In this week’s excerpts from DIRTY DOMS, available on pre-order for just 99 cents, Jade Belfry turns up the heat and Tara Crescent explores the world of pet play. The DIRTY DOMS Anthology, which delves into your filthiest fantasies, is available on June 28.
Professor Knows Best By Juliet Braddock
After a decade of longing, will absence take its toll on two weary souls who crave for kinky play? Meet Professor Justin Langford and his sassy little student Sloane Bradford….
Kaise: A White Card Story By: Jade Belfry
Will this cold attorney allow the flames of passion to melt her heart of stone? Kaise didn’t want love and certainly didn’t have time for sex. That is, until she loses a major case and her trusted assistant all on the same day. Feeling sorry for herself and fortified by drink, she dials a secret number given to her by a friend. Things heat up when the call connects and she reaches an ultra-exclusive team of sexual trainers that are about to show her everything she never knew that she’s been missing. Including perhaps the old flame she’s never forgotten.
Club Ménage: Fifi By: Tara Crescent
Something’s wrong at Club Ménage…
After escaping an abusive relationship with her dominant, Fiona Clarke swore off submission for life. But when the private investigator is hired to solve a case of blackmail at the secretive Club Ménage, she finds that she hasn’t managed to leave her past behind.
Adrian Lockart and Brody Payne protected Fiona from her dominant, until the day they disappeared from her life without a trace. When they reunite at Club Ménage, can they convince Fiona to trust them again, and can they protect her from the danger that surrounds them on all sides?
Take a look at the hot, new DIRTY DOMS trailer! You can pre-order this hot and kinky read for just 99 cents!
In celebration of the publication of the DIRTY DOMS Anthology on June 28, I’m going to be featuring some snippets here every week until release day. Make sure you check back to check out the tantalizing teasers from this scorching collection of naughty stories of Domination and submission.
Each author has selected a specific kink for her story. This week I present Jordan Ashley with her tear-jerking tale of trust through sensory play and Serena Akeroyd who weaves a tale of secrets, lies…and the ultimate in control.
Professor Knows Best By: Juliet Braddock
Professor Justin Langford is on a mission to teach his star student Sloane Bradford a few lessons in her deepest, dirtiest fantasies. However, the last thing he needs is another college girl.
After a miscommunication separates them, fate reunites the reluctant lovers.
From swing sets to sex shops, Justin challenges Sloane to embrace a life filled with sippy-cups and spankings. Sloane has much to learn if she’s still intent on being his prized pupil.
Will Justin manage to control her rising brat enough to transform Sloane into Daddy’s Little Girl?
Deprived By: Jordan Ashley
Heather Ross vowed after a decade of being controlled by her husband that she would never trust her heart with someone again. That is until her best friend moves in to help her through being a single mom. His gentle, playful nature made her remember what she always wanted in a man, waking desires she thought long buried deep in her soul.
Jack Stevens never imagined that moving in with Heather every fantasy and dream he’d concocted to get him through lonely nights would come true. The day Heather confessed her desire for him Jack swore he would use every tool in his arsenal learned as a Dom to help her trust him completely even with his own lingering skeletons.
Can Heather learn to trust Jack when she has been deprived of her true desires for too long?
Secrets & Lies By: Serena Akeroyd
Meg’s love life was missing a spark until she discovered her need to be dominated. When her fiancé shared the same kink, she thought all her birthdays had come at once, and then she came to learn their relationship was one big fat lie.
Gabe has loved Meg for years, watching her from afar, and always wishing he’d been the one to date her first and not his brother. When he has the chance to have Meg in his bed—even better, tied to it—it’s an opportunity he can’t refuse.
With disastrous consequences.
Can Gabe make Meg realize she’s the one woman he’s always wanted? But once secrets and lies have wormed their way into a relationship, is it impossible to establish the firm base of trust needed between lovers, and more importantly, between sub and Sir…?
How about an exclusive excerpt from my brand-new novella,PROFESSOR KNOWS BEST, which will be featured in the upcoming anthology, DIRTY DOMS (June 28).
