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)
And now for Liz who kind of resembles Kristen Kreuk, and has these two amazing tattoos.
|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.
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.”
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!