappeared out the door.

“Geez, now I’m really getting jumpy,” she muttered to herself.

Payton's Pursuit #2
The last thing the sisters needed was for him to spiral into a fit of rage in the middle of their important event, ruining the gala and giving Payton one more reason to despise him. Why did it matter what she thought? From what he could see, Payton Winters was just one more spoiled rich girl, totally focused on business and making a profit, and he was their newest asset.

Try as he might, Collin found it more and more difficult to stay in control while being immersed in people and their thoughts. Their emotions rolled off them and saturated his mind. At this rate, he would have to burrow himself into some deep dark hole or go insane.

He felt more and more agitated, as though his own skin suffocated him. The blackness of rage began to consume him, and he knew he would have to escape soon before he totally lost his grip on sanity and howled like a wolf.

Willow's Discovery #3
“What do mean you read company email?”

“Sorry, I forgot how much happened when you were in England. I guess I figured Payton told you. Jack and your brilliant cyber department created a way for him and me to monitor company email. Strictly for security purposes, I assure you.”

“You’ve read every email I’ve sent to Payton and Victory?”

Now she lost every drop of color from her face. He should relish making her squirm; hell, she did it to him all the time. Only he felt terrible. What the hell is going on? he thought.

“They do have a way of making you chase your tail, don’t they bro?” Tristan popped into his head, his booming chuckle resonating though his mind.

“Beat it. I’ve got enough on my plate, trying to keep the peace with Willow. It’s like dancing through a field of land mines.” Wyatt shot back at his brother. Tristan laughed again and faded away.

“No, no. We can’t read your personal emails between the three of you. The way the program’s set up, the system flags employee names and certain words or phrases. Those emails come to our computers.”

“Thank the—” She stopped in mid-sentence.

“You were saying?” Now it was his turn to smirk at her, making her color rise again.

Corralling Kenzie #4
He heard a soft creak and whipped around, gun aimed dead ahead. He held his body rigid and listened. A pop rang out, followed by a knocking sound. He ran out of the room and down the hall. As he got close to the doorway of the last room he was hit with a blast of frigid air.

In one smooth, swift motion he entered the room, scanning it wall-to-wall. The window stood wide open, the shade bouncing off the window. He stepped to one side as he approached the open window. Logan saw the boot print in the snow on the exterior window sill. He inhaled and stepped squarely in front of the open window. No one was there and there were no boot prints on the roof of the first floor. He looked out over the blanket of fresh snow and saw no signs of boot prints anywhere. Then he saw something at the far edge of the illuminated ground. He jumped on to the roof and then down to the ground. He ran to find out what he’d seen. The intruder had landed on all fours on the snowy ground and disappeared into the night.

“What the hell?” he said as he walked in a circle, making sure he hadn’t missed any boot prints between there and the house.

What Others Are Saying:
Chasing Victory #1
✯✯✯✯✯ very entertaining! by Kelsey D. Verified Purchase
This was a great beginning to what promises to be a very enjoyable series. Victory is a strong character and I loved how very intelligent and capable she is. She was put in a bad situation, but she decided to use it as a chance to help those who were being experimented on instead of laying down in misery over being basically kidnapped by murderers. There was also a wonderful romantic aspect with Tristan, who was also a great character. I’m glad that we will get to see more of Victory and the other Winters sisters in the follow ups.

Payton's Pursuit #2
✯✯✯✯✯ Excellent Romantic, Paranormal Suspense!! by Just My Opinion Verified Purchase
In this second book of the Winters Sisters Series I couldn't read fast enough from wanting to know what was going to happen next! Like the first book, it is an edge of your seat suspense with an amazing mix of characters and an extremely intelligent and diabolical villain. These stories will grab your attention and won't let go until you are finished. If you enjoy action packed suspense, a little romance and a bit of the paranormal you are sure to love this series. Be aware that there are some explicit sexual encounters included in these books. I sincerely hope that there is a third book in the future!

Willow's Discovery #3
✯✯✯✯✯ My FAVORITE book written by Joanne Jaytanie so far by JusJulson Verified Purchase
My FAVORITE by Joanne Jaytanie so far. I love all of her books, but Willows and Wyatt's story had me captivated. You know it's a good story when you yell, cry and laugh out loud at the characters. I can't wait to go deeper into the Winter Sisters lives!

