Launch Party - Giveaway #4 - Emily Ryan-Davis

 

 

Welcome Emily Ryan-Davis!

 



 

 

Two Steamy Stories in one digital bundle.

 

About CLAIMING LAUREN

One night should have been enough.

Twenty-seven-year-old Lauren Brant is the perfect society wife. She hosts dinners for her husband’s colleagues. She attends charity functions. She’s entirely appropriate…except for her clawing need to submit to a man she knows only as Master.

Unable to deny her cravings, she arranges to meet Master. No names, no faces, nothing but submission and sensation. Except it isn’t enough. Even before the night ends, Lauren needs more.

But “more” isn’t part of the arrangement and she returns to her polished life only to discover her estranged husband has come home. After five years of being invisible to Jacob Brant, Lauren doesn’t know what to do with him. He, however, knows exactly what to do with her…

 

About DOMINATING AMY

 

Till-death-do-us-part should have been enough…

Mac Corcoran spent a long time running from the specter of his parents’ abusive marriage. He’s worked hard to suppress his dark urges and channeled his energy into building his own relationship upon a bedrock of respect and equality.

It takes two people to make a marriage work, however, and when Amy Corcoran’s submissive needs hit a breaking point, her only options are to walk away from the man she loves or force him to acknowledge her as the woman she is now. Even if that woman isn’t the same one he married ten years earlier.

With no more time for running, can Mac overcome his fear and be the Dominant man Amy needs him to be or will fear of repeating the past cost him the only woman he’s ever loved?

 

EXCERPT:

 

From CLAIMING LAUREN:

 

Chapter One

 

These are your instructions

Her manicured fingers hovered over the mouse but didn't settle. She couldn't make the brain-hand connection required to position the cursor to open the e-mail. Her breath clogged behind a knot in her throat and every sensation came down to the heavy pulse of arousal beating between her thighs.

Open meant acceptance. Open meant agreement. Open meant...

Submission.

And just like that, she could breathe again.

Swallowing gulps of climate-controlled air, she gathered submission close to her breast and opened the e-mail. She'd read it before. His instructions weren't new. They'd been living in her inbox for more than a week. She'd fulfilled every imperative except one.

Tell him what you're going to do.

Panic welled up inside her but she drew on a deep reserve of strength--the strength he told her she possessed--and exhaled slowly. She visualized her weakness exiting on a puff of air, dissolving into nothing. When her lungs were empty and the panic was gone, she picked up the house phone and dialed his London number.

A sleep-rough voice answered. A man's voice. Never a woman's voice, not in her husband's house.

She would have taken comfort in the sound of a woman's voice. Jacob taking a lover would mean he'd decided to finally bury his first wife, whom he'd married as an expression of love instead of an action of business. Jacob taking a lover meant...

"Is anybody there?" Jacob's assistant repeated.

Nothing. It meant nothing. Her marriage would never be anything except a business arrangement negotiated by calculating old men. Lauren squared her shoulders and pushed the whisper of hope from her mind. "This is Mrs. Brant. Please notify Mr. Brant that I'm on the line."

"A moment, please." Without a single remark about the hour, which approached 2 a.m. in England, her husband's personal assistant put the call on hold.

Cradling the receiver between her shoulder and ear, Lauren typed practice words while she waited.

I've called to let you know I'm leaving.

No, that was a lie. She wouldn't leave. She was a twenty-seven-year-old society wife, bound to him by prenuptial agreement and the public eye. Even if she could bring herself to walk away from her financial future, she couldn't face the scrutiny of family, peers and the media. A divorce would devastate her father, who had nothing left of his empire except what Lauren retained through her prenup. She deleted the words and typed another sentence.

I've called to let you know I'm in love with another man.

But that was a lie, too. She didn't love anybody. Not Jacob Brant, not even the man who'd agreed to create and nurture her submission. Not anybody. Maybe this would be a different conversation if she could speak the love words, but she couldn't, so she deleted them.

