Welcome back to WIP it Wednesday!
It's been a while since I've posted about WIP it Wednesday because, well, I've been buried under WIPs! I've been writing, and rewriting, and rewriting some more! But today I'm back to blogging and I have some goodies to share with you!
So I've been talking a bit on and off about my foray into the BDSM subgenre of erotic romance, and whoa! Has it ever been and exciting and wild ride! I'm here to share some of the fruits of my labor.
To Sir will release in August, but all you lovely Diva lovers out there get a sneak peek!
When Elizabeth Leigh Clark
is plagued by the idea for a kinky novel she can’t shake, she has no choice but
to plunge, head-first into a genre she vowed never to pursue. But when she
realizes the seductive allure of submitting her will, her interest in the BDSM
lifestyle because less academic, and downright personal.
Dominant and club owner,
Chase Masters, has no idea what to expect when his partner books a meeting with
an author doing research on the BDSM scene, but he’s blown away with the woman
who walks through the door. He’s sure at first that she must be a visiting
Domme, not the author. Her manner is confident, brusque, and even a bit
disapproving of his lifestyle, but when he switches from his easy-going club
owner mindset into his Dom voice, she instantly backs off. Perhaps she’s more
submissive than she let on.
Chase and his club are
in the crosshairs of a local senator and the bank, and he fears he might lose
everything. So when Liz grudgingly agrees to be his, if only for a few weeks,
he’s elated. But what kind of long-term relationship can a broke, out of work,
homeless Dom offer to a burgeoning submissive who won't submit outside of the
bedroom?
Here's a bit more about my hero, Chase Masters, and a picture to keep in mind (Channing Tatum, circa. Magic Mike)
Chase isn't your typical Dom. His last steady submissives both wanted more from him than he could give. More domination, more time, more of himself than he was willing to give. He's determined to find a new submissive, one who will be the perfect fit, one who will challenge him, both inside and outside of the bedroom and playroom. He's a Capricorn, which makes him disciplined, patient, and careful. So when he comes up against Liz, a seemingly unmovable force of nature, he will have to use all of his skills and determination to win her over. But the precious K Club he's spent his entire adult life and every cent on is in some serious trouble from a local senator who wants to run the "filth" out of town. Not to mention the bank is about half a second away from foreclosing on his club, and the home he put up as collateral.
And now for Liz who kind of resembles Kristen Kreuk, and has these two amazing tattoos.
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| This is the tattoo she has on her foot |
Elizabeth Leigh Clark writes erotic romance under the name Elizabeth Leigh, and she's a spitfire. She's spent her whole adult life trying to break free of the tyrannical rule of her father. She started writing as a kid to escape her hellish household, and now that she's free, she uses that freedom to let her inhibitions go and create steamy books left and right. But she has a hard time convincing herself not to be embarrassed or ashamed about sex in the real world, and she's never considered herself one of those girls who might find the idea of a man bossing her around appealing. So why the hell can't she shake these thoughts and dreams about a seductive maestro with leather crops and dominion over her body? But she's a Scorpio: determined, forceful, obsessive, and rebellious, and she refuses to run away from these desires, no matter how much they terrify her.
 |
| And this is the one on her back |
And here is just a little taste of Chase and Liz:
An
hour later, Chase was still buried under paperwork, scouring the consent
contracts, the original ordinance he’d received from the city when they first
opened five years ago, and some more paperwork the lawyer had faxed over
yesterday. A loud knock sounded from downstairs, but he didn’t get up. Dusty
was still down on the main floor and he’d been taking care of whomever came
knocking for the past few days. The man was a Godsend. How had Chase ever
gotten on before without Dusty to look after him?
He
turned his attention back to his work. No doubt it was someone else coming to
inquire about the club, when they’d be back open. Their members had been so
lost when he’d announced the closing of the club, even though he’d assured
everyone it would only be temporary. And he was damned sure going to make good
on that promise. He would not fail. He glanced up at the bright light from the
main door.