Corralling Kenzie #4
✯✯✯✯✯ Twists and Turns by Hawaiian Reader Verified Purchase
Corralling Kenzie is the fourth book in the Winters Sisters Series. This is a gripping romantic suspense featuring Kenzie and Logan. When Logan is assigned to protect Kenzie, he has no idea he will be attracted to her. Before meeting Logan, Kenzie thinks she has everything she wants--her ranch and horses--and is surprised when she starts to fall for him. The twists and turns of the plot are typical of Jaytanie's stories. She keeps the reader turning the page! This book can be read and enjoyed as a standalone book, but for maximum enjoyment read Books 1-3.

Author Bio:
Joanne was born and raised in Sherburne, New York, a quaint village surrounded by dairy farms and rolling hills. From the moment she could read she wanted to explore the world. During her college years she slowly crept across the country, stopping along the way in Oklahoma, California, and finally Washington State, which she now proudly calls home. She lives with her husband and Dobermans, in their home located on the Olympic Peninsula with a panoramic view of the Olympic Mountains.

Joanne writes romantic suspense, paranormal, and contemporary romance. She loves to submerge herself in the world of her characters, to live and breathe their lives and marvel at their decisions and predicaments. She enjoys a wide variety of books including paranormal, suspense, thriller, and of course romance.

Joanne is a PAN member of Romance Writers of America, (RWA), Kiss of Death, (KOD), Greater Seattle Romance Writers Chapter, (GSRWA), Sisters In Crime, and Fantasy, Futuristic & Paranormal, (FFPRWA). She served as President of Peninsula Romance Writers, which was Debbie Macomber’s home chapter.


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Brought to you by:

Bad Apple by Lani Lynn Vale

Title: Bad Apple
Author: Lani Lynn Vale
Series: Uncertain Saint’s MC #4
Genre: Motorcycle Romance
Release Date: September 1, 2016
Cover Photographer: Furious Fotog
Cover Model: Alex Minsky
Summary:
The road to hell is paved with good intentions…

Apple “Core” Drew needs The Uncertain Saints MC like he needs air. He is barely making it through the day, and each one that goes by takes him closer and closer to hell. Literally, not figuratively.

He’s a half breath away from killing himself—maybe not by taking his own life, but he’s not against making someone else do it for him.

Then he meets her. One of his club member’s sister, and his whole outlook on life changes.

And not for the better.

Just as surely as he ruined his life, he ruins her life, too. One lapse in judgement on his part, and his one night of happiness turns into the worst nine months of his life.

Which he would’ve thought was damn near impossible with the things he’s done and seen.

She never saw it coming…

It was the beard. The beard made her do it.

That is a good excuse for having sex with a man she barely knows, isn’t it?

Yeah, who was she kidding? It wasn’t the beard. It was the way he looked so dejected and solemn. The sad look in his eyes pulls her in, and the way his rough hands touch her makes her stay.

All she wants to do is take that look out of his eyes, but the consequences to her actions only make things worse, not better.

One day is all she gets, and he’s not willing to give her more.

Until she dies, that is. Then it’s too late.


“Your brother’s gonna kick my ass you know,” I said.

“Why?” she asked.

I snorted.

“A, because he doesn’t like me.  Two because he doesn’t like me,” I explained seriously.

“My brother’s suspicious,” she amended.  “And he doesn’t hate you.  If he hated you, you’d be treated like my brother.”

“And how’s that?”  I asked in confusion, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Like a common criminal,” she expounded.  “Ridley keeps him under surveillance, and he doesn’t get to come around me, him, or any of the club members.”

“Hmm,” I started walking faster.  “Interesting.”

She nodded.

“He’s not here,” she informed me.

“Okay,” I said, my eyes following the movement of her finger as she brought one manicured finger up to her mouth and bit lightly on the nail.

“Do I have to spell it out for you?” She lifted her brows, her finger still rubbing lightly across her bottom lip.

I rebalanced my weight on both feet as I readied myself for whatever was going to come out of her mouth next.

I wasn’t disappointed.  It was quite shocking, to say the least.

“I want you to fuck me,” she said.

She didn’t lead up to it or anything, just blurted that shit out there.

Which might’ve been why I couldn’t think of anything to say to that.

“I’m…” I hesitated.

“You’re a pussy,” she said, brows raised.

My eyebrows lowered.

“That’s certainly not what I was going to say,” I informed her.  “Which you would’ve known had you not interrupted me.”

“Most people finish their sentences in a timely manner,” she said stiffly.

She was getting pissed.

Interesting.

