Angela Knight's Blog, page 7

An erotic excerpt from OATH OF SERVICE

Today, July 21st--also my 30th wedding anniversary -- I'm participating in Joey Hill's Facebook Launch Party. I'm giving away two copies of the Advance Reader Copy of my September, 2014 book LOVE BITES. You'll find the Launch Party and instructions on how to win the book by answering a question about the excerpt here:


And here's the excerpt from the novel-length story OATH OF SERVICE...In this scene, Morgana has her first erotic encounter with Sir Percival, Knight of the Round Table. Note that the book is a romantic contemporary paranormal with a lot of BDSM; this is a flashback.

Camelot, 545 C.E.

Morgana paused outside the room that belonged to Sir Percival and paused, swallowing nervously. Percival had defeated three other warriors the day before for the right to drink from Merlin’s Grail.

That one sip of the magical potion knocked him unconscious while it transformed his body, making him into an immortal blood drinker.

After a full day out cold, Percival had regained consciousness. Now he’d need to feed for the first time. The problem was that when the Magi first woke from the Grail Sleep, their starving brains were barely capable of speech, much less complex thought.

But they were more than capable of sex and seduction.

Nimue had warned Morgana that Percival might not recognize her at all, but he would want to drink from her, as well as satisfy the considerable sexual arousal that was a side effect of Merlin’s spell.

The idea of experiencing Percival’s passion didn’t strike Morgana as particularly frightening. Though she didn’t know the big blond knight well, she’d always found him handsome and intriguing. She was more than happy to fulfill any needs he had.

Morgana unlocked his chamber door with a flick of her will and moved inside. It was dark in the small room. She gestured, sending a wave of magic to light the lamp that hung from a chain by the bed. She smiled with pleasure at the easy way the power had leaped to her command.

Powerful hands seized her, snatched her off her feet. She hit a hard, muscled body with a startled, breathless woof! Instinct almost had her hitting her attacker with a fireball.

Then she looked up. Her eyes widened as she realized Percival was naked.

Very, very naked.

Tall, handsome, his bare chest broad, powerful and furred in gold, his strong shoulders surrounded by a disordered fall of blond hair. Her gaze tracked down the length of his torso to his erection. She blinked at the sight of it—the long, thick shaft with its ruddy head, the balls furred in blond curls. “Oh,” she said in a hoarse voice. She cleared her throat. “My.”

“Want you.” His voice sounded impossibly deep and hot. And incredibly sexy. “Now.”

Morgana licked her dry lips and swallowed as she glanced up, meeting Percival’s pale gray eyes in the dim light. He studied her with dominance and demand in his gaze. “Need you,” he growled. “Taking you.”

Reaching out, he closed his big hands around her upper arms, picked her up as if she weighed no more than a housecat, and dragged her body against hers . His voice rumbled, low and deep, a sound she felt in her chest as much as heard. “Taking you now.”

He dropped her to the bed in a rustle of dried grass mattress. Then he was on top of her, his hands grabbing the cord belt that bound her tunic closed. Stripping it off and tossing it aside, he jerked the tunic off over her head.

Percival rocked back, staring down at her nudity, his gaze glittering on the tight peaks of her nipples. Then his head shot forward as his hands gripped her breasts, plumping the soft flesh.

His fangs bit deep into the soft flesh on either side of her nipple.

Morgana convulsed in shock at the stabbing pain, a strangled cry of pain and protest tearing from her mouth. She shoved at his powerful shoulders, only to find there was absolutely no way she could budge his muscled weight as he pinned her to the bed. She bucked, fighting to free herself, but he ignored her, suckling the nipple hard, drinking in deep swallows, his tongue swirling and stroking, drawing delightful patterns over and around the hard little nubbin.

Until the pain began to fade, drowned out by the pleasure he created with each drawing tug.

Morgana gasped, her eyes sliding closed. It made no sense at all, yet somehow the sting of his teeth intensified the pleasure of his skillful manipulation of her nipple. She’d never experienced such an effect before, but it was too strong to be denied.

Too strong. Too dark. Too delicious. Too much.

Morgana writhed as the sheer wicked pleasure of the moment sent her body’s arousal leaping higher and hotter. Her desire went on growing as he continued to feed, taking the blood his newly transformed body needed. “Horned God, Percival!” she gasped in his ear, her hips rolling helplessly against his, seeking stimulation from his thick cock-stand. Her nails dug into his muscled arse, trying to pull him closer so she could grind her clit against his sword-hard shaft.

Until at last he dragged his fangs from her breast with a low growl of lust, moved up between her thighs, and speared his cock deep in one ruthless thrust. Morgana cried out in arousal and delight as he filled her, his cock seeming to extend well-past her navel. “Perrrrrrcivaaaaaal!”

He growled back at her, the sound rough and animal more than human. Lunging hard, stroking deep, he fucked her with such force their bodies jolted together with loud slaps. So hard it should have hurt, probably would have hurt if he hadn’t aroused her so savagely, so quickly. Her pleasure grew and grew, spiraling in a searing corkscrew that seemed to glow behind her closed lids.

Bucking and screaming, Morgana came as he roared in her ear, the sound of his completion almost deafening. It went on and on, longer than any climax she’d ever had, fierce and sweet and merciless.

At last she collapsed back onto the bed, sweating, breathing with heaving effort, her heart beating so hard, it made her breasts bounce and judder.

Percival panted just as hard as he held her close. Until finally he stirred against her and drew back. The gray eyes that met hers held a man’s intelligence now as they probed hers.

Queen Guinevere had told her that once the Magus had taken enough blood on waking, his mind would return to normal. It seemed she’d been right.

Now his gaze searched hers, narrow, fierce with sheer dominant demand. “You’re mine now. You hear me, Morgana? Mine!”

Her heart seemed to simply…stop.

Morgana had never considered herself a weak-willed person. She was too stubborn to be easily led. But now, as she looked up into Percival’s fierce, handsome face, felt the hard strength of those massive arms, she realized she wanted to be his. Wanted to belong to him, as she’d never belonged to anyone before.

His mouth came down on hers in a hungry kiss that demanded her utter surrender. She melted against him with a soft moan.

But as he kissed her, drawing her tight in a hard demand for her surrender, fear rose in the back of her mind. An icy shaft of it, stabbing through her heat.

Yes, he wanted her now. But what happened when he didn’t want her any longer? And that day would come. Everyone she’d ever loved had turned on her. Her mother had. Her son had.

What happened when Percival did too? She remembered the fury she’d felt when Mordred had threatened and struck her.

If she’d had the power then that she’d had now, what would she have done to her son in the grip of that dark rage?

What would she do to Percival?

“No!” The word emerged as a strangled scream. “Get off me! Get away from me!” A flick of her magic picked Percival up and threw him against the wall of his chamber with stunning force.

She heard his shout of rage and pain as he tumbled to the floor, but she was already rolling off the bed and running for the door. Jerking it open, she snapped over her shoulder, “Stay the hell away from me, Percival!”

Southern Shields, Chapter One--An erotic sample.