In PROFESSOR KNOWS BEST, Justin Langford is on a mission to teach his star student Sloane Bradford a few lessons in her deepest, dirtiest fantasies. In fact, the last thing he needs is another college girl. Justin wants his very own Baby Girl.
After a miscommunication separates them for a decade, fate reunites the reluctant lovers, and Sloane returns, bruised and slightly broken, to Justin. However, he’s not given up on his pursuit of Sloane—or on his fantasy.
From swing sets to sex shops, Justin challenges Sloane to embrace a life filled with sippy-cups and spankings, all in the name of Daddy’s Little Girl.
However, Sloane has a lot to learn if she’s still intent on being his prized pupil. Will Justin manage to control her rising brat enough to transform Sloane into Daddy’s Little Girl?
EXCERPT – PROFESSOR KNOWS BEST
“Ah, it’s Sloane…”
The Professor leaned into his desk and folded his hands. That afternoon, he wore his tortoiseshell framed glasses. Dammit, if he didn’t look absolutely fuckable. Sloane so loved a geek. However, she didn’t like the tone in his voice, and without thought, she kicked his door closed, readying for war.
“Professor…” she greeted him curtly and didn’t bother to obey his gesture to sit.
“I told you to call me—”
“Professor works just fine,” she snapped. “What’s on your mind today? My last paper, I assume?”
“Well, yes, as a matter of fact—”
“Look, no one can shine all the time,” she continued, watching his forehead wrinkle in a bit of surprise and dismay. “I busted my ass to give you everything I had this semester. I’ve given you some of my best work yet. And so it’s the end of the semester, and I just couldn’t overextend myself again. Maybe it’s not Pulitzer Prize worthy, but you—”
Calmly, he stood up and circled his desk. With a firm grip on the guest chair, he scuttled it to the corner, facing the wall, then raised his hand to silence her.
“In the chair, Sloane.”
There was something very different about the Professor that afternoon. In class, he was always relaxed. He joked around. In fact, he was the only professor to date that hadn’t bored her stiff. At that moment, though, she could feel the electricity between them, nearly burning her skin with its current. He was commanding and cool, yet she could feel the wild rush beneath the surface of his words.
Sloane prepared herself to turn around and walk out that door in a greater huff than when she walked in. No one bossed her around or ordered her into a corner. She felt so dastardly Dirty Dancing as she stood against his stern gaze. On top of being a horrible professor, he’d proven himself to be a male chauvinist pig, too! Just the thought of his expectation filled her with ire.
However, she also felt a suspicious rush of heat—on her face and between her legs. Knees weakening, she thought she might just drop to the floor, right in the middle of his damn office.
Every one of her senses had heightened. Jaw falling in shock and chagrin, she stood before him and stared into those challenging green eyes. She could still smell the fresh sea scent of his shower and shampoo lingering upon his skin. She could feel the swell of her breasts and the painful point of her nipples pushing against the thin silk of her bra. The silence of the nearly empty building left her trembling all the more.
Unintentionally, she rolled her tongue along her lips, incapable of saying a single word.
“You can sit,” he said as if he were speaking to a small child. “Or I can put you there, baby doll.”
Mind whirling in dizzying circles, she wobbled her way toward the chair. He hadn’t even touched her and yet she felt so curiously aroused, if not nearly on the brink of fulfillment. Baby doll almost set her over the edge.
Somehow, she managed to maneuver herself down to the chair and landed with a thud to her clit. She hated this stupid man so much that she wanted to just mindfuck him all day.
“Are we alright there?” he asked, as he released the clip from her hair. With his hands settled on her shoulders, he bent down. The heat of his nearness seared against her. “Comfortable?”
“Door…?” was all she could manage.
Somehow, she could feel his wicked smile broadening behind her. “Locks automatically.”
Without another word, he made his way back to his desk and returned to his paperwork. “So, I’ve placed you in the Naughty Chair,” he explained. “How old are you, by the way?”
Now was a fine time to check to make sure she was legal, Sloane mocked him in her mind. Strength, however, had left her. The ability to fight him as she’d intended dwindled with each lingering second. “I’m…I’m twenty…”
“So I’ll set my stopwatch for exactly twenty minutes, and you’ll remain in the corner,” he said. “One minute for each year. Isn’t that the standard punishment for bad little girls?”