“Desperate much?”  I asked her.  “You have to proposition guys that don’t want you in an attempt to get what you want?”

Her mouth dropped open in affront.

“You’re shitting me right now, aren’t you?” she asked, hurt evident in her voice.

“Yes,” I said, contrite.  “But you surprised me is all.  And I’m not a pussy.”

“Well, what are you?” she asked primly.

“Honestly?”  I asked.

She nodded.

“Yes.”

“I’m trying to get into a club that my father thinks’ll be good for my PTSD and anger management,” I answered.  “And to do that, I need to not piss off the members; for example, your brother.”

Her mouth thinned.

“My brother’s already let you know that he doesn’t like you.  What’s sleeping with his sister going to change?” she challenged.

I paused, unsure how to answer that.

“Well…” on one hand she was correct.  He wasn’t going to hate me any less if I slept with his sister.

And I did find her attractive.

Extremely attractive.

She was gorgeous.

And I’m not talking in a girl next door kind of way.  I’m talking about a ‘keep her locked down in baggy pants and a sweat shirt’ kind of way and still beat the men off with a stick.

She’d be hell on the heart, that was for sure.

Her long, black curly hair came to about mid back, and her porcelain white skin seemed almost luminescent under the light of the moon.

She had long legs that looked fucking superb in those tight jeans she had on, not to mention the black Jack Daniel’s t-shirt she was wearing, cut up in that fashion that women seemed to like now-a-days, was only accentuating her curves.

And what little denial I tried to hang on to by the tips of my fingers slipped away, leaving only one thing in my mind.

I couldn’t pass this opportunity up.

Not after I’d been lusting after the woman for so long, even though she didn’t know that.

“You really want this?” I asked her, crowding her so close that she started backing up out of reaction.

She licked her lips, and then nodded.

“Yes,” she said surely.  “Or I wouldn’t have brought it up.”

“You know who I am?” he asked.  “You’re not intoxicated and asking for things that you shouldn’t be asking for in this condition.”

She laughed in my face.

“Oh, honey. Now you’re just trying to think up an excuse to back out, aren’t you?” she glared.





Author Bio:
I’m a married mother of three. My kids are all under 5, so I can assure you that they are a handful. I’ve been with my paramedic husband now for ten years, and we’ve produced three offspring that are nothing like us. I live in the greatest state in the world, Texas.

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Friday, September 2, 2016

Friday's Film Adaptions: The Most Dangerous Game by Richard Connell


Summary:
The Most Dangerous Game is a tense story pitting man against man and the hunted against the hunter. Sanger Rainsford falls from a yacht on route to Rio de Janeiro to hunt jaguars. He manages to swim to a nearby island, but there the hunter becomes the hunted.


"OFF THERE to the right--somewhere--is a large island," said Whitney." It's rather a mystery--"

"What island is it?" Rainsford asked.

"The old charts call it `Ship-Trap Island,"' Whitney replied." A suggestive name, isn't it? Sailors have a curious dread of the place. I don't know why. Some superstition--"

"Can't see it," remarked Rainsford, trying to peer through the dank tropical night that was palpable as it pressed its thick warm blackness in upon the yacht.

"You've good eyes," said Whitney, with a laugh," and I've seen you pick off a moose moving in the brown fall bush at four hundred yards, but even you can't see four miles or so through a moonless Caribbean night."

"Nor four yards," admitted Rainsford. "Ugh! It's like moist black velvet."

"It will be light enough in Rio," promised Whitney. "We should make it in a few days. I hope the jaguar guns have come from Purdey's. We should have some good hunting up the Amazon. Great sport, hunting."

"The best sport in the world," agreed Rainsford.

"For the hunter," amended Whitney. "Not for the jaguar."

"Don't talk rot, Whitney," said Rainsford. "You're a big-game hunter, not a philosopher. Who cares how a jaguar feels?"

"Perhaps the jaguar does," observed Whitney.

"Bah! They've no understanding."

"Even so, I rather think they understand one thing--fear. The fear of pain and the fear of death."

"Nonsense," laughed Rainsford. "This hot weather is making you soft, Whitney. Be a realist. The world is made up of two classes--the hunters and the huntees. Luckily, you and I are hunters. Do you think we've passed that island yet?"

"I can't tell in the dark. I hope so."

"Why? " asked Rainsford.

"The place has a reputation--a bad one."

"Cannibals?" suggested Rainsford.