Hi!  Here's the first chapter of SOUTHERN SHIELDS, my newest novel. I'm not sure of the publication date at this point, and I don't have the cover. I think it will probably be out next year, around Spring, as LOVE BITES comes out in September, 2014. 
Please note that this is an EROTIC ROMANCE novel for people over 18. If you're under that, PLEASE go somewhere else! This book is really, seriously, not for you at all. Your mom would kill both of us if you read it, and I'm too young to die. Thanks!
Alexis Rogers shifted on her high heels, nibbling her lower lip. Her mouth felt dry, probably because every drop of moisture in her body had taken up residence between her thighs. God, she’d never been so turned on. Especially not from watching somebody else have sex. And how the hell did Frank turn swinging a bullwhip into a sex act? Not just a kink act—something that aroused you if you had a little twist in that direction. Which admittedly, Alex did. No, he used the lash with sensual precision, as if he were eating out the blonde lying across the spanking bench. Plump, pretty and naked, Tara merely groaned in woozy pleasure. Thirty people surrounded the two in the basement dungeon, watching with rapt interest. One of them was Tara’s husband, who leaned a shoulder against the cement block wall. Roy was a gangly dominant with thinning blond hair whose hazel eyes were fixed intently on his wife. Though he loved bondage and emotional domination, Roy couldn’t bring himself to hurt his masochistic submissive. He often arranged for someone else to provide the impact play Tara craved.  Apparently, Frank had volunteered to provide them with the foreplay this time. And foreplay was all he’d be getting out it; Tara and Roy never had penetrative sex with anyone but each other. That was okay. If all went as planned, Alex would make it up to the big dominant. Or maybe not; she’d have to see. Still, the Captain—host of tonight’s house party--had been talking about Frank for years. She gathered they’d served together in the Navy before Cap retired and left San Diego to come to Atlanta with his wife. Now it seemed Frank had moved to the area too. Must have been recently. Alex had never seen the big dominant at any of the very private parties Cap and his wife threw for close friends among Atlanta’s kinksters. CRACK! The popper—the fringe at the very tip of the bullwhip—struck Tara’s reddening ass. By rights, it ought to sting like a bitch, but Frank had Tara so high on endorphins and adrenalin, it seemed she no longer felt the pain at all. At least not judging by the moan that sounded far more like pleasure than pain.Which was a testament to his skill as a dominant. He’d built the intensity slowly, starting with a spanking, then progressing through two different floggers—the first deerskin, the second with thinner tresses that made the submissive yelp at the sting. The blows he gave her were hard, but not too hard, letting Tara sink into the sensations and get properly turned on. Only then had he got out the bullwhip.Between clusters of strikes, Frank gave her erotic caresses, stroking her pussy and reddening ass. The combination of pain and pleasure had sent her flying on her body’s natural endorphins and adrenalin. Alex knew from experience that the high was similar to what some runners felt during a marathon—a floating, delicious euphoria. Pursuit of that erotic high was what drove subs like Tara—and Alex herself, for that matter—to seek out dominants like Frank. Skilled, a little sadistic, with a keen understanding of a submissive’s darkest needs.Yeah, Frank definitely knew his way around a sub’s body, just as the Captain had said.Now the overhead spotlight pouring down on the blonde caught the wet glisten of rosy vaginal lips. She lay with wrists and ankles cuffed to the bench’s legs, the wedge shape of the custom-made bench raising her hips higher than her head. Offering up her curvy little ass to her sensual tormentor. Pacing around Tara, Frank dealt out another set of carefully measured blows, watching her with an absorbed erotic intensity. He seemed acutely aware of every twitch of her full ass, flex of her fingers, and heartfelt sensual moan. He moved like a bullfighter as he swung the whip in practiced, hissing arcs, using a blend of athleticism and grace that was all the more impressive considering his size. Frank was big. Really big. Alex, who was good at judging height and weight—she had to be, given her job—figured him at 6’5” or -6”, maybe two hundred and forty deliciously muscled pounds. If there was an ounce of fat anywhere on the man, she couldn’t see where. He’d pulled his shirt off in the dungeon’s warmth, revealing broad, brawny shoulders and the kind of bare torso that rippled in interesting places. His long legs were clad in faded jeans tucked into polished leather riding boots.God, she’d always had a thing for riding boots. It was harder to make out the details of his face as he paced in the basement’s shadows. Fortunately, he’d e-mailed Alex a photo a week or so ago. His features had a kind of stark good looks, with a long, thin nose, cleft chin, and a pugnaciously broad jaw. He wore his black hair in a stern military cut that emphasized the stark angularity of his cheekbones. The total effect might have been forbidding, had it not been for his mouth. Wide, with a plump lower lip and a pronounced upper bow, it looked soft, deliciously kissable. Alex had wanted to taste that seductive mouth the moment the photo popped into her e-mail. Patience, she told herself. Cap had said he’d introduce them after the scene. And since the Captain was a notorious kinkster matchmaker, she knew he’d keep his promise.CRACK!Powerful muscle rippled along Frank’s right arm and across his wide chest as he popped the whip against Tara’s ass. The sub caught her breath, then let it out in a long, erotic groan.“Rate it,” Frank ordered, in voice so rich and deep, it seemed to tighten something in Alex’s sex.Tara didn’t answer. He stalked around the bench, wrapped a huge fist in her cascade of blonde curls, and jerked her head back with a dominant’s showy snarl. “When I ask you a question, you damned well answer. Talk to me!”“Uh…” The girl panted. Her voice sounded slurred, barely coherent. “I don’t…” Yeah, she was definitely flying. All those endorphins had rendered her barely coherent.Frank glanced toward Roy. Tara’s husband nodded and picked up the blanket and bottle of water he’d had waiting for this moment.Crouching by Tara’s head, Frank began talking to her in a low voice as her husband joined them.“You can tell a lot about a dom by the way he gives aftercare,” Calvin Stephens observed from Alex’s shoulder. “He could have just let her husband handle it, but he’s taking part. Point in his favor.” The submissive turned to the man next to him. His narrow, clever face split in a grin that revealed teeth so white, they appeared to glow against his dark skin. “You’ve always been good at aftercare, Sir.” Ted Arlington snorted. He was a head shorter than Alex, between the heels she was wearing and the fact she was 5’10” to begin with. Even so, his build was all muscle and power—and he knew how to use it. Any idiot who assumed he could kick Ted’s ass because he was short soon learned otherwise. Beneath the brush cut he had a broad, squared-off, intensely masculine face, with a full-lipped mouth, a round bulb of a nose and a blond mustache. “You’re just saying that because I always give you cock as part of the aftercare package.”Cal grinned wickedly, dipping his dark gaze to his dominant’s zipper. “And what a nice package it is, Sir.”“Suck up.”“But you like it when I suck.”“You’re pushing it, subbie.”As the two went into their standard teasing routine, Alex’s gaze slid across the basement in search of Frank. He’d helped Roy unbuckle Tara from the spanking bench so the two men could wrap her in the blanket. As Alex watched, they helped her over to one of the couches that stood against the big basement’s walls. Pulling what was probably a trail mix bar from his pocket, Frank sank down beside the couple to unwrap it for her. Meanwhile, Roy helped her with the bottle of water she couldn’t quite manage on her own. “I don’t know about you two,” Alex said, with a nod toward the trio, “but I’m impressed.”“That’s not saying much.” Ted folded his massive arms and braced his legs apart. His brush cut hair shone pale blond under one of the basement’s recessed lights. “You were also impressed by Gordon.”Alex forced a smile to hide the sting of pain she felt. “Well, Gordon was very pretty.”“So’s a coral snake. I still wouldn’t fuck one.”“Sir, you do know gay men are supposed to be sensitive, right?”“Sass me one more time, subbie, and I’ll make you so sensitive you won’t be able to sit for the next week.”“Oh, would you, Sir?”“Keep it up,” Ted growled, eying him with the expression of exaggerated menace he reserved for his dom act. Alex had seen his real menacing expression frequently in the course of the job. It was one hell of a lot colder. “As for you…” He turned to give her the same look he’d just given Calvin. “I want to talk to this Frank before you traipse off to scene with him, got me? I don’t want you hurt by some Mr. Danger Dom. I worked too damn long to turn you into a good cop to lose you to an asshole.”Alex smiled, warmed by both the uncharacteristic compliment and her friend’s gruff concern. “You know good and damned well the Captain isn’t going to set me up with a Danger Dom.”“Unless I’m really, really mistaken, I somehow doubt the Captain has ever slept with Frank, much less subbed for him.”“You’re not mistaken, Sir,” Cal assured him. “Cap definitely doesn’t bat for our team.”“And how would you know that, Cal?” Alex narrowed her eyes in mock suspicion. “Been flirting?”“With the Captain?” The slender young man recoiled in mock horror. “God, no. He scares me. He looks like Captain Picard’s bigger, meaner brother.”“You are such a nerd, Cal.”He put up both hands. “Hey, my mom’s a fan. She raised me on reruns of Next Gen.”“Your mom,” she drawled, pumping skepticism into her voice. “Riiiiiiight. Tell it to somebody who doesn’t know you and your fanboy buddies. I’ve heard y’all argue about whether Captain Picard is cooler than Captain Kirk way too many times.”“That’s self-evident,” Cal said loftily. “Kirk is muchcooler. Take how he handled the Klingons…”“Look, this is serious, Alex,” Ted snapped, before she could make a concerted effort to divert him with the Alex-and-Cal comedy hour. “Not that you’ve ever had the sense to be afraid--of anything—but this guy is big enough to hurt you no matter how good you are in a fight. Don’t give him the chance.”“Don’t worry, Dad, I won’t.”“None of your lip.” Ted glowered at her. “Just because I don’t do women, that doesn’t mean I won’t whip your little ass as hard as the subbie’s.”“And that’s pretty damned hard,” Cal put in.“Yeah, okay, I hear you.” Her gaze slid back toward Frank again.Ted looked at Cal. “I just wasted my breath, didn’t I?”“Might as well try to blow out a forest fire like a birthday candle,” Cal agreed. “She’s completely under his evil spell.” His voice turned dreamy. “His muscular, towering, evil, evil spell.”“I am definitely kicking your ass tonight.”Which, knowing Cal, was precisely what he’d had in mind.
The redhead was driving Frank Murphy crazy. Alex—they’d exchanged e-mails, but she hadn’t revealed her last name yet--wore the proverbial little black dress that hugged some luscious curves. Throw in those lace-stocking-clad legs and skyscraper heels, and it was no wonder he was finding it impossible to concentrate. Which was unacceptable, especially when he was providing aftercare to somebody he’d just whipped right into subspace. Focus on Tara, dammit. He’d told Roy he’d take care of her, and he’d do it if it killed him.Be easier if he could throw a burqa over Alex though. Those legs…God, the Leg Fairy had been good to the girl. Endless as a Fallujah patrol, with long, lean muscle in thigh and calf that flexed every time she twitched a do-me heel. He’d bet his Trident she ran every fucking day. He’d love to have her wrap his ass in those legs while he ground in nice and deep…No wonder he had a hard-on up to his navel.Tara, dammit. Get your mind back on Tara. Discipline wasn’t usually this much a problem. Between Iraq, Afghanistan, and his mother—and all their respective IEDs, whether literal or not--Frank knew how to gut it out through almost anything.Roy looked up at him over Tara’s blonde head. “I can take it from here. Go talk to Alex.”He stiffened. Was his distraction that damned obvious?“You done good, Frank,” the man reassured him. “I’ve never seen anybody send Tara flying this high. It’s going to take me an hour to pull her down out of orbit—assuming she stays awake that long. I only know about Alex because Cap’s been talking about setting you two up since he heard you were moving back to the area.”“Ah. All right. Look, thanks for trusting me to scene with your wife.” Smiling, he shook the other dom’s hand and rose. “You’re a lucky man.”“Don’t I know it.” Roy gave Tara a tender smile as she leaned against his shoulder. She sent him a slow, dazed blink in return. “See you later, Frank.”“Later.” Pivoting, he looked around for his host, wanting the introduction Cap had promised him.“Nice scene, son,” a voice rumbled from behind him. “You flew that girl higher than any Space Shuttle ever went.”Frank turned with a smile. “You’d have sent her higher.”“Now you’re just flattering an old man’s ego.” Captain Kyle Miller was a tall, spare man, wiry and tough, with a fringe of gray hair around his otherwise gleaming bald head. His intense blue-eyed stare had a way of making even Frank want to drop his gaze. The intimidation factor was increased by his hawkish nose and wide, thin-lipped mouth. The black golf shirt he wore with black slacks revealed biceps that were still respectable, though he was old enough to have done two tours in Vietnam as a Navy SEAL. He’d stayed in after the war, making the jump from enlisted man to Officer Training School, eventually working his way up to captaining a destroyer in the course of his forty-year career. But in his heart, he was still a Navy SEAL.Not, all in all, a man to fuck with.“Let’s go get you properly introduced,” Cap said, and turned to lead the way through the crowded basement. It seemed his kinkster guests were all setting up their own scenes, now that Frank’s bullwhip demo was over. “Y’all made any contact yet?”Frank shrugged. “Exchanged a few e-mails, a photo or two, chatted on the phone a couple of times. Enough to know our tastes are compatible and both of us have tested negative for STDs recently. I’ve been so busy getting all the requirements done for the new job—not to mention stuff with my mom—that I haven’t managed to set up an actual date yet.” He frowned. “She hasn’t told me much personal stuff, beyond that she’s not married.”Cap shrugged. “I’m not surprised. She’s pretty far into the closet, as far as the scene goes. Most everybody at the party tonight is.”“Including me.” Being known as kinky could get you fired or ostracized, especially in the socially conservative, highly religious South. People had even lost their kids over being in the scene.Which was why, as in the movie Fight Club, many kinksters never publically discussed anything they’d done, where they’d done it, or who they’d done it with. The price of running your mouth could be entirely too high.As his attention focused on Alex, Frank put out a hand to stop his friend. “Who’s the guy glaring at me from beside her? The dom that looks like a blond fireplug standing next to the black sub in the harness. I thought she wasn’t involved with anybody.” The man wore the black leather pants and black T-shirt that constituted a popular uniform for dominants everywhere, just as that leather loincloth and artistic arrangement of straps was a common costume for male submissives.The old SEAL laughed. “That’s Ted—he and the black kid are a couple.”“So what’s with the glare? They in a ménage with Alex?” Frank was the last man to poach. Not after what had happened a year and a half ago.“That’d be damned near incest, the way Ted is about that girl. And no, they’re not related--you’d just think he was her daddy, he’s so protective.” Cap grimaced, as if at an unpleasant memory. “Ted absolutely hated her last dom, not that you could blame him. That one was such a prick, he should have worn a condom over his face as a warning to the rest of us.” Correctly interpreting Frank’s wary expression, he added, “Don’t worry about Ted, I’ll deal with him. You concentrate on Alex.”Frank frowned, wondering if all that was an indication the sub was going to be more trouble than she was worth.Then Alex turned, pivoting on those incredible legs, gleaming red hair curling around her shoulders, that black dress hugging bra-challenged breasts and curvy hips. When she saw him headed toward her with Cap, a smile lit her pretty face. On the other hand, what’s life without a little trouble?
Good God, he’s huge, Alex thought, staring up at Frank Murphy as Cap introduced them with a flourish. She wasn’t used to being towered over, especially not in heels that had her scraping 6’1”. If he got drunk and disorderly on me on the street, I’d have to shoot him. Otherwise he’d kick my ass.Of course, if she did shoot him, the rest of the female population would probably rise up en masse and lynch her. If anything, the man was even more mouth-watering up close than he’d appeared from across the room. His chest alone seemed to take up her entire field of vision. And she definitely approved of the view.“It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, Alex,” Frank said, engulfing her hand in a big, scarred palm. “I can definitely say the same.” His eyes were deep and gray, staring into hers in the kind of hypnotic dom stare that made her want to give him anything he wanted. Especially if what he wanted was her. She suspected her smile looked besotted. Her nipples had drawn into tight points. His eyes flicked down to the tight silk bodice of her dress, then flicked up again, darkening hungrily. She swallowed. “Impressive flogging demo.”“You do seem to know your way around a whip,” Ted observed coolly from her shoulder. His tone indicated some skepticism that Frank’s other skills were as well-developed. Frank laughed, a dark, lovely rumble that made her pussy tighten. “Thanks. I sacrificed a lot of pillows to the bondage gods to learn how to use a lash.” Doms were often told to practice learning how to use a whip by practicing on pillows and stuffed animals.“Got any references?”“Yes, and I already checked them,” Alex told him, not for the first time. He was deliberately trying to yank Frank’s chain, and it was starting to annoy her. Cap moved up behind Ted and clapped a hand on the shorter man’s beefy shoulder. “Come on, Ted, I’ll get you a beer.”“I don’t drink when I’m sceneing,” the cop replied shortly, his gaze still locked on Frank’s in challenge. “Then I’ll get you a Coke.” The SEAL pulled Ted away. Cal rolled his eyes, gave Alex a wink, and followed them.One thick, dark brow lifted, Frank watched them head for the refreshment table set up beyond the bondage gear. “Protective, isn’t he?”Alex sent a smile after her friends. “Can’t seem to break him of the habit.”A woman cried out, the sound halfway between pain and pleasure. Someone else shouted, the sound ringing over Jim Morrison’s throaty croon demanding that someone light his fire. Alex had to raise her voice to be heard over the snap and whish of a flogger and the yelps of its target. “Want to step into the other room? We can’t exactly talk in here.”“That depends. Will Ted feel driven to defend your honor?” Frank grinned, but there was no malice in his gaze as he looked toward the corner where, judging by his expression, the SEAL was attempting to reassure the blond dominant.She slid an arm through his, enjoying the warm play of his bare biceps under her hand. “I’ll protect you.”“Well, if you promise….”Alex laughed. “Pinky swear.” “Got a deal. Want something to drink? I’m dry from that flogging.”“Sure.” She followed him over to a cooler and took one of the canned soft drinks he handed her. Neither of them reached for a beer. Ted was right; only an idiot scened when he was drinking. BDSM was dangerous enough when you were playing stone sober. Besides, the whole point of kinky games was the pursuit of a different kind of high.Rising to her tiptoes, she said into his ear, “Want to head for the gym?”Frank nodded. “If it’s available. It’s for damn sure we can’t negotiate if we can’t even hear ourselves think.”The Millers’ basement was huge, running the whole length of the house. They wound their way through the dungeon with its bondage gear and party furnishings and across a short hall to the home gym. Frank flipped on the light, revealing a treadmill, a wall-hung flat screen, and a set of free weights. A couple of thick padded mats probably did duty during yoga or self-defense practice. Or, knowing the Millers, sex.  Best of all, the room had a door. Alex didn’t hesitate to close it, cutting the noise. Frank was right; there was little point in negotiations if neither of them could hear what they were agreeing to. And once you were bound hand and foot and a big guy was standing over you with a whip, it was a bad time to discover you didn’t have the same thing in mind.The skirt of her LBD was just loose enough to let her lower herself down on the stacked mats. Frank sat next to her, stretching his long legs out and crossing his booted feet at the ankles.“I really was impressed with the way you helped Tara find subspace.” She popped the top on the Coke and took a sip. After she swallowed, she added, “Wasn’t surprised, though. Both those subs had a lot of good things to say about you.” She might be an adrenalin junky, but Alex wasn’t stupid; she’d called his references. It wasn’t a good idea to play with someone you hadn’t checked out, since BDSM did attract its share of assholes. God knew she’d found that out the hard way. “They said you play responsibly, push just far enough without going too far, and have a chivalrous streak that’s surprisingly wide for a guy who likes using a whip. And judging by the way Cap sings your praises, you may be his favorite person on the planet—except for Mrs. Cap, of course.”“Cap’s a hell of a guy. He taught me the ropes when I was just starting out on the scene.” Frank eyed her over his Mountain Dew. “He thinks a lot of you, too.” “Really? Cool.”  She leaned back on her elbows, and didn’t miss the way his gaze skimmed the length of her legs. “What’d you think of my limits list?” The question didn’t sound quite as casual as she would have liked, though she hoped her tension didn’t show.He grinned, flashing white teeth. “I’m shocked—shocked, I say--by your kinkitude.”She grinned back. “Smartass.”Some doms might have been offended by the cheerful insult, but judging by his chuckle, Frank obviously didn’t take himself that seriously. She liked that about him. A lot. Sobering, he brushed the back of her hand with his thumb. “Our tastes do seem to align pretty well.”She’d thought the same thing when she’d read his list of hard limits—things he absolutely wouldn’t do—soft limits—things he’d consider doing—and fantasies. It had read a lot like the one she’d written about her own tastes. On the other hand, she’d thought she was a good match with Gordon, too. He studied her thoughtfully, as if sensing the battle between her doubts and her desire. “Why don’t we see how this evening goes?”Alex blew out a breath. “That might be wise.”He started to lean toward her, only to stop. “May I kiss you?” A polite dominant never touched a sub without permission.Her heart began to pound. “Yes.” She swallowed, cleared her throat. “I’d like that.”Hot approval flared in his eyes, and he lowered his head toward hers.His lips felt just as soft as they looked, tasting of Mountain Dew and masculinity. One big hand came up to cup her cheek, his fingers long and strong and warm. His broad body curled around hers, making her feel sheltered, protected. It wasn’t a sensation she was used to. She was surprised at how seductive it was.She reached for him, feeling the hot flesh of his ribs under her palm. And sighed, melting into him.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter. If so, let me know on my Facebook page. Thanks!
Angela Knight