I've called to let you know--

"Lauren?"

Her stomach somersaulted, the way it always did when her husband's voice rolled down the line. She could have fallen in love with a man who owned his voice. She could have--

"I can hear you breathing," he said. She expected the words to sound distant. They were speaking across an ocean, after all, but his voice was clear and alert.

She cleared her throat and dismissed the could-haves. They wouldn't be, and that was a fact she'd accepted years ago. "Jacob. I apologize for disturbing you this late."

"You haven't disturbed me. What do you need?"

"I've called to let you know I'll be out of town for the weekend. I've notified the security company and assigned the staff to light duty only." She paused, reaching for courage.

Jacob spoke into the gap. "You're under no obligation to inform me of your travels. We've discussed this."

His words were meant in the spirit of kindness. Lauren knew that but knowing didn't ease the sting of the other meaning. The "I don't care about your comings and goings because we're nothing but social partners" meaning. She glanced at her e-mail and took strength from it.

"I didn't call to tell you about my travel arrangements. I called to tell you I'll be in Michigan. Meeting a man. Submitting--he's a sexual Dominant. I'm meeting him because I'm going to submit to him. I'm--"

"Stop talking." Jacob's words were firm.

Lauren pressed her lips together and braced herself. For anger. For disappointment For--

"I hope you have a good flight." He ended the call.

She pulled the receiver away from her ear and stared at it. Her shoulders were still tense, prepared for a verbal fight, but Jacob hadn't given her anything. No objection. No...nothing. Only polite words spoken in a neutral tone of voice.

"I hate you," she said to the silent phone. After replacing the receiver on the cradle, she closed her text document and read the e-mail again.

These are your instructions.

 

* * *

 

I'm here.

Using a prepaid disposable cell phone, she sent the text to the man she knew only as Master and pressed her cheek against the limousine's tinted window. An arc of lights flew overhead, orange against the before-midnight sky. A blurry nimbus surrounded each bulb. The driver sped across a bridge. Toward him.

He didn't acknowledge her immediately but she knew he was there. The waiting made her wet, made her forget the life that existed before and after tonight.

I'm glad you landed safely.

His response so closely mirrored her husband's words that the similarity gave her a momentary start. Guilt swelled in her stomach even though she knew her actions mattered little to Jacob. Less than little.

She rubbed her nose against the cool glass, drew a deep breath and pushed oxygen down into the center of her body. The scent of clean leather and her desire for submission popped the bubble of guilt.

She wanted him in a dark, silent room, nothing but hot skin, soft sighs, rough groans of satisfaction. The purr of the limousine's engine was too much background noise.

They had reservations at a hotel. She wanted to steal towels that smelled like his sweat, to rub her face in a pillow wrinkled by his sleep. She wanted to sleep with him and wake up with his cock nudging the cleft of her ass. The confession was on the tips of her thumbs but before she could type it, her phone chimed with another incoming text.

Put your panties in your purse before you see me.

Heat shot to her sex. Her hand shook as she slid forward on the seat and lifted her skirt, then her hips, to draw the satin triangle over her knees.

She rubbed the crotch panel between her fingers. The cotton was already wet.

Are they off?

Leaning forward, she pulled her underwear over her designer heels. Yes.

Your bra next.

Instead of obeying, she responded with--

Master, may I have silence until I arrive?

Of course.

His consideration surprised her. It shouldn't have. Master respected wants—his and others'. She could learn a thing or two from him. Would her heart be softer if she said "no, that's not what I want" more often?

She slid her wedding ring from her finger and dropped the gold band into her purse. Then she stuffed her panties into her bag.

Fifteen minutes later, the driver dropped her off in front of the three-star hotel she'd booked. Master's choice. Lauren offered to pay for a higher-end establishment but he'd refused. It didn't matter ultimately. She wouldn't see their surroundings once they were locked away in the room.

