From fantasy...to dream.
This excerpt was taken from the soon to be released Unholy Promises: Book 3 of the
Chapter one of Unholy Promises actually opens with Lord Fyre dreaming of a lost love, Eva...
Excerpt starts here:
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“Eva, Eva, Eva.” Bound and gagged, her back and shoulders glistened with a light sheen of sweat in the rosy glow of candlelight. Even cast in shadow, his mark stood in stark relief against the paleness of her skin in a crisscross of stripes blazoned across her shoulders and back. Drawing his finger down the length of a soft, pink welt, pride welled inside him as her shoulders trembled beneath his touch. That alone excited him. Her soft sigh drove him beyond madness.
He smirked at the foresight of her parents, naming her for the original temptress, Eve, because she embodied his every sinful fantasy.
Her ice blue eyes glowed savagely in the candlelight, watching his every move. Her defiant will called to his baser need to tame and he more than willingly answered the call. Leaning toward her, he caressed her cheek with his gloved hand, absorbing her shivered response. Tenderly, he pushed a sweat-soaked tendril away from her eyes. Her growl, feral and wild, shot straight to his groin.
God, how he needed her like that—a wild animal restrained. Pushed to her mental and physical limits, she was mad with primal need. A need he knew she couldn’t have fathomed only hours before.
He saw her as a lioness prowling the lone savanna seeking a mate, she sought the one who would be bigger, stronger, faster. The one she could find rest in—the one worthy of her submission—the one worthy enough to unveil her inner self to. He knew all too well that in her very real world of intrigue and espionage, there was no room for emotion, only survival of the fittest, by any means necessary and few men were even up to her speed—physically, mentally, emotionally—and it was his belief that only here, with him, because he was her equal, could she find the peace within herself to face her fears; tear down the illusions; bare the fierceness of her passion. Only here, with him, in their sanctuary of noir erotica, could she face her weaknesses without shame.
The air was heavy with the sensual smoke of burning sandalwood, which he inhaled deeply, savoring the acrid woodsy scent that called to his deeper subconscious, need older than time fighting to the surface. His primitive ancestor may have been content proving his dominance by clobbering his intended over the skull with a club then dragging her to his cave by the hair on her head, but he needed more.
His leather-covered palm slid over her bare bottom, stopping in its tender caress to cruelly pinch a welt here and there. He laughed at her involuntary jerks, her uncontrollable primitive response to escape the pain. Slowly, very slowly, he spread her ass cheeks, savoring the screamed protests muffled by the ball-gag.
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