An Excerpt from "The Once and Future Lover" in WICKED GAMES.

A pair of chairs had been set up for the royal couple under a bright red canvas awning draped over a wooden frame. Merlin and Nimue stood waiting beneath it, looking deceptively young, like children playing dress-up in tunics of embroidered silk. The pair bowed deeply to the king and queen.Chattering courtiers fell silent and rose in acknowledgment as Gwen and Arthur entered the courtyard. Catching Merlin’s gaze, the king dipped his chin in a nod of acknowledgement.To Gwen’s grim pleasure, most of the onlookers appeared worried as they watched him stride onto the field. Mordred’s followers wore expressions of anticipation, as did four lords Arthur had defeated in the battles that followed Uther’s assassination. Gwen made mental note of them, in case she needed revenge later.She was not in the mood to turn the other cheek.The kingdom’s elite Knights of the Round Table had gathered in a tense knot off to one side of the awning: Galahad, Bors, Gawain, Tristan, Percival, Marrok, Kay, Cador, Bedivere, and Baldulf. Like Arthur and Lancelot, they were dressed for war in helm and hauberk, shields on their arms and swords hanging at their belts. Mordred stood stonily at the head of his own eleven, though his followers included at least another twenty, most of them the sons of the wealthy. His resemblance to his sire was uncanny, save for his greater height—and the green eyes, as pale and feral as a cat’s.“Is it my imagination, or does Mordred and his pack of dogs look entirely too confident?” Gwen murmured to Arthur.“You’re not imagining anything,” he growled. “They expect me to lose. I won’t. Too much rides on this.” His gaze lingered on her face in a way that told her he was talking about her more than his throne.Gwen stared up at him, struck by the savage determination in his eyes. She’d always known Arthur loved her, of course, but on some level she’d thought he loved his country and his knights at least as much. It was startling to realize he held her dearer than any of it.His knights started toward them. Arthur and Lancelot advanced to meet them, with Gwen trailing. She broke step as her attention fell on one particular face among those seated around the courtyard.Gwen and Morgana Le Fay had become unlikely friends soon after Arthur’s former lover appeared at court with her young son. At the time, Gwen hadn’t expected to like the woman, had only meant to pretend friendship as a way to quiet any rumors that Morgana and Arthur were still lovers.And the ruse had worked. Gwen did not have a reputation as a pliant wife; the court reasoned that if she’d become friends with Morgana, there must be nothing to all those lewd whispers.Yet if the friendship had started out as pretense, that soon changed when Gwen realized Morgana was as witty and bright as she was beautiful.Best of all, she was loyal. Morgana had never tried to use their friendship to wheedle riches or favors as too many others did, and she never repeated anything the queen said to her. She quickly became the dearest friend Guinevere had ever had, the one person, other than Arthur himself, whom Gwen trusted without question.Which was why Gwen worried for her friend now. Morgana’s lovely face wasn’t just pale, it was almost ghostly, and her green eyes looked huge with anxiety.Gwen couldn’t blame her. No matter what her own feelings were, Morgana would soon have to watch her son either die or kill his father. Another woman might imagine all the riches that would come her way as the mother of the new High King. The healer wasn’t that woman. She was far too intelligent not to see the implications.Her anguished gaze met Gwen’s. The queen glanced at Arthur, now deep in conversation with his knights, then gestured Morgana over. Her friend shot off the bench and started toward her.Gwen was so intent on the healer, she ignored the soft ring of approaching chain mail. She realized her mistake when Morgana’s eyes widened in horror.A male hand clamped over Gwen’s right upper arm hard enough to bruise. Hot breath gusted against her ear as Mordred whispered, “After I’ve killed him, my sweet stepmother, I’ll fuck you. In your cunt and your mouth. In your ar . . .”She wheeled and slapped him with every ounce of her body weight behind her hand. As he released her in shock, she jerked the dagger from her jeweled belt sheath and plunged it toward the only unarmored part of him she could reach: the underside of his jaw.Her knife wrist slapped into Mordred’s palm. For all that he looked like a bullock, he was fast.“You ungrateful cur!” Gwen raged. “I will die before I ever let you touch me!” She lunged at him, her sandaled feet thumping harmlessly on his booted shins, her free hand curling into claws as she went for his eyes. He grabbed her wrist and jerked her off her feet. He didn’t even have to work at it. She was distantly aware of outraged male voices, drowned out by Arthur’s furious bellow.Gwen barely heard them. She was utterly focused on Mordred’s face, so disturbingly like Arthur’s—except for those cruel eyes. “If you kill my husband, by the womb of the Virgin, I’ll see you dead. Get out of the habit of sleeping, boy. My assassins will come at you from behind every tapestry and column, every rock and hedgerow. You’ll know every smiling friend could belong to me, just waiting to dig that viper’s heart out of your . . .”“Shut up, Gwen!” Morgana screamed.Blinking, the queen realized her friend had both arms wrapped around Mordred’s forearm as she desperately tried to keep him from hitting Gwen.Then Lancelot was there, his fist slamming into Mordred’s jaw so hard, the prince dropped Guinevere and staggered back. She hit the packed dirt of the training field, her head striking hard enough to send stars shooting behind her eyes.A pair of booted feet came down on either side of her hips. She looked up woozily to see Arthur standing astride her, his sword raised to protect her. “By the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, I am still High King of Britain! Any man who lays hand on my queen dies now!”“She’s gone barking mad!” Mordred spat. “I but spoke to her, and she tried to bury her dagger in my throat!”“You threatened to rape me!” Gwen had just enough self-control not to screech the words loud enough for the entire court to hear. Above her, Arthur froze.“Mordred!” Morgana cried in stricken betrayal. “Guinevere took us in, treated you like her own . . .”“Because she knew she’d never give Arthur an heir,” Mordred sneered. “That blond bitch is as barren as a salted field. Which is to the good, or she’d have surely presented our king with his champion’s brat.”“You lying lickspittle cur!” Arthur launched himself at his son, sword aimed at the prince’s throat. Mordred parried and retreated, his gaze icy with calculation.Arthur’s knights lunged at Mordred’s followers with a chorused roar of outrage. The prince’s men bellowed and drew their weapons. The air filled with clangs and curses as the two groups began to fight.“Get up, Gwen, before you get trampled!” Morgana swooped down and helped her to her feet.“Get the queen off the field!” Arthur bellowed at Lancelot, stalking his son with murder in his eyes.Lance planted his palm against the small of Gwen’s back, urging her toward the dubious shelter of the awning. “Move!” Galahad backed along behind them, keeping an eye out for would-be attackers as he brought up the rear.“No!” Gwen set her feet, looking back at Arthur. “Protect your king! I’ll go . . .”Arthur’s sword bounced off something invisible in a cascade of blue sparks.“Enough!” Merlin’s roar could not possibly have come from the throat of the beardless boy he appeared to be.Both men flew off their feet as if dragged into the air by an invisible giant. It dropped them again to land, staggering. Everyone else froze in astonishment as Merlin stalked between the two groups of warriors. “You will cease!” the wizard snapped, “Or I will leave this little world of yours to drown in blood, as your vicious nature apparently dictates!”“He threatened to rape my queen.” Arthur glared at Mordred, who snarled back like a reflection in a demonic mirror. “I’ll see him dead!”“Kill him, then!” Merlin spat, stepping right against the king’s chest with an expression so savage, the larger man retreated a step in sheer astonishment. “And then watch as humanity sinks into darkness because you lacked the strength of will to control your ugly temper.”“Who do you think you . . . ?” Arthur began.Merlin talked right over him. “You are supposed to be High King of Britain, Arthur Pendragon. If you can’t put the good of your people above your pricked ego, you are no good to me.”“A threat to my wife is not an ego prick.” Arthur glared at Mordred. “Especially not when it’s my own son who threatens her!”“I do not care!” Merlin roared. “This is your test, Pendragon. And you are failing it!”The sound of his voice was like being plunged into a frozen lake. Every hair rose on Gwen’s body in atavistic terror. She wouldn’t have been more astonished if the stripling wizard had turned into a dragon.She wasn’t alone, either. Every face she saw drained of blood in unison. Men as well as women cried out.Gwen had never seen her husband retreat from anyone, including other kings, but he actually took a step back from Merlin. Even so, he didn’t let his gaze drop as he curled a lip. “You’ve made your point. I might as well slay my bastard in ten minutes as now.”Catching Lance’s gaze, he jerked a thumb at the pavilion and the chairs standing there. Lance dipped his head and sheathed his sword. “My queen?” He offered his arm.Gwen schooled her face, concealing just how shaken she was behind her best regal air, and placed her hand in the crook of his arm. “Morgana, attend me.”Mordred’s mother blinked once. “Of course, your majesty.” She fell in behind them, all three of them ignoring the astounded stares of their audience in the stands.