Sloane could feel herself slipping into a world far outside her ordered space. She was strong and stable, but she melted under his authority. Something about his command just left her shivering and pouting. She was indeed a bad little girl, aching to be punished. She’d mouthed off to the Professor, and now he was angry.
While he casually graded papers at his laptop, he continued their conversation. “Actually, your last assignment wasn’t that bad,” he began, “but since you took it upon yourself to mouth off to me, you must face the consequences.”
“But, Professor, it—”
“Silence, unless I permit you to speak,” he hushed her, prompting Sloane to nearly choke as she swallowed her breath. “As I was saying…I wanted to congratulate you on two great semesters. I’m well aware of how fucking hard you’ve worked. And you just walked in here with the assumption that I hated your writing.”
“I pushed you, Sloane, because I know what you’re capable of doing,” he insisted. “I want to help you be the very best woman you can be…”
The sudden knock on the door throttled her heart into her throat, and she turned sharply to look at him in panic.
However, he stood up and made his way toward the door. “Sit up straight. Good posture is everything.”
They say to write what you know…and unfortunately, I know a lot about grief.
When I was twenty-five, I lost my mother to a very quick cancer. I had no time to process the fact that she was sick, let alone dying. I was angry and in denial, and years of therapy later, I probably still am. But she was a very different kind of mom.
My father was an asshole. Period. He believed that when a relationship ended, so did his contact with his children. I’m one of five daughters. I have four sisters whom I’ll probably never get to know.
However, my mother made every effort to make up for his absence in my life. In fact, having a single mom was the norm to me, and that’s how we both liked it. I remember she once told me, “I had to have a daughter to have a best friend…” And that’s stuck with me until this day. She was right. We were so much more than mother and daughter.
She was the one I called every single night just to talk about my day, and I was the one she turned to when my grandmother upset her. We went to the theater together. We traveled together. We shared a love of restaurants and wined and dined every chance we had.
All of that togetherness, however, wasn’t born out of duty or necessity. We both really just enjoyed each other’s company. In me, she fostered a love of cats, theater, travel and New York City. We always had something to talk about.
She certainly wasn’t conventional. She cursed like a sailor, and she taught me some life’s lessons that shaped the independent woman I am today. She taught me how to believe in myself and to create a life of my own. She taught me how to make my own happiness. In fact, she packed my bags for New York just because she knew it was the only place in the world that truly made me happy.
Throughout my life, she supported any whim I had. She watched a chubby, clumsy me struggle through dance classes and cheerleading. She attended every single one of my school plays — when I was the star and when I didn’t even get marquis billing. She smiled through my attempts to sing in the children’s choir and to play the piano.
Through all of it, she always returned to what she thought I did best — writing. I admire her to this day for pushing me to write. My father was the writer.
I remember the day we were cleaning out the basement, and she found one of his old manuscripts. She didn’t hide it from me. She showed me. And she said, “You’re a much better writer. You have talent. He just put words down on a page.” We later burned his manuscript in retribution for his taking her Gene Pitney albums when they broke up.
She could have easily deterred me — guided me toward another passion. But instead, she was my biggest fan and encouraged me to major in journalism. In college, I spent months writing my final project — a huge essay on Eva Peron that was published in our literary magazine. I dedicated it to her. And she cried.
I never thought she’d be gone just four years later.
My favorite memories of her were after I moved to New York. I lived in 300 square-feet with my fifteen-pound cat, and she’d visit. Sometimes, she’d bring my friends with her. We’d been to the city so often when I was growing up, but she finally had the chance to sample what it was like to live in New York through me.
We built new traditions those last few years, some of which I’ve kept up today. But there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think of her. I miss her so much that I can feel the physical pain. I wonder what she would say about how my life had turned out. I crave the advice she used to give me. And I miss talking to my best friend.
Most of all, though, I miss telling her how much I loved her. I wish I had just five more minutes with her. Hell, I’d settle for sixty seconds.
Chuck, I love you and miss you. Happy Mother’s Day up in Heaven. Go see a show with all of my Tragic Davids in the sky. Mwuahhh!