Sinful
Press is proud to announce the release of A Variety of
Chains, an erotic paranormal novel by Christine Blackthorn,
and the first in the Bloodhavens series.
Kathryn McClusky
is an ErGer – a rare and highly prized individual in the supernatural world.
She has spent
her life running and hiding, but circumstances have changed and the only way to
protect her family is to hand herself over to the Vampire Lord of London to
face slavery or death.
Lucian Neben
runs his London court with a stern but fair hand, but political pressures are
building from both the human and fey worlds, and taking possession of an ErGer
would cement his position of power.
Kathryn is
vulnerable and broken almost beyond repair, but she holds in her hands the one
treasure Lucian desperately wants – the possibility of home and family.
Can he teach her
to open herself up; to choose to life, and him, before reality forces him to
take her freedom?
Quickly he
attached a second cuff on her other thigh and tightened the ankle restraints,
leaving her laid out on the bed, restrained and open, her legs parted and bent,
entirely helpless and accessible to his touch.
"You
have no idea how beautiful you are like this – splayed for my desire, unable to
resist the pleasure I can give you." It was his voice that kept the rising
panic at bay. She felt the bed dip on her side and knew he had come to kneel
beside her, but the first real touch was a soft kiss on her belly, a loving
touch more than a seduction. Then his hands began to play over her in gentle
caresses and soft massages, touching her everywhere without a pattern that would
have forewarned her. One moment his hands were playing along her flank, over
her hipbone, the next they circled her wrists above the restraints, reminding
her of them, or massaged along her thigh. But he never touched her pussy or let
even the gentlest movement play over her breasts. This absence made her skin
there hungry and sensitive to him, more so than he could have done with hands
or lips. She started to burn, inside out, every cell of her body reorienting
itself to him, her mind consumed entirely by the expectation of his touch. Her
ears followed his movements, her nose noticing his scent over that of the fire
and her own arousal. When his lips engulfed her nipple in wet, hot sensation, a
strange sound was torn from her, a sound somewhere between a moan and a cry.
His encouragement became a caress of its own on her sensitised skin.
"Sing
for me, Kathryn. Let me hear your pleasure.”
He took his
time with her breasts, sucking, licking, never pushing her endurance but
centring all her attention on his mouth over her nipples and his hands roving
over her body. Only when she felt both her breasts swollen and heavy, her
nipples taut and engorged, did he let up. Her breath was panting and as he sat
up, removing his hands from her, she whimpered from abandonment, not pleasure.
Every aspect of her demanded his touch, his scent, his voice – him.
His dark
laughter rose to engulf her.
"Shh,
now. We have only just started. I am here, always at your side. Remember that
to get relief you only have to tell me something intimate, something I cannot
guess or reason out for myself. A secret of your heart." As he spoke she
heard the sound of a bottle opening, and the smell of peppermint permeated the
room. She felt the touch of a cool cloth over nipples, leaving behind a slight
wetness, nothing else. She was distracted from the new sensation by the hand
gently stroking along her thigh to her vagina, a teasing touch cumulating in a
finger stroking along her labia, collecting the moisture at her entrance and
spreading it along the length to circle once over her clitoris. Then she felt a
second cloth stroking along each side of her engorged clitoris, not touching
directly but applying something to the skin around it. And suddenly there was a
burn – a warming of her skin first but then heat in ever increasing intensity.
In "real" life, I am an
academic with degrees in Political Science, Economics, Philosophy and Law and
an insatiable desire to confound, baffle and disconcert my students. Someone
once suggested to me the reason for my stories lay in the desire to offset the
tedium and rationality of academic life. He wasn't an academic or he would have
known better. It is best to use research against tedium, students to offset the
rationality and an unlimited supply of stressballs for the faculty meetings.
The stories? Well, they are just for me - like a mental manicure.
I also write a blog on Feminism
and Erotica - come talk to me:
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