WICKED GAMES is out now.  I hope you'll take a look at it; you'll find it here on Amazon, as well as at your local bookstore and B&N. 
Best,Angela Knight

Bondage, Beauty and the Beast, an excerpt from WICKED GAMES

Please note: This post is for adults only. If you're under eighteen, please go elsewhere. Thanks!WICKED GAMES is now officially in bookstores, so I decided to tell y'all a little bit about the book and how it got written. The original idea was to reprint three really early BDSM stories of mine that appeared in a 2001 e-book called BODICE RIPPERS. I started reading romance back in the late 1970s and 1980s, when there were certain really popular romance plots that involved the heroine or her family pissing off the hero in some way. He then took erotic revenge on her that in retrospect had strong elements of bondage and submission. At some point, he'd rip her bodice open and seduce her, more or less by force. Thus, the nickname Bodice Rippers.(Which romance writers today absolutely hate, by the way.)None of this was even remotely heroic behavior, and editors and readers soon turned away from what were in essence rape fantasies. But by in the early 1990s, I'd discovered bondage and submission really turned me on. When I decided to start writing romance, I used the basic ideas behind these stories and took them just as far as I possibly could. I wrote a whole slew of  searingly kinky stories inspired by the novles I'd read back in the 1980s. At the time, I had no expectation of ever publishing any of it. The stories were written strictly for me, and I did not hold back at all. Anything I'd ever fantasized about, I wrote.In 2001, I decided that some of those early stories were good enough to publish, and I submitted them to one of the first e-pubs, Renaissance E-books. I called the book BODICE RIPPERS as an ironic nod to those early Eighties romances. Soon afterward, my editor at Renaissance told me a Berkley editor had bought a copy of the book. I thought that was pretty cool, but I knew better than to hope she was really interested. Turns out she was.A few weeks later, Cindy Hwang e-mailed me and asked if I wanted to write for her. She told me she thought if I could take smutty concepts like those in BODICE RIPPERS and actually make them romantic, I had what it takes to be a romance novelist. That was a decade and 18 novels ago.Not long after I started writing for Cindy, she told me she wanted to publish BODICE RIPPERS. I, frankly, thought she was nuts. Those stories were too freaking kinky for a mainstream romance readership. But we decided to put the book out under a pseudonym --Julie Day-- as one of the first books of the HEAT imprint. (We ended up doing it under the Angela Knight name anyway.)At the time, though, I was busy writing the Mageverse series, so a few years went by. In the meantime, the mainstream romance audience developed a taste for kink, thanks to FIFTY SHADES OF GREY. Which was when we decided the time was finally ripe to put out WICKED GAMES and LOVE BITES. (Love Bites will be out in September, by the way.)Each of the books include a Mageverse BDSM novel and two nasty shorts of mine. Here's an excerpt from one of the ones in WICKED GAMES:
"Bondage, Beauty and the Beast"
The air was cold on my breasts, and my nipples tingled, drawn into tight, hard points. Staring into the darkness of the velvet hood, I tried not to shiver. I could hear the man pacing around me, inches away, moving so quietly, and yet there was an impression of size, of danger about him despite his silence. I was acutely aware of my nakedness.“What do you think?” asked the precise tenor of my stepson. The whoreson bastard. “Lovely,” the man said. His voice was odd, a deep, rich rumble that vibrated pleasantly in my ears. He was behind me now. Suddenly hands engulfed my breasts, big hands, hard and callused, lifting the soft globes to pluck delicately at my nipples. I stifled a moan and would have tried to push him away, but my wrists were bound in front of me. “She has very responsive breasts,” he said.“Brianne’s tits are her best feature,” agreed Cedric. “God knows my lord father thought so. May he rot in hell. He must have been addled, marrying her as he did with one foot in the grave. My God, look at her. She’s younger than I am.” “Yes,” answered the rumble. The big hands moved, drifting down the bare, sensitive ripples of my ribs, testing the plane of my belly. I fought not to squirm. I would not give either man that satisfaction.The hand drifted between my thighs, long fingers burrowing skillfully into the curls there, parting the lips that had gone so shamefully damp under the man’s skillful caresses. I stiffened in outrage, but I knew a protest would only earn me a slap from Cedric. He stroked slowly between the plump lips, taking his time, teasing shameful pleasure from my body. It seemed I felt a brush of fur against my inner thighs as he touched me, and I wondered if he wore gloves.“Well,” Cedric demanded. “Do you agree? Will you keep her here, in your castle . . . ?” A very long finger found the opening of my cunt and slowly eased its way inside. “That depends,” the man said. “I still don’t understand why you want to sell her to me.”“Because otherwise I’ll have to pay Brianne the share of the inheritance the old man left her,” Cedric said with exaggerated patience. “And I don’t care to do that.” A low, rumbling growl vibrated in my ear. I stirred nervously. It sounded far more like a wolf than a man.When Cedric spoke again, he, too, sounded nervous. “I was going to kill her, but I remembered you and Edrea and all the games you used to play here before . . .” His voice trailed off. “Before she cursed me.” The voice was so cold with frigid anger that I flinched. He slipped an arm around me to hold me still. I felt fur and linen brush my naked flesh, and shivered.“Ah, yes. Don’t you see, milord? It’s poetic justice. She seduced my father with her charms, she would have inherited a third of everything rightfully mine . . . but instead, she becomes your slave. Yours to torment, as you are tormented.” The finger probing me was joined by a second. The sensation was liquid, hot. Shameful. “Yessssss.”“She is, after all, nobly born,” Cedric said, cajoling. “You won’t often have a chance at such a beauty, thanks to Edrea . . .” The growl was so loud I jumped. “True, curse you. But this one . . . this one won’t refuse me. I won’t allow it.” He released my waist and cunt, and suddenly hands were prying my bottom cheeks apart. A finger stabbed up, forcing its way into my anus. I arched my back and gasped in pain.“I’ll take her whenever I want, however I want,” the voice growled. “So,” said Cedric, voice vibrating with triumph. “It’s agreed?” “Not so fast. First I want to see her face.”Before I could even pull at the ropes binding my wrists, he whirled me to face him and snatched the hood off my head. Blinking in the light of the torches, I looked into the face of the one who would be my master. And felt my heart skip in shock. The top of my head barely came to his breastbone, and his shoulders were wide as a sword over a chest roped in muscle. He wore a rich wine doublet, a fine linen shirt, and black britches that hugged his long, brawny legs. His boots were made of soft dark leather that clung to his strong calves.In all, he had the sort of strong male form to make a maiden’s heart beat faster—had it not been covered entirely in silky black fur. His pelt—there was no other word for it—was as shiny and black as a panther’s everywhere except on his head, where it lengthened into a magnificent mane that extended down his back. Great horns thrust through that silken hair, curving like a ram’s on either side of his arrogant head.Yet despite those animal features, his face was human. Indeed, there was raw masculine beauty in his high, broad cheekbones and square chin that not even fur could disguise. His lips were full and sensuous, though as dark as his pelt, and his teeth gleamed white as he smiled down at me, hungry and possessive. “I’ll take her,” he told Cedric, his voice rumbling with lust. I fainted dead away.
And it gets kinkier from there. I came up with all kinds of magical clamps and BDSM toys for the Beast, and he used every one of them.Tonight, April 3, at 9 p.m. Eastern, I will be doing another Launch Party for Wicked Games. I had originally planned to do it Tuesday, but I ended up holding it at the wrong Facebook page. (That's what happens when you break your leg and try to do promo while taking pain medication.)So I'm holding ANOTHER party at the main AK page here  . I will be giving away five signed copies of WICKED GAMES and two $25 Amazon Gift Certificates. I hope you'll join me. Thanks!
Angela Knight

Smutkeers, Inc!

Today I'm doing a threesome with Eden Bradley and Lauren Jameson!  All three of us have books out today, and so we're teaming up to make as many people as possible aware of them.

And of course, don't forget my WICKED GAMES, out today!



First we have...



Eden Bradley’s DANGEROUSLY BOUND

She wasn’t as innocent as he remembered. He’s twice as wicked as she ever imagined.

“For those who are born to New Orleans, it’s in your blood. It lingers there no matter where

you go. BDSM is the same sort of thing. If you’re born to it—the way you were, the way I was,

whether or not you want to accept that—you can never shake it. It shapes the way you think, the

way you respond to…everything. And those who were a part of unleashing those desires…you

never forget them, either. That’s what you did for me, Mick. For me, not to me.”

~Alessandra ‘Allie’ LeClair

She can whip up something sweet…

Allie LeClair has finally returned to the sultry city of New Orleans. After ten years of studying

and working as a pastry chef in San Francisco and all over Europe—and feeding her submissive

side at BDSM clubs—Allie is home, and she has something to prove to the man who once fueled

her desires. She’s not a child anymore.

But with two in the kitchen…

When security specialist Mick Reid hears that Allie is back in town, he knows he won’t be able

to stay away for long. Ever since he discovered his darker side, Mick has tried to protect Allie

from the aggressive beast within him—but that power and wildness is exactly what she wants.

Can they take the heat?

Allie has made the first move, but now it’s up to Mick. The game has begun, and playing has

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But DANGEROUSLY BOUND NOW!

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Website:

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Smuteketeers blog:

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Next is Lauren Jameson’s SURRENDER TO TEMPTATION




In this stunning romance, Lauren Jameson presents a story of unexpected desire in which two

strangers play a dangerous game in the quest for incredible pleasure. But winning comes with

 After walking in on her boyfriend with another woman, Devon Reid decides to seek solace in

the small California town she’s often visited on vacation. Instead, she finds herself consumed by

a mysterious man who sets her ablaze with one simple look.

 Devon has always been the good girl, but Zach’s touch turns her into something primal,

especially when he persuades her to give up control to him. But while Zach can make her burn,

he seduces Devon one moment and turns her away the next.

 When Devon starts her new job at Phyrefly Aviation, she learns that Zach is actually founder

and CEO of the massive corporation. And while Devon knows she should keep things between

them strictly professional, his overwhelming magnetism makes it impossible to stay away….

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Buy SURRENDER TO TEMPTATION NOW!

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Lauren Jameson website

Lauren Hawkeye website

Facebook launch party, and a taste of THE ONCE AND FUTURE LOVER in WICKED GAMES

“The Once and Future Lover”
For a decade now, I’ve been writing about King Arthur and his immortal vampire Knights of the Round Table. I love Arthur. He’s a great character, and he’s deeply in love with his wife, Guinevere, who loves him right back.Yet I had never written the story of how he and his knights became vampires to begin with, or how the ladies became witches. When I realized I needed to do a longer story to round out WICKED GAMES, an anthology of my BDSM erotica, I decided what I really wanted was to do Gwen and Arthur’s story.Yeah, I did say MASTER OF DARKNESS was the last Mageverse story, but I have always loved writing about Arthur and the gang. I couldn’t resist doing it again.But there was a problem. I had already established, waaaaay back in “Seduction’s Gift,” the very first Mageverse story, that Lancelot and Gwen had once had a one-night-stand that infuriated Arthur so much, it took him 1500 years to forgive Lance.Having an affair was completely out of character for Lancelot and Gwen. Why had it happened? And why did Arthur, a medieval king at the time, not execute them for treason?  It took me a long while of thinking and working to figure out the answer to that one, but I did eventually find a way that made sense. I also discovered a couple of other things I didn’t know.  First, Arthur is one scary bastard. Yes, he loves Elvis and will recite the Dead Parrot Sketch at the drop of a long sword, but underneath all that, You Do Not Screw with Arthur. He’s also a dominant. I’m not talking one of those “Tie you Up and Tickle you with a Feather” doms either. He practiced BDSM loooooong before there was a BDSM. And he makes sure Gwen, perv that she is, loves every minute of it.  I hope you’ll pick up Wicked Games April 1. And I hope you’ll attend my Facebook Launch Party Tuesday evening, when I plan to give away copies of the book, along with a couple of $25 Amazon Gift Cards.  Thanks! You'll find the party at: https://www.facebook.com/AngelaKnight2002

And here's the promised excerpt:

