For years, Tristan Blackthorn has toiled to find his lost love. He finally decides to use Blackthorn Printing, along with his newly created Dark Tales Diaries, as a way to find her. Will her story be one of the three tales in Volume One?
Mistress Guinevere’s calling card is her Red Stilettos. She specializes in a particular fetish and always maintains her control, until a man from her past returns to test her will.
A recently divorced woman experiences the effects of empty nest syndrome after her twins head off to college. With the clock ticking away, she decides it’s far past time to seek out something that has always eluded her. Will she find what she’s looking for withThe Leather’s Edge?
And a bored computer programmer learns what it’s like to feel sexual freedom after being bound by a Master in Safe Word.
Be Warned: bondage, anal sex, sex toys, fetish
“It’s been a long time,” he said in a voice that still sent shivers up my spine. “I was in town, and decided, why not?”
I crossed my arms and eyed him suspiciously. “Humm…”
“That’s it? All you have to say is, ‘Humm?’”
“Humm is better than what I was really thinking, Marcus.”
His mouth twitched at the corners, and I hated the fact I noticed how damn sexy his lips were.
“Guinn,” he said.
“Guinevere,” I corrected. I set my expression to that of unyielding stone and ignored those sparkling straight white teeth as he smiled. His wicked ways no longer affected me. I’d broken his spell two years ago, and I wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. I was Mistress Guinevere. I was in control, he wasn’t, and I would never relinquish the balance of power out of my favor again.
He tilted his head in that roguish way and eyed me. Heat radiated from my core. “So, am I to stand here in the hall or are you going to let me come in, Guinevere?”
“I hate you, Marcus, so why should I let you in?”
“Hate is a strong word for someone who claimed no feelings for me whatsoever as she stormed out of my apartment a couple of years ago.”
“What do you want? I don’t have times for your games,” I said rather tersely.
“Let me in. Then I’ll tell you.”
“You’re going to have to do better than that, Marcus. What’s wrong? Have you lost your touch? If you think that will entice me, you are so wrong.”
Marcus Warner, Master Dom, pulled out a gorgeous pair of thigh-high, red leather, spike-heeled boots from behind his back, holding them out in front of him so I could see every lovely inch of the unmistakable Italian craftsmanship on the handmade beauties.
“You won’t let me in even if I’m baring gifts?”
I eyed the boots before returning my gaze to him.
“What’s the old saying?” I asked. His perfectly shaped eyebrow lifted. “Isn’t it, beware of those baring gifts?”
He dangled the boots. Swinging them from side to side. Tempting me.
I’ll give Marcus his dues. Since the first day I met him, he had my number, and during the year I spent with him, I gave him too much of myself, falling back into what I believed to be the weakness I worked so hard with Mistress Payne to rid myself of.
Marcus sniffed the leather of the boots in his hand, giving me that smile again. He knew me well, maybe too well, and he knew those boots would be like kryptonite, cracking my will.
“All right. You can come in, but only for a while.”
“That’s my little, Guinn,” he said.
“I’m not your little anything, and don’t call me Guinn!” I stepped aside so he could enter, shutting the door behind him.
He strolled into my apartment as though he belonged, sat the boots down on my glass coffee table, and took a seat, rather casually, on my leather couch. He patted the space next to him.
“Well, come on. I’m not going to bite, unless you want me to,” he said, releasing his sexy sideway smirk.
I took a seat in the chair across from the couch. This was my house, and I’d sit where I wanted to.
He chuckled, shook his head, leaned back, and kicked his feet out, positioning them under my coffee table.
“Marcus, are you going to tell me why you’re here?”
“To see you.”
“I’m not buying that.”
“Aren’t you going to try on the boots?”
“No,” I said.
“You know you want to,” he baited.
“Listen. I’m not sure what you are up to, and frankly I really don’t care—”
“I’m up to the business of you,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe I let you go too soon. Maybe I regret it. Maybe I’ve decided it’s been long enough, and I want you back.”
I snorted. “I left you, remember? You didn’t let me do anything.”
There was that grin of his. The one that makes any woman consider her panties, his mouth, his tongue… Stop it, Guinevere. Don’t forget this is Marcus, the man you loath.
“Really?” His onyx-colored eyes met me, and held me there with him. Stare for stare, we were locked in a secret power play for dominance.
“We never worked well together,” I said. “You’re a dom, and I’m a dom, and neither is willing to give.”
“Baby, you’re a switch. You like to dominate, but you also like to be dominated.”
“No. I’m not,” I protested.
“You always liked it when I took the control,” he said, assuredly. “With one word, you were wet for me.”
“I like being in control. And I have no intention or interest in being submissive. Not for you, not for anybody.”
“How long are you going to keep telling yourself that lie?”
I stood up, pissed off and ready to rage. “Marcus, I don’t have to explain anything, justify my life and my choices, or put up with your shit. I think your time is up. I’d like to say it was good seeing you again, but that would be a lie.”
“You’ve always lied to yourself when it comes to me and how I make you feel.”
“You don’t make me feel anything, Marcus. Get over yourself.”
I marched to the front door. Marcus followed behind me. I reached for the knob, and was stopped by his large hand as it covered mine. He placed his mouth to my ear. His warm breath tickled across my cheek.
“Guinevere,” he said in a low, deep growl. Immediately, my sex trembled. And fuckadie, fuck, fuck, he was right. One word. And that one word was my name falling from his lips.
About the Author:
London wrote her first short story in the second grade. Her teacher informed her parents London had a big imagination, but having a big imagination wasn’t necessarily a good thing as far as he was concerned. Without watering that seed of imagination, London placed her vivid characters, her childhood stories, along with her imagination on the shelf, where they would wither for a while. At the urging of her eighth grade English teacher, London pulled her imagination off that shelf, and wrote her second short story. To no surprise, it was a love story inspired by a song. Then as life does, it moves on, so yet again London placed her imagination on the shelf to wither for a while. She needed to do the “sensible thing.”
The sensible thing earned London a degree in Psychology, but while in college she traversed into writing once more, and was encouraged by a couple of professors to pursue that endeavor. She took on the world of written word, and has never looked back.
London writes erotic romance from sweet to downright naughty. She is an author for Evernight Publishing, a member of the Romance Writers of America, and a member of Passionate Ink.
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