"Hardly. Even cannibals wouldn't live in such a God-forsaken place. But it's gotten into sailor lore, somehow. Didn't you notice that the crew's nerves seemed a bit jumpy today?"

"They were a bit strange, now you mention it. Even Captain Nielsen--"

"Yes, even that tough-minded old Swede, who'd go up to the devil himself and ask him for a light. Those fishy blue eyes held a look I never saw there before. All I could get out of him was `This place has an evil name among seafaring men, sir.' Then he said to me, very gravely, `Don't you feel anything?'--as if the air about us was actually poisonous. Now, you mustn't laugh when I tell you this--I did feel something like a sudden chill.

"There was no breeze. The sea was as flat as a plate-glass window. We were drawing near the island then. What I felt was a--a mental chill; a sort of sudden dread."

"Pure imagination," said Rainsford.

"One superstitious sailor can taint the whole ship's company with his fear."

"Maybe. But sometimes I think sailors have an extra sense that tells them when they are in danger. Sometimes I think evil is a tangible thing--with wave lengths, just as sound and light have. An evil place can, so to speak, broadcast vibrations of evil. Anyhow, I'm glad we're getting out of this zone. Well, I think I'll turn in now, Rainsford."

"I'm not sleepy," said Rainsford. "I'm going to smoke another pipe up on the afterdeck."

"Good night, then, Rainsford. See you at breakfast."

"Right. Good night, Whitney."

There was no sound in the night as Rainsford sat there but the muffled throb of the engine that drove the yacht swiftly through the darkness, and the swish and ripple of the wash of the propeller.

Rainsford, reclining in a steamer chair, indolently puffed on his favorite brier. The sensuous drowsiness of the night was on him." It's so dark," he thought, "that I could sleep without closing my eyes; the night would be my eyelids--"

An abrupt sound startled him. Off to the right he heard it, and his ears, expert in such matters, could not be mistaken. Again he heard the sound, and again. Somewhere, off in the blackness, someone had fired a gun three times.

Rainsford sprang up and moved quickly to the rail, mystified. He strained his eyes in the direction from which the reports had come, but it was like trying to see through a blanket. He leaped upon the rail and balanced himself there, to get greater elevation; his pipe, striking a rope, was knocked from his mouth. He lunged for it; a short, hoarse cry came from his lips as he realized he had reached too far and had lost his balance. The cry was pinched off short as the blood-warm waters of the Caribbean Sea dosed over his head.

He struggled up to the surface and tried to cry out, but the wash from the speeding yacht slapped him in the face and the salt water in his open mouth made him gag and strangle. Desperately he struck out with strong strokes after the receding lights of the yacht, but he stopped before he had swum fifty feet. A certain coolheadedness had come to him; it was not the first time he had been in a tight place. There was a chance that his cries could be heard by someone aboard the yacht, but that chance was slender and grew more slender as the yacht raced on. He wrestled himself out of his clothes and shouted with all his power. The lights of the yacht became faint and ever-vanishing fireflies; then they were blotted out entirely by the night.

Rainsford remembered the shots. They had come from the right, and doggedly he swam in that direction, swimming with slow, deliberate strokes, conserving his strength. For a seemingly endless time he fought the sea. He began to count his strokes; he could do possibly a hundred more and then--

Rainsford heard a sound. It came out of the darkness, a high screaming sound, the sound of an animal in an extremity of anguish and terror.

He did not recognize the animal that made the sound; he did not try to; with fresh vitality he swam toward the sound. He heard it again; then it was cut short by another noise, crisp, staccato.

"Pistol shot," muttered Rainsford, swimming on.

Ten minutes of determined effort brought another sound to his ears--the most welcome he had ever heard--the muttering and growling of the sea breaking on a rocky shore. He was almost on the rocks before he saw them; on a night less calm he would have been shattered against them. With his remaining strength he dragged himself from the swirling waters. Jagged crags appeared to jut up into the opaqueness; he forced himself upward, hand over hand. Gasping, his hands raw, he reached a flat place at the top. Dense jungle came down to the very edge of the cliffs. What perils that tangle of trees and underbrush might hold for him did not concern Rainsford just then. All he knew was that he was safe from his enemy, the sea, and that utter weariness was on him. He flung himself down at the jungle edge and tumbled headlong into the deepest sleep of his life.

When he opened his eyes he knew from the position of the sun that it was late in the afternoon. Sleep had given him new vigor; a sharp hunger was picking at him. He looked about him, almost cheerfully.

