Death Isle, 7
Rhonda Verene never thought she’d find herself pregnant and on her own with no means of getting in touch with the father. If only she hadn’t deleted his number in anger. There is only one thing to do, pull up her soon-to-be maternity knickers and find the one bit of family she has left—her brother.
Dan Traynor hated having to leave Rhonda behind. When his country needed him, however, he acted. Besides, it’s not every day you’re offered a job with the Dispatchers. He wasn't ready for Rhonda to crash into his workplace in search of her missing brother, never mind the whole becoming a daddy issue.
With everyone’s life in danger, the time hardly seems right to resume their relationship, but love always finds a way. Especially on Death Isle.
Be Warned: BDSM, spanking
Excerpt:
He was so good at making her want more.
How could she have ever sent him away? He was the only person who could make her feel like this—alive, ready to do whatever her Sir told her. To wait, patiently—almost—as he gave her the attention she required and allowed and encouraged her to fly and sink into that perfect sub space of knowing she was his. Rhonda moaned as her ass warmed and her breathing sped up. It was a dream, surely? Nothing as good as this sense of belonging had been hers since he went. But it seemed oh so real. It had to be real.
He’d come back. Joy filled her along with arousal. Her thighs were damp and herclit hard. The pulse between her pussy and ass throbbed as she waited for what might, just mighthappen next.
“Hello, my sweetness. Is my pet ready for me?”
“Yes, Sir. Oh yes.”
The heat and the intensity of his gaze as he stroked her cheek, the way his eyes sparkled and his lips quirked, were enough for her nipples to become hard stinging nubs. His cock—oh my his magnificent cock—the tip shining with the evidence of his arousal, made her throat dry and her body tingle. He bent and took one of those hard nubs into his mouth with a nip and a bite at the same time as his dick pressed against her pussy. Rhonda moved restlessly, inched nearer and gave into one long, breathy moan of need. She was eager to taste him, experience him inside her once more and relieve the heightening tension and arousal that flooded through her body.
“Enough, sweetness. I say when, do I not?” He pinched her non-bitten nipple. “Your arousal is mine to give or deny. Be a good little pet and all will be yours.”
That sharp instantaneous pain made her jump, even as he spread her legs and positioned his cock at her entrance.
“Ready? I’m going to ride you hard and fast. Hear you scream my name and ‘thank your Sir’. For we both need this don’t we, pet? Get ready and …”
“No…” Her scream echoed around the room. “God, no, the baby, n…” She opened her eyes.
Her ass hurt for all the wrong reasons.
It was a bloody dream.
She’d fallen asleep sitting at the table and half slipped off the bench. So one cheek was on cushion and one on wood and the crack of her ass was wedged most uncomfortably between the two.
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Bio.
Ever since I won not one but two, Cadbury, ‘where does chocolate come from’ competitions in primary school, I was convinced, one day I would write a book. My parents encouraged me. My schoolteachers despaired of me. Flowery. Romantic. Not factual. Hey I loved weaving stories about anything and anyone.
So what happened to my grand ideas?
Life got in the way.
So more years later than I am prepared to disclose (hey a woman has to have some secrets) Here I am, an author. Not even that, a published author! Happy or what?
Married to my own hero (how cheesy is that) we live on the edge of a Scottish Forest.
I write on my lap top in my study, watching the birds on the bird table, the strange big black fluffy ‘ I’m pretending to be a bird’ cat, sitting on it and trying to convince the many birds he is invisible, occasionally seeing deer and red squirrel moving past. I am privileged.
As a non-closet romantic, sometime neurotic, and lover of words, I so enjoyed getting involved with my hero and heroines. I hope you do too.
So what happened to my grand ideas?
Life got in the way.
So more years later than I am prepared to disclose (hey a woman has to have some secrets) Here I am, an author. Not even that, a published author! Happy or what?
Married to my own hero (how cheesy is that) we live on the edge of a Scottish Forest.
I write on my lap top in my study, watching the birds on the bird table, the strange big black fluffy ‘ I’m pretending to be a bird’ cat, sitting on it and trying to convince the many birds he is invisible, occasionally seeing deer and red squirrel moving past. I am privileged.
As a non-closet romantic, sometime neurotic, and lover of words, I so enjoyed getting involved with my hero and heroines. I hope you do too.
THank you so much for inviting me onto your blog
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