Welcome! And thanks for stopping by. This week I'm totally stoked to talk a little bit about His anthology, which is set to release August 15th from Evernight Publishing.
Strength. Power. Experience. No obstacle is too great when an alpha male decides what he wants, and these dominating men are so sexy and irresistible, no woman would dare think of anything but submission. Billionaires, Doms, and mobsters alike aggressively go after the women they want, and they will stop at nothing to fully possess them and make them beg for more.
Come and find out how good it feels to be HIS.
Here's a little tease from my story, A Whisper of Silk:
Mesmerized. That’s the only word to describe how I felt weaving my way through the crowds at carnival. Even on the sidewalks, people were dancing to the beat of the music coming from the differing bands, while over-the-top floats, and scantily clad or even topless dancers sambaed down the main drag. Women in all the colors of the rainbow shook everything the good Lord gave them, and did it while wearing feathered costumes, and huge headpieces festooned in jewels. Red. Gold. Green. Purple. Blue. No color was left out when it came to the decorations on the floats or the people. My gawking ended when I accidentally bumped into someone, but I noticed the scent of exotic flowers more than I noticed anything else about them. The intoxicating smell blended into the other perfumed and glittered bodies that were continuously in motion, then dissipated quickly.
In an attempt to forgo some of the oncoming waves of people, I ducked down a side street. It too was simply overflowing with a busting population. The beat of the night continued as I walked, until I heard something different. It was the sound of someone playing Spanish guitar. I drifted toward the sound, and the music became more prominent to my ear. A few more steps and I was standing in the open doorway of what looked to be a shanty bar. Like a moth to a flame I seemed to gravitate toward the make-shift stage, were a man was playing. His large hands looked too big to be able to pluck the strings on that instrument in such an expert way, and the quickness of his nimble fingers surprised me.
I could feel the passion of the music he was playing, as if he were strumming every chord from somewhere within me. I was so taken in by this talented stranger, that it wasn’t until he played his second piece I observed the man behind the instrument. His dark hair fell in waves down to his shoulders, and as he continued to play, his face showed just as much passion and expression as the notes that filled the bar.
I studied him, intrigued. He was seated on a barstool, with one booted foot on the peeling, painted surface of the stage, while the other was perched upon the metal pedal of the stool. He was wearing black jeans riddled with holes, with a black shirt, which he wore unbuttoned. His muscled chest was splattered in a light cover of dark black hair which partly obscured his cinnamon-infused skin. He was playing with his eyes closed, but his lashes were thick and black, and his facial features were stunning.
It didn’t take long before the people crowded in around him, their drinks of choice in hand. Women and men danced with each other, while other single women swayed to the rhythm on their own, needing no one to be a partner while they demonstrated their own unique versions of an erotic slow dance.
Without removing my eyes from him, I shuffled to the bar and took a seat. He played three more songs then stopped. When he got up from his seated position, he leaned his old, worn guitar against the rusty, corrugated metal wall. As he stepped off the stage, the crowd encircled him, and for a moment, I lost sight of him.
I about choked when I realized he was standing right in front of me.
“Hello,” he said as he pulled his hair back and secured it into a ponytail with a rubber band he had tugged off his wrist. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you in here before.”