"Where there are pistol shots, there are men. Where there are men, there is food," he thought. But what kind of men, he wondered, in so forbidding a place? An unbroken front of snarled and ragged jungle fringed the shore.

He saw no sign of a trail through the closely knit web of weeds and trees; it was easier to go along the shore, and Rainsford floundered along by the water. Not far from where he landed, he stopped.

Some wounded thing--by the evidence, a large animal--had thrashed about in the underbrush; the jungle weeds were crushed down and the moss was lacerated; one patch of weeds was stained crimson. A small, glittering object not far away caught Rainsford's eye and he picked it up. It was an empty cartridge.

"A twenty-two," he remarked. "That's odd. It must have been a fairly large animal too. The hunter had his nerve with him to tackle it with a light gun. It's clear that the brute put up a fight. I suppose the first three shots I heard was when the hunter flushed his quarry and wounded it. The last shot was when he trailed it here and finished it."

He examined the ground closely and found what he had hoped to find--the print of hunting boots. They pointed along the cliff in the direction he had been going. Eagerly he hurried along, now slipping on a rotten log or a loose stone, but making headway; night was beginning to settle down on the island.

Bleak darkness was blacking out the sea and jungle when Rainsford sighted the lights. He came upon them as he turned a crook in the coast line; and his first thought was that be had come upon a village, for there were many lights. But as he forged along he saw to his great astonishment that all the lights were in one enormous building--a lofty structure with pointed towers plunging upward into the gloom. His eyes made out the shadowy outlines of a palatial chateau; it was set on a high bluff, and on three sides of it cliffs dived down to where the sea licked greedy lips in the shadows.

"Mirage," thought Rainsford. But it was no mirage, he found, when he opened the tall spiked iron gate. The stone steps were real enough; the massive door with a leering gargoyle for a knocker was real enough; yet above it all hung an air of unreality.

He lifted the knocker, and it creaked up stiffly, as if it had never before been used. He let it fall, and it startled him with its booming loudness. He thought he heard steps within; the door remained closed. Again Rainsford lifted the heavy knocker, and let it fall. The door opened then--opened as suddenly as if it were on a spring--and Rainsford stood blinking in the river of glaring gold light that poured out. The first thing Rainsford's eyes discerned was the largest man Rainsford had ever seen--a gigantic creature, solidly made and black bearded to the waist. In his hand the man held a long-barreled revolver, and he was pointing it straight at Rainsford's heart.

Out of the snarl of beard two small eyes regarded Rainsford.

"Don't be alarmed," said Rainsford, with a smile which he hoped was disarming. "I'm no robber. I fell off a yacht. My name is Sanger Rainsford of New York City."

The menacing look in the eyes did not change. The revolver pointing as rigidly as if the giant were a statue. He gave no sign that he understood Rainsford's words, or that he had even heard them. He was dressed in uniform--a black uniform trimmed with gray astrakhan.

"I'm Sanger Rainsford of New York," Rainsford began again. "I fell off a yacht. I am hungry."

The man's only answer was to raise with his thumb the hammer of his revolver. Then Rainsford saw the man's free hand go to his forehead in a military salute, and he saw him click his heels together and stand at attention. Another man was coming down the broad marble steps, an erect, slender man in evening clothes. He advanced to Rainsford and held out his hand.

In a cultivated voice marked by a slight accent that gave it added precision and deliberateness, he said, "It is a very great pleasure and honor to welcome Mr. Sanger Rainsford, the celebrated hunter, to my home."

Automatically Rainsford shook the man's hand.

"I've read your book about hunting snow leopards in Tibet, you see," explained the man. "I am General Zaroff."

Rainsford's first impression was that the man was singularly handsome; his second was that there was an original, almost bizarre quality about the general's face. He was a tall man past middle age, for his hair was a vivid white; but his thick eyebrows and pointed military mustache were as black as the night from which Rainsford had come. His eyes, too, were black and very bright. He had high cheekbones, a sharpcut nose, a spare, dark face--the face of a man used to giving orders, the face of an aristocrat. Turning to the giant in uniform, the general made a sign. The giant put away his pistol, saluted, withdrew.

"Ivan is an incredibly strong fellow," remarked the general, "but he has the misfortune to be deaf and dumb. A simple fellow, but, I'm afraid, like all his race, a bit of a savage."

"Is he Russian?"

"He is a Cossack," said the general, and his smile showed red lips and pointed teeth. "So am I."