Gwen dreamed of death, of blood and terror and grief. She jolted awake. In her panic, she almost shot from the bed, but her husband’s brawny arm was wrapped around her waist. She stilled, his breath warming her nape.Arthur Pendragon slept as he so often did, curled around her, surrounding her in his swordsman’s hard strength. He’s not dead. It was only a nightmare. Going limp as a soaked rag in her relief, Gwen turned her head to press her cheek against his broad bare chest. His heart thudded in her ear, steady and strong and comforting. Like Arthur himself.As her dream panic drained away, she heard the deep voices of the guards out on the balustrade murmur something to each other. They sounded unusually tense.Reality hit Gwen like an armored fist. Today was the day Arthur would fight to the death.Against Mordred. His son, heir, and enemy. Her stomach curled into a sour knot. She had to pace, do something, or she was going to start screaming. What if this morning’s dream had been more than a nightmare? What if it had been a vision?Slowly, carefully, she eased Arthur’s warm, muscled forearm from around her waist, swung her feet to the stone floor, and rose, trying not to wake him. They’d been up late last night, making love out of desperation as much as desire. Arthur needed to sleep every minute he could. A cooling breeze poured through the open shutters of the chamber’s sole window, which overlooked the courtyard where he and Mordred would do battle in a few hours’ time. A shaft of blue dawn light spilled in, illuminating her husband as he sprawled in tanned, brawny nudity across their bed.Arthur was not a tall man, though Gwen suspected he was actually more muscular at thirty-seven than the nineteen-year-old she’d married, back when they’d called him the Princeling King. He still drilled with his knights every morning, going full out with sword and shield. Whenever she pointed out the likelihood of being hurt in such practice, he’d snort. “I’ll not grow too soft to sit a horse.” Her beautiful man. Her handsome king.Responsibility more than age had salted Arthur’s hair with gray. More pewter threaded the beard that framed his lushly sensual mouth, and sprinkled the soft, dark thatch that covered his powerful chest. Still, the hair on his groin was as dark as ever, a sable ruff surrounding the long cock she’d always adored, the heavy balls she loved to cradle in her palm. If he dies, I might as well crawl into the grave with him.Gwen had seen too many battles over seventeen years as Arthur’s queen. She knew what happened when an older man fought a big brute nineteen years younger, and it wasn’t pretty.The wizard Merlin had promised power to the winner of today’s battle. Arthur wanted that power to better protect his people from the invading Saxons, not to mention a Celtic warlord named Varn who had been a thorn in his side for the past two years. Then there was the collection of former rulers whose kingdoms Arthur had conquered more than a decade before, any one of whom would love to topple the High King.As for Mordred . . . Well, he just wanted an acceptable excuse to kill his father. Anything more was just gravy on the goose as far he was concerned.Arthur deserved better than a bastard son who hated him. Unfortunately, Gwen had been unable to give her king that successor—and God knew she’d tried.Three pregnancies. Three miscarriages.A familiar bitter sting gathered behind her eyelids, and she clenched her jaw, blinking hard, forcing her twisted features to smooth. You will not cry. You will show only smiling confidence. You will not make Arthur doubt himself.Doubt can kill a man in a fight like this.Mordred had enough advantages as it was. Gwen wasn’t going to hand him another arrow for his assassin’s quiver.Wheeling, she paced naked across the chamber. All too soon, they’d have to walk out into the courtyard below to face the prince’s challenge. Gwen only hoped Mordred didn’t win. Not only would his victory be a catastrophe for her and Arthur, it would be a disaster for Britain.Her mind flashed back to a night months before, when Mordred had tried to convince Arthur to declare war on the Saxons. The king had refused.“War always sounds like a good idea to those who’ve never fought,” Arthur said. The knights, ladies, and courtiers seated at the Round Table fell silent over their trenchers, watching the interplay between their liege and his son. “Believe me, the enthusiasm dims when you’re knee-deep in mud, blood, and someone else’s intestines.”“But isn’t conquest the right of the strong, Father,” Mordred argued, “Proof of God’s favor?”“Unless you lose, in which case it’s proof God doesn’t favor you as much as you thought.” Arthur cut a slice of venison and fed it to Gwen, giving her one of his wickedly sensual smiles. “Then it’s too damned late, and those you love are getting butchered for your arrogance.”The prince started to retort, but Arthur cut him off. “I’m not declaring war on Hengrid and his Saxons, Mordred. Their raids may eventually push me into it, but I’d rather wait until our people get in the harvest and survive the winter. This is the longest stretch of peace we’ve had in thirty years. Let the peasants savor it a little longer.”“Peasants.” The prince speared a bite of mutton on the tip of his dagger and ate it with a wolfish snap. His green eyes glinted with growing temper over the curl of his lip. “What do we care for the opinion of peasants?”Arthur studied him. Everyone else held their collective breath, Gwen included, wondering if they were about to witness another explosive row. Mordred was a bit too much like his father, right down to the infamous Pendragon temper. Unfortunately, he lacked Arthur’s iron self-control. “Peasants, my son, are the ones who do the worst of the dying in war. Marching armies too often murder peasant children, rape peasant wives, and burn peasant crops, leaving the survivors to starve. Never forget, a good king doesn’t declare war unless he has no choice.”Mordred dipped his head in grudging acquiescence. “Aye, Father.”Arthur turned away as Lord Kay said something Gwen didn’t catch. She was immobilized by the sight of rage and malice flashing across Mordred’s face, there and gone so quickly she wasn’t even sure she’d seen it. Maybe I didn’t. Maybe it was naught but too much imagination and too many bad memories. Dear God, let that be all.Mordred’s rage and impulsiveness had grown throughout his childhood, reaching a bitter pitch in his teens that had made all their lives unbearable. Yet in the past year, that storminess had seemed to abate. Gwen, Arthur and Mordred’s mother, Morgana, had begun to hope the worst was over, that he’d finally learned to control his anger.But staring at his expressionless profile, she wondered uneasily if he’d just gotten better at hiding his darkness . . .Now Gwen squeezed her eyes closed. With a queen’s ruthless discipline, she concentrated on making her mind as smooth as a frozen lake, feeling no fear. No doubt. No pain. Feeling nothing.“You know,” a deep voice purred in her ear, “you do have the most beautiful rump I’ve ever seen.” Arthur’s big hands cupped both her bare cheeks. “I made you queen for this arse.”But there are better things to feel than nothing. She turned her head to smile up into her husband’s wicked grin. If he was working just a little too hard at it, she’d do them both the favor of refusing to notice. He’s not dead yet. And neither am I. “At the time,” she drawled, “you told me it was my eyes that won you. Or perhaps my mouth.”“And so they were. You’re a woman of many parts.” He slid his arms around her and leaned down to take her lips in a kiss so passionate, it made a fine distraction. She opened her mouth with a sigh and leaned into his warm strength. His tongue slipped inside her lips, explored sensitive flesh, teased with gentle strokes. Heat gathered between them everywhere they touched, dancing along the surface of her skin, coiling in the tips of her breasts and between her thighs.Arthur’s arms curled around her, tracing the naked rise of her hip before sliding down to cup her between her thighs. One finger stroked her sex with an exquisitely gentle touch that brought heat rushing to her core.As delicious as that felt, though, she knew they would be interrupted. “My maid and the servants are due . . .”“We’ll send them away.”“. . . and you did order Lancelot to attend you for new orders.”“He can damned well wait with the servants. None of them will begrudge us whatever moments we can steal.”She considered arguing, but Arthur’s free hand distracted her as it traced a leisurely path up her torso, his swordsman’s callused palm a little rough. The erotic scrape of his skin along hers made Gwen squirm.The thought of the duel tried to surface again, but she thrust it down hard. Arthur was right. If this is to be the last time, let’s make a memory to keep me warm through all the lonely winters. Everyone else can wait.Especially Mordred.Arthur found her nipple, twisted it with the perfect pressure. He knew just how hard she liked his touch, when she liked it, and where.Throwing her head back on his shoulder, Gwen rolled her rump against his erection. “Mmm,” she purred. “You’re very, very . . . tempting.”“I could say the same to you.” The hand teasing her sex parted her innermost lips to stroke the delicate flesh. “Sweet as cream, and just as wet.”Guinevere turned her head and smiled up into his dark, hot gaze. “As I said, tempting.” She let her body relax, let all her fear and tension go. It was a trick she’d learned years ago, before other battles, other wars.Arthur gave her nipple a harder tug, drawing it out to the edge where pain and pleasure met, simultaneously letting her feel the bite of his nails. The sharp sting made her moan. He chuckled at the sound, switching his attention to the other nipple and tormenting it just as skillfully. The fingers in her sex found her clit, pinched hard, making her writhe.Gwen groaned in delight. It had taken her years to convince him to be even slightly rough with her. His instinct was to treat her as if she had no more heft than a cobweb, easily shredded by careless hands. She loved her husband’s bone-deep, instinctive chivalry, yet she’d always found his rare moments of passionate violence unbearably arousing, Perhaps it was because they were so out of character for him. Or perhaps they simply served some need of her own she couldn’t explain. He gave her clit another scissoring pinch, then let go to delve deeper into her pussy, two fingers pumping until she shuddered as her knees grew weak. “Oh, you do like that, don’t you, wife?”When she could do nothing but moan, he tightened his grip on her nipple, ripping a yelp of aroused protest from her lips. “Your king asked you a question, girl.”“Yes!” she whispered. “Saints, Arthur, oh, God, it feels so . . .” She twisted in his arms, rolling her hips back against his blade-hard cock until it slid deliciously along the valley between her cheeks.He groaned in arousal and gave her a hard, involuntary thrust before he stilled with an obvious effort. “Watch it, woman. You’ll make me spill.”“I’ll take that chance,” she panted.“I won’t.” He pulled his fingers from her delightfully stinging flesh, caught her by the shoulders, and spun her to face him. She went into his arms with an eager moan. His mouth covered hers, hot and wet and fierce. She kissed him back, starving, loving the feel of his hands cupping her arse, the hard length of his erection. His fingers dug in with a bruising grip, skillfully adding tinder to her already blazing arousal.His tongue slipped into her mouth, and she chased it with her own, suckling and circling it as if it were his cock. He growled against her mouth and lifted her off her feet, cradling her arse in broad, strong hands. With a groan, Gwen wrapped her legs around his waist and hooked one heel over the opposite ankle. She started to lift herself with her horsewoman’s strong thighs, meaning to impale her sex on Arthur’s shaft.“No, I don’t think so.” Turning to the bed, he spilled her onto her back across the mattress. Before she knew what he intended, he dropped to his knees beside the bed, spread her thighs wide, and buried his face between them. The first long lick tugged at her inner labia, but didn’t touch her clit. Not quite.“Arthurrrr,” Gwen moaned. “God, Arthur, let me suck you. I need to . . .”He lifted his head long enough to growl. “I think not. I’ve other plans.”