Her skin tingled, taut with anticipation. She hadn't lain her bare body on fewer than 500-thread-count linens in...ever. Master's hands would be rough, too. The blue-collar truck driver I'd come to know during the past two years probably didn't do manicures or moisturizers. The promise of his hard touch made her skin tighten. As she approached the lobby doors, she studied her reflection in the glass. Her nipples puckered up against her thin sweater, dark and obvious through the white silk weave. Her body had fewer reservations than her mind. Every step she took made the bare lips of her sex slide against one another, demonstrating their eagerness to part for his touch.

She slowed before the automatic doors could open. The long, lean shape of a man appeared behind her. His face was a translucent reflection in the glass. She admired the breadth of his chest, the loose-hipped flow of his stride. A duffel bag hung from his shoulder, full of the things he'd promised to bring: a blindfold, so she wouldn't spend the rest of her life searching for his face; handcuffs for her wrists, so her conscience wouldn't make her hands push him away. More—he'd promised her a lifetime worth of sensation in this handful of hours.

All those thoughts fled when he stopped behind her and whispered her name. He core clenched and squeezed wetness. Without her panties to catch the cream, it slicked over her inner thighs, warmed between them as she resumed her pace and walked through the hotel's doors.

Master stood behind her while she checked in. He followed her to the elevator, crowded her into the back of the small car and pressed the button for their floor.

Clutching the hand guard for balance, she stared at the carpet. She desperately wanted to see his face but knew it was for the best that she keep her eyes down. His proximity, his subtly spicy scent, made her thighs tremble.

"Pull up your skirt." He spoke in a low, rasping whisper.

Worried she would fall on her face if she released the rail, she awkwardly tugged her hem up with one hand. His hand followed, palming her ass, separating the cheeks with his thumbs. He kissed the back of her neck, reached between her legs and rubbed something hard and cold from the top of her slit all the way back to her ass. The object slid easily, collecting wetness as it went. She desperately wanted him to tease and rub her entrance. But he didn't. Against her ear, he whispered, "Take a deep breath."

Her head dropped forward to touch the mirrored wall, which fogged as she inhaled and exhaled. He applied pressure, persistent and patient until the pucker of resistance gave away. The anal plug slid home, lubricated by her excitement. Her moan vibrated low in her throat, trapped there. He pushed her skirt back to her knees. The elevator doors whooshed open.

Instead of backing away, he fit his body against hers. His cock bulged against her ass, restrained by his jeans but unmistakable. She wanted it closer. Sliding forward to nestle between her thighs. Spearing into her body until the head thumped deep. Her abdomen seized upon that imagined, forgotten sensation and squeezed so tight the metal egg he'd planted inside her shifted. Sank deeper.

He pulled her hair back from her ears and covered her eyes with a folded length of satin. The material warmed to her skin by the time he finished knotting it behind her head. She didn't have to maintain control over her desire to see him anymore—he'd taken responsibility upon himself.  She could barely breathe past the pounding of her heart as he took her hand and led her into the corridor.

 

 

Buy Links

Amazon

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Author Bio

Emily Ryan-Davis is a lifelong East Coaster whose passion for the written word saw her through jobs writing obituaries, press releases and grants before she decided “I’m going to do this” and sat down to write a book. She made that decision in 2005 and has since published several short stories and novellas with digital publishers including Ellora’s Cave. On May 24, 2012, Emily left supervisors and payrolls behind in order to focus her efforts on writing and raising her son.

Emily has been a member of the Writer’s Digest-recognized writing community Romance Divas, where she volunteers as a moderator and organizes the annual "Not Going to Conference" Virtual Conference, since 2006.

 

Contact Links

Website

Twitter

Facebook

 

Prize Info

Emily is offering one $10 gift card to Amazon or Barnes & Noble to one random commenter. All you have to do is comment below telling us which one of Taige's books are your favorite and fill out the rafflecopter to be entered.

 

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