Shadowed
in the doorway was a tall brunette. Hair pulled severely into a long ponytail,
dark, elegantly-slanted eyes bordered in charcoal, a tight black top with lace
over breasts and arms, combined with the long leather-clad legs told Chase this
was a Domme. Her beautiful Asian face was not one he recognized, so he knew she
must be new in town, or perhaps just visiting and wanting to check out the
scene before hours. He and Dusty would usually extend an invitation to a
visiting Domme, but since the club was under lock and key, that wouldn’t be
happening. Apparently the protesters and closed signs outside meant nothing to
her. And instead of sending her on her way, Dusty smiled, shook her hand and
ushered her in out of the stifling Nevada heat.
What
the hell?
Chase
half-rose from his desk to peek through the tinted windows of his office into
the Club beyond. His groin gave a little jolt as he caught sight of their
visitor’s swaying hips in the skin-tight leather. That gave him another what the hell moment. It wasn’t like him
to be attracted to other Dominants. Going three weeks with no outlet had
started to take its toll.
Dusty
began leading the woman around the club. Her face
remained impassive and Chase shook his head. That damned author was late for
their meeting, and he couldn’t help but be glad he was now free to go down and
greet their visitor. He strode from his office and down the private back
stairwell to the main area of the club.
“And
this is where we have our shows,” Dusty was saying, leading her up on the
stage.
Chase
stayed in the shadow of the staircase, watching. The delicate bone structure of
this woman was showcased beautifully by her dark coal-rimmed eyes, deep red
lipstick, and a light blush that appeared completely natural. Her gaze was hot,
determined, and he could almost see a flicker of flame from within. It instantly
ignited an answering burn inside him, and he gulped in a few cool breaths. What
the fuck was his problem today?
She
looked up and their gazes locked. An image flashed through his head. Her, bound
to the top of the canopied bed in his room, a white mask covering her eyes,
head thrown back in ecstasy as he tortured her senses. He blinked reality back
into focus, determined to shake this strange attraction. He knew from
experience, some Tops could never bottom. And this woman obviously didn’t have
a submissive bone in her entire lithe little body.
Confidence.
She had to keep that utmost in her mind. Liz forced herself not to react when
he stepped out of the shadows. This man… he had the same build, the same badass
dominating air about him as the man of her dreams. In, she corrected. The man in
her dreams. He stared at her, making her feel naked beneath his gaze.
Swallowing hard, she willed moisture to her mouth, but it was like her tongue
was cemented in place with peanut butter.
Crap.
She
extended a hand.
“Chase
Masters,” he said, stepping closer to clasp her hand in his. Feathers tickled
along her spine. Just like they had in her dream. In one second, Chase’s face
superimposed itself over the foggy image in her head of every erotic dream
she’d had in the past six weeks.
“This
is Elizabeth Clark,” Dusty said from behind her. Thank God someone wasn’t
rendered speechless in the presence of this Adonis. She snatched her hand back,
closing her fingers into her palm, unsure if she was trying to wipe away the
feel of his skin against hers, or trap it.
No
recognition showed on Chase’s face, and Liz tried to pretend she wasn’t hurt.
She’d called well in advance, and Sissy had assured her that Chase would be
open and honest with his answers when Liz asked him any and all embarrassingly
personal questions. Apparently, Chase had no freaking clue who she was or what
she was doing here. She was just about to launch into an explanation when Dusty
prompted, “The author I was telling you about?”
Was
that disappointment on Chase’s face? She couldn’t tell for sure, because he
quickly schooled his features, his face smoothing into a mask of politeness.
She didn’t know what the hell to make of that.
“Okay,
well, uh, would you like to continue to show her around?” the soft, unsure
voice was so unlike the one she’d pictured coming from that harsh mouth of his.
It was also the opposite of the tone he’d used when he introduced himself.
“I
thought maybe you’d like to do the honors, boss.”
A
half-smile quirked up Chase’s mouth, and he shook his head. “Not your boss.”