The First Chapter of OATH OF SERVICE

So, folks -- I've been writing frantically, getting LOVE BITES ready to turn in. I just finished the book yesterday, so today I'm nursing a writing hangover and getting ready to do a radio program called ON POINT on NPR at 11 a.m. Eastern.  http://onpoint.wbur.org/2014/02/12/romance-novels-business-best-sellers It's a call in show, so I hope some of you will call in and ask questions that make me NOT sound like a Southern fried bimbo. Anyway, here's the first chapter of OATH.... 
The bald leather-clad man hauled the plump, pretty blonde across his lap and flipped up her short PVC skirt to reveal lacy stockings, a garter belt, and no panties at all. Growling, he gave her a dozen ruthless swats that made her yelp and buck. When he finished, the blonde collapsed over his thighs with a moaning sigh that sounded far more like pleasure than pain. A flare of longing flashed through Morgana le Fay. She looked hastily away from the sated sub. It was far too easy to imagine herself draped across a man’s lap. Not the bald dominant’s, but his.Keep your mind on the job, witch, she told herself firmly, forcing her thoughts away from the knight who’d been an obsession for too long. Somebody’s murdering these people, and using magic to do it. You don’t have time for kinky fantasies if you want to stop the killer.And it would be far too easy to get distracted in a place like Club Penitent, which seemed designed to rouse the forbidden needs she fought so desperately to ignore. Especially tonight, on a day her ghosts paced and moaned, tormenting her until she had no business going out on any mission at all. The only thing more unacceptable was to allow her team to go into battle without her. No other witch could protect them as well as she could, because no other witch had her raw power.Just keep your mind on the job, Morgana. Stop the bastard. Concentrate on that. Forget everything else. Ignore everything else. All the ghosts. All the need. None of it matters but the team and the killer’s victims. She swept another glance over her surroundings. Club Penitent was one of New York's most exclusive nightclubs, whether devoted to Bondage, Domination and Sadomasochism—BDSM—or to more vanilla activities. The membership leaned toward upwardly mobile, if kinky, professionals: doctors, lawyers, bankers, stockbrokers, even a celebrity or two. The place accordingly had an air of expensive seduction, between the long, massive bar and the surrounding tables and chairs, all of them dark oak carved with gothic crosses to go with the club’s Inquisition theme. The bar area was surrounded by a ring of smaller "dungeon" rooms equipped with St. Andrews crosses, spanking benches, and other assorted gear designed for tying people up and doing painfully erotic things to them. The overall result was an air of sensual menace, rather as if Torquemada had decided to run a bordello between torturing alleged witches. Gregorian chants filled the air with deep masculine voices instead of the usual deafening rock du jour of other clubs. Given Morgana's sensitive Maja ears, she approved, though the reminder of the Church’s witch-torturing history made her twitch. She'd come entirely too close to getting hanged by a fanatical priest once. It hadn't been erotic at all.Though if Percival was doing the torturing...Stop that.Involuntarily, her gaze flashed across the bar to the rear booth where her team sat. The three men looked ready for battle at a moment’s notice, between their holstered 9mm SIGs and the long swords they wore diagonally across their backs. Illegal weapons, of course, but also invisible to mortal eyes, thanks to the spells Morgana had cast. While the club’s Masters wore everything from monk’s robes to biker leathers, her teammates needed no special regalia to look like dominants. Instead they’d chosen clothing that would allow them to blend without hampering their ability to fight: leather vests over bare chests, faded jeans and tooled leather boots, perfectly broken in. Looking at them lounging in their booth like a trio of lions on the veldt, Morgana couldn’t deny their effect on her. But then, if a woman didn't feel a tingle at the sight of Percival, Cador and Marrok looking ready to break all Ten Commandments, she needed to check her pulse.Someone who didn't know them would probably register Marrok first. He appeared the most menacing of the three, being six-five and brawny as a bull, with a lantern jaw, deep-set brown eyes, and a lazily sensual mouth. His crooked nose had been repeatedly broken during childhood by his abusive prick of a father. Despite the air of brutishness, he was a laughing, genial soul who often played peacemaker between his hot-tempered teammates. Which made what happened if you managed to truly anger him all the more shocking. His berserker rages could make even Arthur Pendragon step softly. He’d been known to cut through enemy forces like a plow through a wheat field, leaving broken bodies and barren earth in his wake.Then there was Cador. At six feet, he was shorter than the others, but that only made him look more like a muscular male wall. Which was something of a natural result given that all three spent hours a day swinging battle-axes and broad swords. In contrast to Marrok’s short dark hair, Cador wore his long, braided tightly for combat. At the moment, though, it tumbled past his shoulders in a curling mane. The eye-catching effect was intensified by its color, a rich, dark auburn, glossy as a fox’s pelt.His features looked as if God had calculated every angle for maximum impact on anyone with estrogen in her veins. Thick auburn brows dipped over laughing eyes the striking turquoise blue of the Caribbean. His nose was straight and knife-blade narrow, while his wide, mobile mouth was prone toward deceptively charming smiles.Deceptive, because Cador had a sadistic streak as broad as the Thames. He was not the kind of man you wanted to meet in combat, particularly if you'd done something to piss him off. He and Morgana often locked horns; he had a cutting, cynical sense of humor she found irritating. For his part, he called Morgana arrogant, though she preferred to think of it as natural self-confidence.All right, she supposed she was a little arrogant.Last—but hardly least, since he was the trio's leader—there was Percival. At six-three, he was a bit leaner than the others, with all the muscular power, explosive speed and hypnotic grace of a puma. His broad-shouldered, elegant body was marked here and there by scars from spears, arrows and swords—reminders of his mortal life fighting Arthur Pendragon’s wars.As if to emphasize all that stark masculinity, Percival had the kind of face that called ancient gladiators to mind: angular, square-jawed, with a flaring swoop of a nose that just missed being too long, and a pugnacious cleft chin. The overall effect was softened by a wide, lush mouth that Morgana had hungered to kiss for a very long time. His deep-set gray eyes were cool and watchful, heated by flashes of erotic cruelty she wished she didn’t find so intriguing. One of his blond brows was bisected by a thin scar, a reminder of a wound that had almost cost him his right eye. He wore his thick, honey-gold hair just barely long enough to curl. Morgana longed to run her fingers through it, but it wasn’t a good idea to give into temptation where Percival was concerned. He’d take ruthless advantage of any weakness she handed him. Percival wanted her. Had wanted her for years—centuries—though she doubted the desire he felt was anything more than physical. If she wasn’t damned careful, Morgana knew she’d end up the latest in his parade of hapless submissives. The really galling thing was that she’d probably love every minute of her subjugation—until he moved on to the next sub, leaving her heart in ruins. Dangerous ruins. The kind with nuclear land mines.Yet sometimes when she gazed into those demanding gray eyes, Morgana wanted to confess all the secrets she’d kept so long. She knew better, though. She didn’t dare let Percival discover how close she skated to the edge—or how far she had to fall. She’d been skating along that edge for fifteen hundred years, since becoming one of the immortals tasked with protecting mankind. That was when the wizard Merlin and his enchantress lover Nimue had appeared at King Arthur’s Camelot court, where Morgana had been a Druid healer. Merlin had told the king those who drank from his enchanted Grail would gain immortality and vast power—if they could pass the couple’s tests. For the knights, that meant duels to prove their strength and courage. For Camelot’s ladies, the challenge was mental rather than physical. Nimue’s psychic spells forced each woman to confront her worst fears, while giving her the illusion of vast magical powers. The enchantress then evaluated her response to determine whether she could be trusted with real magic. But when it was Morgana’s turn, even Nimue was astonished at the results…###Morgana balanced on a stool on the tips of her toes, her rope-burned, bloodless wrists bound in front of her, dark spots dancing before her eyes. She couldn’t draw breath for the pressure of the noose around her neck, its taut rope looped over the hook in the cottage’s ceiling. A little boy screamed, his voice ringing high with terror. Morgana’s blood chilled as a man in a priest’s robes dragged the struggling dark-haired child into the room. “Mamma!” the boy shrieked. “Mamma, help me!”“I can give you the power to save your son—and yourself,” a bodiless voice whispered in her mind. “Will you accept?”Desperately fighting to suck in a breath past the strangling noose, Morgana wheezed, “Yes. Horned God, yes!”Energy poured into her, a flaming wave of it that seared its way up her spine. Magic such as she’d never known, effortless and blazing. It made the power she was used to wielding feel like a feeble trickle.She sent that blaze shooting down to her bound wrists and up to the noose around her neck. When her new power hit the loops of rope, it burned them instantly to floating flecks of ash. Sucking down a relieved whoop of air, Morgana fell off her tiptoes, rocking back down onto her heels so suddenly she almost toppled off the stool.As the sensation of suffocation lifted, she looked down at the priest who’d just forced her shrieking son to the floor. Rage flooded her with the blind need to kill. Her hands began to burn, casting a furious yellow light over the dark, dirty little cottage with its stink of piss and terror. The priest stared up at her, his eyes widening at the sight of her blazing hands.She stepped off the stool. Bennett leaped to his feet and backed away, his watery blue eyes darting beneath his balding pate, his thin lips peeled back from yellowed, crooked teeth. Morgana’s hands shot out, seized the sides of his face and jerked him close. The old man jerked against her grip, fighting like a rabid fox in a wolf trap. “Enough!” she snapped. “Be still!” Her will blasted him, paralyzing him where he stood and locking his terrorized mind in winter ice. The need to kill lashed within her like a flaming snake. He deserved it for what he’d done to her, to Mordred. And yet… killing left a stain on the soul. He’d taught her that. Better to leave the bastard alive — but make damned sure he never did to anyone else what he’d done to them.But more, he needed to suffer for his crimes, share the pain and terror of his victims, feel the weight of his betrayal of his God and his flock. Morgana’s will slashed Bennett like a steel-tipped flail, forcing him to experience the full horror of his sins. By the time she was done with him, she knew he’d never harm another innocent as long as he drew breath. ###“You are not like the others.”Morgana opened her eyes to find the girl studying her, a frown on her too-young face. Nimue looked fifteen at most—a delicate nymph with waist-length blonde hair and eyes as black as a night sky. Eyes too ancient and wise to belong to any mortal, much less a fifteen-year-old child. “You don’t seem to have the magical limitations the others do,” Nimue told her thoughtfully. “That could be dangerous; the human mind is not equipped to deal with power without limit. And yet...” Her gaze flicked as if studying something in the distance, and she paused, appeared to debate herself. At last the enchantress shrugged. “But your power is needed, despite the risk. You will simply have to take care.”The girl gestured, and the Grail appeared, a delicate filigreed silver cup. The potion it held glowed and bubbled gently, misted by shimmering tendrils of blue smoke. “Will you drink from the Grail and become an immortal witch? Will you use your skills to safeguard humanity, even from itself?”“Yes,” Morgana said. Accepting the cup, she swallowed liquid fire.###It had been fifteen centuries since that night. Morgana had never told anyone of the potential she had for power greater than what any other witch could claim.And yet… when Percival looked at her in that way he sometimes had, her heart insisted, You could give him control. You could trust him. He would never betray you.No, her fear hissed. Stop it, Morgana. You can’t take the chance. Not with her demons.###A Celtic-pale redhead strutted past, clamps swinging from her generous breasts. They looked damned painful, judging by the swollen red nipples they gripped. Heat rushed into Percival's groin at the thought of capturing another woman's nipples in such clamps...“God, I’d love to put a pair of those on Morgana,” Marrok murmured, saying exactly what Percival was thinking.Snorting, Cador took a swig of his Corona. "She’d geld you with a fireball.”“Yeah, but it'd be worth it.” As the clamped girl jiggled past Morgana, the witch’s eyes slid to her bare breasts, then directly to Percival's face. Her spring-green eyes darkened with need. His cock hardened to its full length in a searing liquid rush.In the middle of a fucking mission to keep a werewolf from eating more women. And it hadn’t even been the first time tonight. Something about this club was definitely shooting Morgana’s concentration all to hell. Even worse, the effect was contagious. He and his knights seemed to be suffering too.Which wasn’t unusual. During the years they’d worked together, Morgana had been equal parts temptation and frustrating pain in the arse. True, most of the time she was an invaluable addition on any mission. Percival, Marrok and Cador had worked with a number of witches over the centuries, but Morgana was the most powerful of them all. She was also as fearless as any male warrior, and damned near as good with a sword as one of the Knights of the Round Table. What’s more, Morgana never admitted defeat. She’d do whatever it took to succeed, refusing to yield to physical or mental exhaustion. She pushed herself so hard that she'd won the respect of all three knights, even Cador, who personally disliked her. Percival had seen her keep casting spells to defend the team when she was so badly wounded, he was surprised she was even conscious. Again and again, she'd proven she was willing to die for them—as they, in turn, would die for her.Which didn’t mean she couldn't royally piss them all off.For one thing, Morgana only went on the most tricky and dangerous missions, and insisted on leading most of the ones she went on. She steadfastly refused to bow to any authority but her own. If Percival tried to assume control, usually because things had gone to hell, her reaction was often bitchy in the extreme. That wouldn’t drive him half as mad as it did, except his dominant instincts insisted she was hiding a submissive streak. At times she seemed to be deliberately bratting—the BDSM term when a submissive tried to earn a punishment from her dominant by acting out like a bratty child. Except in Morgana’s case, it was worse than obnoxious behavior, because she sometimes gave him and his team painful magical jolts. The powers given to witches and vampires complimented each other; vampires couldn’t work magic beyond self-healing and shape-shifting, while Majae weren’t as physically powerful as their counterparts. That meant a vampire couldn’t overpower a witch’s spells, just as she couldn’t overpower his strength. A Maja could, however, use her abilities to give a vampire a nasty jolt if he forgot himself and tried to take her blood by force. Most Majae were careful not to abuse that power, but Morgana never seemed to hesitate. Percival had sworn he’d one day give her bare arse a swat for every zap she’d dealt him and his team.A woman cried out from one of Club Penitent’s dungeon rooms, her voice spiraling high with a blend of arousal, pain and pleasure. Perhaps from the application of nipple clamps or a riding crop or a demanding kiss. For the second time in less than a minute, Morgana’s gaze slid back to the three knights. Percival’s temper began to steam, burning all the hotter because he was as angry at himself as he was at her. Passing his thumb over the heavy gold enchanted ring on his right hand, he activated the spell that allowed them to communicate during missions. “Get your head out of your cunt and on the fucking job, Morgana. If one of these women dies because of you, I swear to Merlin I will bend you over the Round Table and flog you with a buggy whip!”“You forget yourself, Lord Percival,” she replied in that cool contralto voice of hers. “I lead this mission.”“Then lead it,” Percival snarled, “and quit turning it into fucking amateur hour.”A white-hot stiletto of agony stabbed between his eyes, so savagely intense it almost tore a gasp of pain from his mouth. He bit it back.“Goddammit Morgana!” Cador growled in the link, “’Rok and I didn’t do anything. Why hit us?” Morgana’s spell must’ve caught the pair as it traveled through their mission rings. Morgana made no reply; she'd evidently closed communications. “Sorry,” Percival growled.Cador grunted and took another deep swallow of his beer, auburn brows dipping in a frown. “I don’t like the way this is going. I’ve never seen Morgana so far off her game.” He glowered. “I’m beginning to wonder if we should work with her again. We may have reached the point of diminishing returns.”“Bullshit.” Marrok glowered at him. “Name one witch with as much raw power as Morgana le Fay. I’ll admit she can be a pain in the arse…”Cador smirked. “Sometimes literally.”“…But we’ve never failed to achieve a mission objective when we worked with Morgana. That’s not always a given when we work with other witches.”“You know, it doesn’t have to be just one Maja," Cador pointed out. "Two or even three…”“Might be equivalent to Morgana’s power, but they wouldn’t her experience or skill in magical combat strategy." Percival rattled the ice in his glass impatiently. "Nobody is as good in a magical fight as Morg. Except maybe Kel, and he’s a dragon.”Cador pursed his lips, considering. "Gwen's pretty damn good.”“True, but Arthur is hardly going to let us have Gwen, is he?” Marrok leaned in, his jaw taking on a familiar stubborn jut.As the two knights began arguing about which Maja would make a better addition to their partnership, Percival’s gaze drifted back to Morgana. He'd known the witch fifteen centuries now, years of desperate combat, furious arguments, and steely friendship. She’d been driving him insane for most of that time.Centuries ago, the four of them had been among the first twenty-four people to drink from Merlin’s Grail. The potion it contained had magically transformed them all. The twelve Knights of the Round Table had become Magi—vampires, in other words. The twelve ladies of Camelot's court, including Morgana and Queen Guinevere, became witches, or Majae.In the centuries since, those twenty-four had become ten thousand, as their descendants joined them in the battle to protect humanity against its own self-destructive impulses. Collectively they were called the Magekind, sworn to use their impressive abilities to hunt those like the magical killer who was their target tonight. Today they all lived in Avalon, an enchanted city of immortals located in the Mageverse, a parallel universe where magic was a universal force like gravity or electromagnetism. Which was why that universe’s version of Earth was inhabited by everything from fairies to dragons.This Earth, meanwhile, was home to werewolves like the one they were hunting today. Though most werewolves were basically decent, this one was a thoroughly nasty bastard. Over the past two months, seventeen women had vanished from nightclubs around the country, only to be found the next day as piles of gnawed bone. He'd evidently eaten them.The mortal authorities had yet to realize what was actually going on. Because the victims’ bodies had been reduced to skeletal remains so quickly, law enforcement had assumed they'd been dead much longer than they actually had been. This made identification basically impossible. Police needed some idea who a victim might be in order to obtain dental records to compare skulls to, and they’d excluded anyone who’d been missing less than a month.Unlike the police, however, Percival and his team had Morgana. Last night the witch had a vision that some kind of magical predator was abducting, murdering, and eating women. Women who’d been taken from nightclubs. Merlin's Grimoire—an enchanted talking book—had produced articles from newspapers around the country dealing with skeletal remains said to be the victims of animal attacks. When Morgana described an image from her vision­—a hand holding a whip outlined in red neon—Grim had identified it as the logo for Club Penitent. Which explained why the most powerful witch on the planet was dressed in red corset, matching thong, lacy stockings, and high heels. The costume displayed every gorgeous inch of her elegant body, long, toned legs, and full breasts—and made Percival's dick want to sit up and beg.She also looked like just the sort of submissive the killer liked to hunt. Morgana played bait the way she did everything else: to the hilt, prancing around on those crimson stilettos, drawing the eyes of every straight man in the place, whether dominant or sub.Percival couldn’t blame them for drooling. The witch had a long-boned, elegant face with a narrow nose, full lips, and delicately chiseled cheekbones. Her large eyes were a green so vivid, they reminded him of spring leaves, and her black hair fell in a silken waterfall of ebony curls to the small of her back. All in all, an irresistible target for the killer. Which was why the three knights were undercover as sexual dominants. If the killer was a werewolf, as Morgana believed, she’d need the backup. Werewolves were not only eight feet of fangs, fur and claws, they were invulnerable to magical attacks. That would leave her with no way of defending herself; she'd be almost as helpless as the mortal victims had been. True, Morgana was stronger than human, not to mention good with a sword—given fifteen hundred years of experience, she should be—but that might not be enough to let her fight off a monster. Percival, Marrok and Cador, with their vampire strength, would more than balance the scales. Considering what the killer had done to those seventeen women, the fuzzy fuck deserved everything they could dish out.The bastard couldn't even claim to be a victim of animal instinct. Unlike the movie version, real werewolves were no more driven to murder than real vampires. This prick was just a serial killer, fanged and furry or not.“Morg's got another nibble,” Marrok said.Percival tensed as the strange dominant approached Morgana. He was a handsome man, tall and blond, with blue eyes so piercing the color was evident all the way across the room. Dressed in black jeans and a navy blue polo shirt, he looked broad shouldered and muscular as he loomed over the witch, though she was not a short woman. Percival figured he must be six-one or six-two. Just her type; Morg liked them tall. He leaned down to speak to her, his expression, hooded, sensual.Under the table, Percival’s hands curled into fists.Morgana looked up at the man, sweeping an assessing look from feet to face. She said something and turned away, her body language dismissive.The big man froze, going expressionless. Then he nodded stiffly and walked off.“Aaaaand another one goes down in a rain of flaming wreckage.” Cador flashed a cynical grin and lifted his beer in a mock toast. “Morgana le Fay—body of a Victoria’s Secret model, personality of a rabid polar bear.”The witch glanced toward their table, then quickly away again. Her cheeks darkened.Percival knew why, too. Normally Morgana could watch an orgy without turning a hair, but in a place like this, given the submissive streak he suspected? He’d be willing to bet if he came up behind her, stroked a hand down the delicate curve of her back, put his lips to her nape and caressed her with his fangs…she’d cream that pretty thong. Which explained why her cheeks had been going cherry red all night. The woman would be the death of him yet. Cador straightened, eyes narrowing as Morgana glanced hastily away. “Did she just blush?”“Appeared that way to me,” Marrok drawled. Both men turned and looked at Percival, who glowered back. “What?”Cador put down his beer bottle with a thump. “You know what. Percival, you need to do something about this thing you’ve got going with her.”“There is no ‘thing.’” Percival gritted his teeth so hard, they creaked.“Don’t play stupid,” Cador snapped. “You can’t pull it off.”Marrok leaned forward and directed a cool, level gaze his way. “She wants you, Percival. She’s wanted you almost as long as you’ve wanted her. And it’s time you quit fucking around and claim her for the sake of our collective sanity.”“Morgana doesn’t want me—she wants a bloody giant lizard.” Percival curled a lip and sipped his drink, only to grimace as he realized it was nothing but half-melted ice. He gestured their waitress over, wishing he could order something with a bit more kick; by law, New York BDSM clubs could only serve soft drinks. “I’m afraid I don’t measure up.”“Soren’s not her lover.” Cador sprawled back in the booth, eying him. “Soren’s just her scaly, shape-shifting fuck buddy, and well you know it.” He was also Dragonkind’s ambassador to Avalon. The pair had been on-again, off-again lovers for the better part of a decade. Yet Percival would bet his enchanted sword she’d never submitted to her dragon lover. Or, for that matter, any of the others she’d dallied with, even knights like Galahad. Certainly not the way she’d always seemed to tremble on the edge of yielding to Percival.One day, he swore, he’d push her right over—and catch her when she fell.

