M/f and F/m BDSM Erotica PLEASE NOTE==EXPLICIT
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For some people, kink is a game, a way to spice up sex by adding a hint of taboo. This book isn’t about those people.
These stories dig deeper, baring souls, exposing the heady thrill of power and surrender, intimacy and complicity. In the passionate dance of dominant and submissive, there is no tomorrow. There is only now, balanced between pleasure and pain, breathless with forbidden possibilities.
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The heady thrill of power and surrender, intimacy and complicity. BOUND AND BREATHLESS: PASSIONATE KINK, new #BDSM #erotica from @LisabetSarai http://bit.ly/PassionateKink
The whip feels like an extension of my body. No, that’s not right; it’s an extension of my mind. I imagine a lovely pattern of traces on his upper thighs, and they burst into being, accompanied by his cries of pain. ~ from Shades of
His hands on my body and his iron will are my only realities. It’s what I’ve craved all my life and never known. I swear I never dreamed of this – did I? He makes me wonder, as he fucks me like the slut that I am. Perhaps I’ve always
craved this kind of surrender, my dark desires hidden even from myself. ~ from Never Too Late
“I know you, Lissa. I’ve read every book you’ve written. I’ve watched you, on the street, at readings, working at your computer. You don’t want timid games. You’re afraid to admit it – I understand – but you want marks. Bruises. Blood.
You want to be tested, stretched to the breaking point and beyond.” ~ from Muse
“See how sharp it is, Becca. We want clean cuts – no jagged edges. Deep. Perfect. Beautiful.” A manic glee illumines his face now. The tender lover has vanished. The sadist has come out to play. A frisson of terror crawls up my spine. I remind myself of all the other times this man has dangled me over the edge of the precipice and still kept me safe. My fear transmutes into searing lust. ~ from Limits: A Love Story
PG-Rated – From Body Electric
“You! Come over here.” I started, my meditations interrupted by a rich, unfamiliar voice. The female crowd around Moresby had dispersed, and sure enough, he was beckoning to me.
Rude, I thought, but I obeyed him anyway.
“I don’t know you, do I?” He smiled down at me. My brief irritation at his lack of manners melted away in the heat of that smile.
“I’m Colette D’Arpignay. I just joined the Department of Languages and Literature this semester.”
“Oh, right! The Sex Professor!”
I felt the blood rising in my cheeks. “Oh dear! I didn’t realize that sobriquet had spread outside my own department.”
“Never mind. It doesn’t hurt to have a bit of a racy reputation. Makes you more interesting.” He scanned my body, not even trying to disguise his lascivious interest. “The question is, do you deserve it?”
My earlobes burned. Despite the air conditioning, sweat trickled down between my breasts. I was acutely aware of my tightened nipples, pressing against the purple jersey of my top. I couldn’t look at him.
He leaned over like a conspirator and delicately flicked one terribly obvious bud with his forefinger. A bolt of lightning sizzled through me and ignited a sudden blaze between my thighs.
“I’m willing to bet that you do deserve it,” he murmured, close to my ear.
I pulled back, stumbling on my high heels, trying to regain control. “Please, Dr. Moresby. Remember where we are.” He did not look in the least repentant. “I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Oh?” He looked at me skeptically, eyebrows raised. “I’m not sure I believe that. Anyway, call me Ryan.” He dug in his pocket and produced a slightly crumpled business card. “Here’s my card.”
I took it, unwilling but somehow unable to refuse it.
“And may I have yours, Colette?” His eyes seized mine and wouldn’t let me look away. Later I couldn’t remember their color – only their intensity.
It seemed that I was moving in dreamlike slow motion as I extracted a card from my purse and handed it to him. He nodded. “Good. It’s got both your office and your cell. We’ll talk soon.”
Dean Evans appeared, with a busty, forty-something blonde in tow. “Excuse me for interrupting, Ryan, but I must introduce you to Larissa Carter, from Biology. She just came to us from UC San Francisco.”
“Dr. Carter.” He took her hand and half-bowed. “I’m delighted to meet you.”
She looked as charmed by him as everyone else. I wondered if he’d tweak her nipples, too.
I turned to go. His hand on my arm stopped me. I was wearing long sleeves, but somehow I felt as though he was touching bare skin. “Don’t forget, Colette. I want to hear all about your research.”
“And I want to learn about yours,” I replied archly.
“Oh, you will,” he said with a strange smile, then turned the magic of his attention back to the buxom biologist.
Lisabet Sarai became addicted to words at an early age. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since then, she has written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance – over one hundred titles, and counting, in nearly every sub-genre—paranormal, scifi, ménage, BDSM, GLBT, and more. Regardless of the genre, every one of her stories illustrates her motto: Imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac.
You’ll find information and excerpts from all Lisabet’s books on her website ( http://www.lisabetsarai.com/books.html ), along with more than fifty free stories and lots more. At her blog Beyond Romance ( http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com ), she shares her philosophy and her news and hosts lots of other great authors. She’s also on Goodreads , Pinterest , and
Twitter . Join her VIP email list here: https://btn.ymlp.com/xgjjhmhugmgh