“Yeah,
yeah, whatever.” Dusty turned and left her at Chase’s mercy. She pursed her
lips, and cocked her head to the side, embodying her persona. She was Elizabeth
Leigh, erotic romance author extraordinaire. And she wasn’t going to be
intimidated by a little kink. Or a lot, she amended, glancing at the club
around her. She’d worn her sexiest, most authoritative outfit and her Don’t Screw With Me boots, but as she
stared off against six feet of heavily corded muscular Dom, she felt spineless.
And maybe a little breathless.
“So,
this way I guess.” Chase turned from her, and she followed him. Like a damned
puppy. What in the world was wrong with her? She didn’t do this kind of crap. Women
did not belong barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen, and she would be damned to
the depths of hell if she was going to buy into that chauvinistic crap because
of this guy when she’d lived her whole life fighting against her father’s
brainwashing. She forced herself to stop a few feet behind him.
“This
is the bar, and the main area of the club. Used for meet and greets,
socialization, and a live show a couple times a week. Some people come just to
be somewhere in public where they can be themselves.”
She
heard the underlying defiance in his words, as if he was daring her to make a
snide comment. “As I’m sure you could tell, we’ve been closed down
temporarily.”
“I
saw the hubbub outside,” she said lamely.
“Who
the hell says ‘hubbub’ anymore?” Chase seared her with a look over his shoulder
and she suppressed a shiver.
“I’m
a writer. I have an extensive vocabulary,” she said defensively, crossing her
arms over her chest, and daring him to contradict her. His whole personality
screamed domineering.
“Your
tone says it’s obviously nothing someone like me would understand.” He turned on
her.
“That’s
not what I meant.” Her voice was brusque. She was letting that arch stare and
that increasingly deep voice ruffle her feathers. She knew better than to be
baited like this. Anger management was a constant battle inside her, but it had
been an easier one to win over the past few years. She wouldn’t let herself
backslide because of this man, no matter what he said. He raised his eyebrows,
then turned back.
“We
don’t serve alcohol at the bar because you can’t have consent when people are
under the influence. That’s an important detail several authors have gotten
wrong over the years. Among other things.”
His
icy voice made her shiver. “Like what?” She had a good memory, but she felt
like this was going to be quite a list.
“Let’s
see… for starters it’s not all about pain.”
She
snorted. She couldn’t help it. “Of course it’s about pain.” And subjugation,
and dominance, and treating people like they were less than humans, like they
were property. She bit her tongue on that part, though. She was supposed to be
here asking him for help, not pissing him off, much as the idea appealed to her.
“Not
with me it isn’t. And not for a lot of people, either. It’s about control, and
passion, and love, for yourself, the darkness inside, and sometimes for someone
else. Pain gets mixed up with that sometimes. Okay, granted, for some people
it’s about pain. Giving it, receiving it. For the rest of us, pain is part of
the pleasure. Part of the rush, the edge of fantasy. You should know a bit
about that. We’re in the same business. You sell fantasy on the page, I sell it
in the flesh, so to speak.”
Another
shiver coursed through her at his words. God, could just the sound of him
describing this stuff make her hot? A lick of guilt shimmied through her, but
she pushed it aside. She had to stop
feeling guilty about sex of all kinds, but sometimes it was just so hard to
keep the shame from decimating her.
She
rubbed her right earlobe, trying to work toward a calm she didn’t feel.
“Look,
why don’t you just ask me your questions so we can get this over with.”
“Excuse
me?”
He
turned on her. “It’s clear you’re uncomfortable. Your over-the-top outfit, the
heels you can barely walk in, and the disdainful curl of your lip. You did ask
to come here, did you not?”
She
took a deep breath, and a step toward him. “Yes, I did. But I –” she stopped
herself from picking a fight with him, but just barely. Damn. She’d thought she
had better control over her impulsive bouts of rage. “I’m… sorry.” She lowered her shoulders and
made an effort to relax her aggressive stance. Just being here was making her
skin crawl. And not in an entirely unpleasant way...
Well, there you have it! I hope that was just enough to whet your appetite! Make sure to stop by for the next WIP It Wednesday and I'll post some more goodies for you! As we get closer to August, I will post cover art, book trailers, and much more!
~ Rach