WIPped Cream-- A taste of "Oath of Service" from LOVE BITES

Here's a sample of my work in progress, OATH OF SERVICE, from Love Bites. Keep in mind that this is a first draft, so it's likely to change. And please, this excerpt is NOT for those under 18, so get thou gone if you are. Otherwise, enjoy!

Here, Morgana le Fey has offered Percival, a vampire and Knight of the Round Table, her Oath of Service, and has donned a collar that blocks her considerable magical powers....






The distilled male menace of Percival’s gaze sent a wave of ice across her skin. “Now, witch, you and I are going to have a word.”

The ice turned to heat when he grabbed the hem of his knit shirt and dragged it off over his head. She sucked in a breath, then hoped he hadn't noticed.

"I get hot when I work." He tossed the shirt across the back of the couch without breaking the intent focus of his gaze. Morgana longed to look away, only to find herself frozen like a rabbit in a combination of fear and erotic anticipation.

He was...incredible. She'd seen Percival without a shirt before, but there was a world of difference between seeing him shirtless during laughing horseplay and...this. Knowing that he owned her now, that she'd taken an oath to obey him, fuck him, however he wanted. So she stared, and listened to her heart's frantic thump.

All that sculpted brawn, the swells and hollows of muscle groups clearly defined, the branching veins snaking down his biceps, his triceps. Body hair formed a silken golden cloud on his chest, narrowing into a fine line down his belly, pointed the way toward the massive bulge behind his fly.

Oh, goddess…

He took a step forward, and she bit back a scream as he swept her off the floor the way an angry man would pick up a bag of frozen peas. Whirling, he took three long paces and banged her back against the nearest wall.

Despite her best efforts to suppress it, a startled yelp escaped Morgana's lips as he pinned her there with the hot, hard weight of his body. "Now," he growled, "you and I are going to have a word, witch."

"You might want to remember I'll get my powers back." She winced the minute the words were out of her mouth. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Percival smiled. Someone who didn't know him well might have thought it a pleasant expression. Morgana, however, recognized the carefully throttled rage in the tight curve of his mouth. "But you don't have those powers now, do you?" He whispered the words in her ear, each syllable a warm puff against her sensitive flesh. "And I have all of mine." He cupped her breast through the thin lace gown she'd stupidly worn to tempt the three knights.

She licked her dry lips. "You won’t hurt me."

“Won’t I?”

“You don’t hurt women, Percival.”

"Lord Percival," he gritted.

"What?" She was too close to real terror to grasp his point.

"You will address me with respect. Lord Percival, Sir Percival, or my lord." He bared his fangs. "Not. Percival."

She swallowed, staring at those lupine teeth inches from her face. "Yes, Lord Percival."

"That's better." A tight smile of satisfaction lit his starkly handsome face. "Both arms over your head, and cross your forearms."

"Why do...?"

His eyes narrowed. She hastily obeyed. "Thank you." He caught her crossed arms in one hand, pinning them against the wall. She knew without trying that she'd be utterly unable to break his implacable grip.

Stepping back, he let her hang by her imprisoned arms as he gave her body the kind of long, insulting up-and-down scan no Magus had ever given her. Then he met her eyes again, silently daring her to protest.

She kept her mouth shut. Nobody had ever said Morgana le Fay was stupid.

That smile flashed again as he wrapped his free hand in her lace robe. Fisted it. And ripped, shredding the peignoir as easily as if he were tearing down a cobweb. She couldn't seem to bite back her gasp. Still holding her gaze, he hooked a finger in her corset and gave it a slow tug. The laces popped like cotton thread, leaving her clad in only a lace garter belt, stockings, and heels.

Again, he subjected her to another sweeping, insulting stare. "Nice. Very nice."

She licked her desperately dry lips. Why in the hell was she getting so wet? Nothing about this should be arousing.

Morgana opened her mouth for some bit of acid sarcasm that would hopefully make him let her go so she wouldn't feel so bloody vulnerable. Perhaps "I'm delighted you approve," or "You always did have a bard's way with a compliment," delivered in a suitably icy tone.

Before she could get either line out of her mouth, his eyes narrowed. She snapped her teeth closed so fast, she almost bit her tongue.

"I've always loved your tits, Morgana." The words may have been flirtatious, but the cold warning in his voice was anything but. "I'm going to like being able to do any damned thing I want to them."

For the sweet sake of the Lady, that was a threat, Morgana told her idiot cunt. It kept growing slicker anyway, responding to...something. His eyes, his dark velvet voice, the white points of the fangs that flashed when he spoke. His sheer, fucking size...Gods, he was dangling her by her arms, yet her feet were still well clear of the floor.

His nostrils flared, and one corner of his lip lifted in a carnal cross between a sneer and a smile. Reaching between her legs, Percival stroked a finger between her labia and deep into her sex. "Ohhh, yesssss. You are creamy, aren't you? And how can anybody who regularly fucks a forty-foot lizard be so bloody tight?"

"Obviously, I shape-shift," she gritted.

"That would help." He added a second finger, pumped deep again, and flicked his thumb over her clit. She jerked at the knife-sharp delight.

Percival grinned. "Liked that, did you? Too bad. I'm afraid you're being punished for today's tactical goat-fuck, so you won't be coming. I will, though. I intend to enjoy you thoroughly."

The fingers withdrew from her traitorous pussy and reached for her right breast. The knight's big, warm hand gave it a squeezing stroke before tugging and twisting its aching nipple. Milking her, he watched her face in erotic calculation.

Morgana dropped her eyes, unable to hold his gaze, not with him beaming raw dominance at her with the intensity of a laser. That proved to be a mistake; when she looked down, her gaze fell on the bulge behind his fly. Horned God, it was huge.

Percival laughed, a dark chuckle, and stepped against her again, pinning her once more. She groaned in relief as his body took the pressure off her pinioned arms.

Pressing his face against her throat, he inhaled as if dragging her scent deep into his lungs. "You smell delicious." His lips moved against her skin with every word, a warm, sensual tease. "My two favorite things: pussy and blood."

"Percival..." When he stiffened, she corrected herself. "My lord Percival..."

