Harrold lives an empty life. He has no joy in his marriage, no love of his work. His only reprieve is found at the hands of the whores, the ones he pays to beat and debase him. Upon being accepted into Blue Moon House, he learns the real cost for his desires, and what underlying need is really aching to be filled.
Could you be an equal and a subordinate at the same time?
How long would you hold out if you knew what you wanted would be paid for in blood?
Kick off 2016 with a visit to Blue Moon House, where the vampires will keep you warm, especially your bottom. Let me know what your fantasy for the New Year is. To spark your imagination, here's an excerpt from Gentleman.
“Hmm.” Her eyes took him in slowly. “I think you should remove your shirt.”
Harrold readily obeyed, peeling away his jacket and shirt.
“Sit here,” she directed, pointing to the floor between her knees. She leaned him forward and began tracing his back. “How did you come by these?”
“Belt buckles and careless whores.”
“Did you reprimand them?” she asked, working her way lower.
He chuckled. “Actually, I told them to beat me harder.”
“Why?”
The situation seemed odd to Harrold. He was between her knees. If he faced the other way his nose would be in her sex, but instead she asked him questions.
“I don't know. It felt...better when I bled. The madams were quick to punish the girls if they found out.”
“Did they?”
“When I couldn't avoid it.”
“Do you want more?” Opening the doors of the wardrobe, she dug around inside and came out with a whip. It was as long as she was tall, made of fine braided leather. The end was knotted with several straps flaring out. Harrold stiffened when he saw it, scrambling to his feet to stand nearer.
His chest rose and fell. His desire, he hoped, was clear on his face. Lynn turned slightly and cracked the whip. He almost erupted in his pants. Fighting with belt and fly, he rushed to get out of them.
Lynn stopped him with a hand on his wrist. As he had been before, he was impressed at her strength.
“Does your strength come with the blood?” he asked, curious, but afraid.
“Do you care? As long as I use it on this.” She cracked the whip again, harder and faster than the first time. “I want you uncomfortable, Harrold,” she said, stepping close enough to kiss. Her hand released his wrist so she could palm his erection through his trousers. “I want you to make a mess of your fine clothes. What do you say?”
Grinning, he found precisely the right word, “Black.”
Lynn tossed her head back to laugh. Continuing to hold him, she walked him to the bed, one of the foot posts. “Hold onto that,” she told him, stepping back. He wrapped both hands around the brass knob capping the short post.
There was no warning before the assault began. Each shoulder was lashed quickly. Lynn paused and Harry drew a breath against the fire kindled in his skin. The sting had just dulled and he was about to say black when another lash came, a heartbeat later, a second. Then she paused again. She was perfect. Closer together and he would scream and beg her to stop. A longer pause and he would lose the high he rode upon. He lost count of the lashes, but she warned him when she stopped.
“I need a break, Harrold. I...I promised not to bite, but your blood...”
He could feel it in a few places, slow drips rolling down his skin.
“Drink it,” he insisted. He'd paid for his pleasure in blood, so why shouldn't she take her payment? Besides, she wouldn't be biting him, drinking from him, only lapping what he shed. He held more tightly to the post against his anxiety. He was still afraid.
Lynn didn't hesitate. Her hands wrapped around him, over his belly and chest, stroking. Her tongue left him shivering as it tickled.
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