"Come," he said, "we shouldn't be chatting here. We can talk later. Now you want clothes, food, rest. You shall have them. This is a most-restful spot."

Ivan had reappeared, and the general spoke to him with lips that moved but gave forth no sound.

"Follow Ivan, if you please, Mr. Rainsford," said the general. "I was about to have my dinner when you came. I'll wait for you. You'll find that my clothes will fit you, I think."

It was to a huge, beam-ceilinged bedroom with a canopied bed big enough for six men that Rainsford followed the silent giant. Ivan laid out an evening suit, and Rainsford, as he put it on, noticed that it came from a London tailor who ordinarily cut and sewed for none below the rank of duke.

The dining room to which Ivan conducted him was in many ways remarkable. There was a medieval magnificence about it; it suggested a baronial hall of feudal times with its oaken panels, its high ceiling, its vast refectory tables where twoscore men could sit down to eat. About the hall were mounted heads of many animals--lions, tigers, elephants, moose, bears; larger or more perfect specimens Rainsford had never seen. At the great table the general was sitting, alone.

"You'll have a cocktail, Mr. Rainsford," he suggested. The cocktail was surpassingly good; and, Rainsford noted, the table apointments were of the finest--the linen, the crystal, the silver, the china.

They were eating borsch, the rich, red soup with whipped cream so dear to Russian palates. Half apologetically General Zaroff said, "We do our best to preserve the amenities of civilization here. Please forgive any lapses. We are well off the beaten track, you know. Do you think the champagne has suffered from its long ocean trip?"

"Not in the least," declared Rainsford. He was finding the general a most thoughtful and affable host, a true cosmopolite. But there was one small trait of .the general's that made Rainsford uncomfortable. Whenever he looked up from his plate he found the general studying him, appraising him narrowly.

"Perhaps," said General Zaroff, "you were surprised that I recognized your name. You see, I read all books on hunting published in English, French, and Russian. I have but one passion in my life, Mr. Rainsford, and it is the hunt."

"You have some wonderful heads here," said Rainsford as he ate a particularly well-cooked filet mignon. " That Cape buffalo is the largest I ever saw."

"Oh, that fellow. Yes, he was a monster."

"Did he charge you?"

"Hurled me against a tree," said the general. "Fractured my skull. But I got the brute."

"I've always thought," said Rainsford, "that the Cape buffalo is the most dangerous of all big game."

For a moment the general did not reply; he was smiling his curious red-lipped smile. Then he said slowly, "No. You are wrong, sir. The Cape buffalo is not the most dangerous big game." He sipped his wine. "Here in my preserve on this island," he said in the same slow tone, "I hunt more dangerous game."

Rainsford expressed his surprise. "Is there big game on this island?"

The general nodded. "The biggest."

"Really?"

"Oh, it isn't here naturally, of course. I have to stock the island."

"What have you imported, general?" Rainsford asked. "Tigers?"

The general smiled. "No," he said. "Hunting tigers ceased to interest me some years ago. I exhausted their possibilities, you see. No thrill left in tigers, no real danger. I live for danger, Mr. Rainsford."

The general took from his pocket a gold cigarette case and offered his guest a long black cigarette with a silver tip; it was perfumed and gave off a smell like incense.

"We will have some capital hunting, you and I," said the general. "I shall be most glad to have your society."

"But what game--" began Rainsford.

"I'll tell you," said the general. "You will be amused, I know. I think I may say, in all modesty, that I have done a rare thing. I have invented a new sensation. May I pour you another glass of port?"

"Thank you, general."

Film
A big game hunter decides to stalk human prey.

Release Date: September 16, 1932
Release Time: 63 minutes

Cast:
Joel McCrea as Robert "Bob" Rainsford
Fay Wray as Eve Trowbridge
Leslie Banks as Count Zaroff
Robert Armstrong as Martin Trowbridge
Noble Johnson as Ivan
Steve Clemente as Tartar
Dutch Hendrian as Servant
William B. Davidson as Captain


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Author Bio:
Richard Edward Connell, Jr. (October 28, 1893 – November 23, 1949) was an American author and journalist, best known for his short story "The Most Dangerous Game." Connell was one of the best-known American short story writers of his time and his stories appeared in the Saturday Evening Post and Collier's Weekly. Connell had equal success as a journalist and screenwriter. He was nominated for an Academy Award for best original story for 1941's Meet John Doe. He died of a heart attack in Beverly Hills, California on November 22, 1949 at the age of fifty-six.


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