"Can you keep your mouth shut, or would you prefer a ball gag?" He scraped the tips of his fangs over her helplessly banging pulse. "I don't care to be interrupted while I'm eating."

Which triggered another humiliating gush of cream into her sex.

With a growl, he sank his fangs deep, the sudden hot sting startling a gasp from her throat. She'd known he was going to bite her, but somehow she hadn't expected it just now. Morgana bucked, jerking against his grip, but he had her pinned too thoroughly. She couldn't move at all.

His hand abandoned her breast to seek out her crotch, his forefinger skating between slick labia to slide into her opening. He made a sound against her throat at what he found there, a triumphant growl that deepened to a rumble as he pumped deep, in and out, keeping the pace slow--goddess, far too slow as he drank in hot swallows.

Letting her head fall back against the wall, she moaned in helpless lust. The moan became a gasp as he added a second finger, thumb strumming her clit like a lute string. His body rolled against hers, branding the feel of hot, hard strength against every inch of her smaller, softer one.

This was why she’d always preferred bottling her blood. Feeding a vampire directly from her throat was too damned seductive, too much an arousing act of submission that revealed her darkest needs.

But Percival didn’t give a damn what she preferred. He just took her, like prey, like a mortal woman he was using, fingering her cunt as he drank, shooting her toward her peak with his erotic brutality until she…

But just as her climax began to pulse, he jerked his hand away. The orgasm drained away, leaving her body aching with vibrating, helpless need. Morgana cried out in frustrated protest.

He chuckled against her throat.

An Erotic Excerpt from WICKED GAMES

The following excerpt is intended for readers over 18. If that's not you, please find something more suitable to read so neither of us will get in trouble with your mother. :)
This is a love scene from "The Once and Future Lover," the prequel of the Mageverse series. For those who aren't familiar with this 9-book series, in the Mageverse, the Knights of the Round Table are vampires, and their ladies are witches. This particular scene shows how King Arthur, as a brand-new vampire, woos his beautiful queen, Guinevere.  The problem is that Arthur's mind has been temporarily affected by his transformation, so that all he knows is his own lust for Gwen. Please note that there's a strong dominance and submission element to WICKED GAMES and its sequel, LOVE BITES, which features Morgana le Fay and Sir Percival. Both are much more kinky than my other Mageverse books; some of you will find them too erotic for your taste, so be warned. WICKED GAMES will be out April 1st, 2014.Despite the lamp she held, the room was dark as a crypt after the torchlit balustrade. Gwen fumbled to attach the lamp to the chain that hung from the ceiling.When she turned around, Mordred loomed over her like a wall of muscle. Gwen froze in stark terror, unable to breathe much less scream for help.Until she realized his eyes were dark, not Mordred’s icy green.Arthur, she realized, and felt her heart lurch back into rhythm. It’s Arthur! He didn’t look quite as young as his son, though he could easily have been an older brother. “Christ’s wounds, husband, you frightened me witless!”He stepped against her, forcing her to retreat until her back hit the wall. Leaning down, he sucked in a deep huffing breath, as if scenting her.“You’re scaring me.” Gwen struggled to regain control of her rising voice. “Give me a little room, please.”He didn’t react, still breathing deeply bare inches from her throat. She planted both palms against his chest and shoved. “Step back, Arthur!”He caught her wrists and lifted them over her head. Pinning her hands in one of his against the cool plaster, he leaned against her.Gwen once had a horse she was grooming pin her by shifting his weight, trapping her between his shoulder and the stable wall. The animal hadn’t applied any real pressure, but she’d found she couldn’t move him no matter how she pushed and struggled. Point made, the gelding finally stepped aside and let her go.Arthur’s hold felt exactly like that. Not tight enough to hurt, but completely inescapable. He watched her, his expression patient, while she strained against his warm, immoveable strength. “Arthur, dammit, let me . . .”“My queen?” Lancelot called through the door. “Do you need help?”Arthur tensed and lifted his head, glaring toward the door. His lips peeled off his teeth.Two of them were fangs.“My queen? Are you all right?”“I’m fine, Lance! He’s not hurting me, he’s just irritating the hell out of me. It’s not the first time, and I assure you it won’t be the last. Quit listening at the door before you hear something that will embarrass you as much as it does us.”There was a long, uncomfortable silence. “Excuse me, my queen. I was but concerned. You sound . . . breathless.”“Breathless or not, I’m in no danger.” I hope. She had never been so intensely aware of her husband’s size and strength, especially compared to her own far more delicate body. Was he actually bigger than he had been the day before, if not in height, then in sheer muscular breadth?He looked down at her, his black stare hungry as he bared those fangs again. “Mine.”Gwen actually felt the word rumble from his chest to hers. “Yes, my king. Yours. Still. Always.”His snarl became a smile, sensual and hot. Gwen knew that smile. That was Arthur. The tension in her knotted shoulders began to relax.Arthur lowered his head slowly, still watching her with that lupine intensity. The hand not holding her wrists reached up to cup one breast through her thin linen tunic. Pleasure unspooled along her nerves as she stared up into her husband’s face, at the smile that looked both familiar and alien with the curve of his lips baring those white, white fangs. His cupping fingers curled to milk her nipple with exquisite delicacy, pinching and tugging with steadily increasing force. Delight grew with each stroke, given an extra wicked kick by the undercurrent of danger added by those fangs. She tried to squirm, but he didn’t budge even the fraction he would have before. Instead he smiled, obviously well aware of her tangled emotions.Then Arthur pounced.She was in his arms before she even felt him move. He spun and dropped onto the bed, pinning her beneath his hot, hard strength as she yelped in alarm.“Betterrrr,” he growled, and smiled.The dark satisfaction in his black eyes made her catch her breath. Her sex tightened in the kind of wet clench that usually followed a whole evening’s worth of skillful, determined foreplay.Arthur knew it, too. He leaned down and wrapped one big hand in the front of her gown. He did it slowly, giving her plenty of time to realize what he intended—and plenty of time to realize there was nothing she could do to stop him, even if she’d wanted to. Which she definitely did not.Even so, Gwen gasped when he shredded the gown with one easy tug. The sound of ripping linen sounded incredibly loud— and just as erotic. “That was one of my favorite tunics,” she told him. Which it was, though with such animal want pumping through her veins, she really didn’t care about the tunic.His lips curled in another fang-revealing smile. “Wet.”“Hard,” she retorted. The hot length of him pressed against her belly. He was also naked, since they’d put him to bed that way. Normally, that wouldn’t give her pause; Arthur slept nude on all but the coldest nights. Their running joke had always been that he had enough fur to keep him warm—and her too, for that matter. The man radiated heat like a human hearth.So it had been a very long time since Gwen had felt this kind of aching awareness of her husband’s nudity. Yet now every last inch of him seemed branded on her quivering senses. Gwen found herself staring up at him in the lamp’s flickering golden light, wide-eyed as a virgin.He stared back, levering off her to look her up and down. Under that wolfish gaze, her nipples drew hard as cheery stones. Lowering his head, he took one rigid peak into his mouth.And moaned.The sound was deep, ragged, distilled male eroticism given voice. She found herself echoing him as he swirled his tongue over the peak, back and forth, around and around. Strong fingers found her breast, stroking and squeezing, increasing her arousal until Gwen found herself pressing her thighs together in an attempt to alleviate the ache between them. She groaned, rolling her hips against his thick length as she fisted her hands in the gleaming raw silk of his hair.Feeling out of control, Gwen shivered, overwhelmed by Arthur’s animal sensuality. So familiar, yet simultaneously so alien.Suckling hard, he rumbled a rough, wordless sound that might have been warning or need. Or both. She gasped back at him, digging her nails into the thick muscle of his shoulders, feeling just as lost in incoherent hunger as he was.Arthur transferred his mouth to the other breast, triggering another bright ping of delight. Wanting to give him the same kind of pleasure, Gwen reached between them. His cock felt huge, hot, insanely tempting as she curled shaking fingers around its meaty width. “In me, Arthur,” she whispered. “Now. Please.”Instead he pulled out of her arms and backed down her body. Settling between her thighs, he nudged them apart as she whimpered in helpless longing.He bent over her clitoris, his lips sealing the little nubbin inside his mouth’s piercingly sweet hold. His tongue swirled around it, wet and maddening, before he tightened his lips and sucked so hard, she twisted like a woman in agony. Her entire body shuddered, her thigh muscles jerking as her sex pulsed in need.Ecstasy shot up her sensitized body. “Arthur!” Gwen’s spine arched as her hands flew to fist in his hair.Staring down at him, she found him watching her face as his tongue swirled and lapped and stabbed between her slick folds. His dark eyes narrowed, and she tensed, knowing that look. Sure enough, a beat later she felt the tips of his fangs against the sensitive inner lips. Not biting. Quite. But the erotic threat of it shot heat and fear and stark arousal through her blood. Jolting like a mare under a knight’s spur, she ground her pussy against his mouth. Wanting. Burning.

My screwup

I'm posting this out of sheer mortification.

Yesterday's post about the Romance Novel Convention featured some nifty images I'd bought from the RNC website which were full resolution. Because Blogger includes a setting that says something like full size, medium, etc., I thought the images downsized;many sites  automatically reduce the resolution on high resolution images. (Web images are a standard 72 dpi, but print images are 300. This is a big difference, and the reason that if you try to print web images, they look like crap.)

But the images didn't downsize. Jimmy Thomas pointed out that I'd posted the full-resolution images so anyone could copy them and basically obtain them for free.

Now, this violates the hell out of Jimmy's copyright on the images. I just bought the right to use the images for my swag and covers, so as soon as he brought it to my attention, I took them down and put up low-resolution versions.

Please, please PLEASE, if you copied the high-res versions and plan to use them, go to the RNC website and pop for the one-time $15 per image fee to pay for the rights to use them. That's a heck of a lot cheaper than being sued, which you easily could be if you haven't paid for those rights.

What's more, you could get me sued too, only in my case it would be for being too damned stupid not to realize my mistake in violating the copyright on the images. I wouldn't blame Jimmy a bit if he did sue me; he'd have every right to. (He's a nice guy, but if the post had gone viral or something, I could have cost him a lot of money. Luckily that didn't happen, but still.)

You should also be aware that ANY image, piece of music, ebook, ANYTHING you get on the internet, even if it's a cat video, belongs to the original photographer, musician, writer, etc. If you use it without the creator's permission, he can sue the living hell out of you.

And a lot of companies and creators will not hesitate to do just that.

That means if you, say, decide you're going to do a music video using a Black Eyed Peas song and half-a-dozen Jimmy photographs, you need to obtain permission from the Black Eyed Peas AND Jimmy or the photographer who took those pictures before you can post the video online. Otherwise, you could find yourself in court losing your shirt.

This is not about creators being hardasses. People like Jimmy, the Black Eyed Peas, and me make our respective livings creating things for your entertainment. But just because you've bought a copy of one of my ebooks, say, or "Boom Boom Pow," that doesn't mean you then can give it away to everyone you know.

You may think, "Hey, I bought it! I can do what I want with it!" Well, yes and no.

Let's say you bought a paperback of MASTER OF DARKNESS. After you finished reading it, you took it to a used bookstore and traded it in. You have a perfect right to do that: it's your paperback book. My publisher already got its $6.99 for that copy, and I already got my 6 percent cut of that, so we're square. You can give that copy to the used bookstore or your sister or whoever. I don't care, because I've been paid.

However, you could not take the book apart, take the pages to a printer, and make a thousand copies of my book and sell them for $6.99, because that's stealing. You only paid for ONE copy of my book. Selling 1000 of them violates my copyright, because I don't get paid anything for those 1000 copies.

People think writers and other creators are filthy rich, but in fact, most of us get paid what amounts to minimum wage. It takes MONTHS to write a book, and it's damned hard work. Creators, like everyone else, have a right to be paid for their efforts.

Now, let's say you bought the e-book of MASTER OF DRAGONS, and you put it up on your website and started charging $6.99 for it. Again, you have violated my copyright, but the damage is potentially much greater.

In the first example, you've only taken $6,990.00 from my publisher and me, but in the second example, there is no theoretical limit to what you can cost me, because you can sell that one copy over and over and OVER again, because it will never wear out.

Even if you give the file away for free, you're still costing me a huge amount of money, because every copy you give away is a copy I can't sell.

Jimmy's in the same boat I'm in. By putting the high res pics up on my blog, I could have cost him sales, even if my actual intention was to make more people aware of his website and help him sell more pics. That's why I'm so embarrassed and unhappy about my mistake.


So make sure you pay for the rights to any use you make of a creator's work. Just as you expect to be paid for your work, we should be paid for ours.

Thanks for your understanding!

Angela Knight