Sabrina Devonshire's Blog, page 3

Judi Slot Uang Asli, Kenali Beragam Istilah Taruhan Online

Pertaruhan judi slot uang asli sekarang ini sedang menjadi primadona di kalangan masyarakat yang aktif bermain judi online.

Mesin slot online ini merupakan jenis permainan yang cukup seru dimainkan, ada banyak pula keuntungan yang bisa diperoleh setiap membernya dengan cara mudah dan sedehana.

Berbeda halnya dengan jenis permainan judi online yang lainnya, seperti kartu resmi atau pun dadu kocok, mesin slot ini ternyata tidak memerlukan kemampuan khusus selama memainkan taruhannya. Cara bermainnya juga begitu mudah dan tidak perlu proses latihan yang lama.

Setelah Anda memahami aturan dan cara main slot online, jangan lupa pula untuk mencari tahu beragam istilah yang dipergunakan dalam taruhan mesin slot online. Anda harus benar – benar memahami beragam istilah karena dapat memengaruhi kemenangan para pemainnya.

Ragam Istilah dari Taruhan Judi Slot Uang Asli

Tombol SPIN yang ada pada mesin slot online ini adalah tombol yang begitu penting dan miliki fungsi tersendiri. Tombol SPIN tersebut dapat Anda gunakan tiap kali ketika ingin memulai permainan mesin slot online untuk bertaruh.

Tidak dibutuhkan cara lainnya hanya dengan menekan tombol tersebut, maka Anda pun bisa dengan bebas bermain taruhan judi slot online ini.

Apabila Anda sudah menekan tombol SPIN ini bakalan berputar hanya sekitar beberapa detik saja. Selanjutnya mesin slot akan mengeluarkan sejumlah gambar tertentu yang ada di dalamnya.

Istilah Total Bet dalam Taruhan Mesin Slot

Istilah dari total bet ini adalah gudangnya informasi yang dapat dipergunakan supaya menunjukkan beberapa hasil jumlah bet yang telah Anda pasang dalam satu kali putaran mesin slot.

Bet yang dimaksudkan di sini ialah jumlah dari taruhan yang telah Anda pasang tiap kali selesai bermain judi slot uang asli.

Bettor hanya perlu mengisi total bet tersebut sebelum bisa menekan tombol SPIN seperti di atas. Sebagai seorang pemain judi online, bermain taruhan dengan jumlah bet yang relatif lebih rendah, hal ini bertujuan supaya mengurangi dampak kerugian.

selanjutnya : Link Slot Terbesar dengan Jackpot Fantastis

Bet Max Taruhan Judi Slot Uang Asli

Selanjutnya informasi seputar mesin slot online adalah dengan istilah bet max bila Anda ingin memasang taruhan dengan jumlah banyak dan maksimal di mesin slot tertentu.

Bila Anda sudah mengetahui tentang jumlah maksimal bet atau taruhan dalam satu kali putaran mesin slot ini, sebaiknya hindari penggunaan tombol tersebut sebelum Anda benar – benar yakin dengan skill bermain. Karena bisa mendatangkan kerugian besar selama bermain.

Paytable dalam Pertaruhan Mesin Slot Online

Selanjutnya istilah paytable ini mengacu pada keuntungan yang bisa bettor peroleh ketika berhasil mendapatkan kombinasi simbol tertentu.

Ketika player sedang memutar mesin slot dan mendapatkan simbol tertentu dengan yang sudah tersedia pada paytable ini, maka jumlah bonus keuntungan bisa langsung diperoleh.

Selain itu, istilah lainnya ini mengacu pada pendaftaran dari total pembayaran dari masing – masing simbol yang sudah bettor peroleh dari satu kali putaran mesin spin online.

Bonus Jackpot Fantastis Mesin Slot Online

Selanjutnya istilah yang sudah tidak asing lagi dalam permainan judi online adalah bonus jackpot. Bonus satu ini kerap kali diincar oleh para pemain yang sedang bertaruh.

Hal tersebut dikarenakan besaran jumlah uang kemenangan ini bisa berkali – kali lipat dari jumlah modal yang telah Anda keluarkan selama permainan taruhan mesin slot online.

Mesin slot online sekarang ini sedang ramai dimainkan oleh para pemain judi online karena kemudahannya. Selain itu juga, judi slot uang asli ini memberikan banyak sekali ragam istilah yang wajib diketahui oleh semua bettor.

The post Judi Slot Uang Asli, Kenali Beragam Istilah Taruhan Online appeared first on Agen Judi Bola.

Link Slot Terbesar dengan Jackpot Fantastis

Keuntungan taruhan judi online akan semakin besar jika anda bermain di link slot terbesar. Situs slot online terbesar menawarkan beragam bonus menarik yang bisa membuat bettor mendapatkan untung besar.

Tidak bisa dipungkiri jika tujuan orang bermain judi slot online adalah untuk mendapatkan keuntungan. Jika jaman dulu bermain judi hanya bisa dilakukan di tempat agen judi, maka saat ini menjadi lebih mudah karena bisa dimainkan secara online.

Meskipun dimainkan secara online, game slot tetap seru dan menawarkan untung besar. Bahkan slot online menawarkan lebih banyak bonus menarik termasuk bonus jackpot progresif yang bisa memberikan bettor keuntungan super besar.

Saat ini pilihan situs betting untuk bermain slot online semakin banyak. Akan tetapi jika ingin bermain, pastikan pilih link slot yang terbesar karena akan memberikan keuntungan lebih besar bagi bettor.

Selain menawarkan pilihan permainan slot yang lebih seru, situs judi online terbesar juga menawarkan bonus jackpot dengan hadiah fantastis. Penawaran ini bisa membuat bettor mendapatkan untung super besar bahkan menjadi jutawan dari permainan tersebut.

Cara Memilih Link Slot Terbesar yang Menawarkan Jackpot Fantastis

Tidak semua situs slot online menawarkan keuntungan besar bagi bettor. Oleh sebab itulah, anda harus bisa memilih situs slot terbesar dengan tepat karena akan menentukan kesuksesan saat bermain. Untuk memilihnya link slot yang tepat, berikut caranya :

Pilih Situs yang Berlisensi Resmi

Cara memilih situs slot terbesar adalah perhatikan lisensi yang dimiliki. Pilih situs slot yang memiliki lisensi dan legalitas resmi karena akan menjadi jaminan bagi bettor bahwa situs tersebut aman untuk dimainkan dan bisa mendatangkan keuntungan.

Menyediakan Banyak Pilihan Mesin Slot

Link slot terbesar dan menawarkan jackpot fantastis juga bisa anda lihat dari pilihan permainan yang ditawarkan. Pilih situs slot online yang menawarkan jenis mesin terbanyak karena akan membuat peluang bettor bisa menang dan mendapat keuntungan juga semakin besar.

Memiliki Banyak Pemain Aktif

Cara selanjutnya untuk memilih situs slot terbesar yang menguntungkan adalah perhatikan seberapa banyak member di situs tersebut. Semakin banyak bettor yang aktif bermain berarti semakin besar situs tersebut dan itu menjadi bukti bahwa kualitasnya juga bagus.

Menawarkan Jackpot Progresif

Satu lagi cara memilih situs slot terbesar adalah perhatikan penawaran bonusnya. Pilih situs slot online yang menawarkan jackpot progresif karena bisa memberikan bettor keuntungan besar. Jackpot progresif memberikan bettor hadiah terus menerus sehingga keuntungan yang akan didapatkan bettor juga akan semakin besar.

Tips Mendapatkan Jackpot di Link Slot Terbesar

Mendapatkan bonus jackpot bisa membuat bettor mendapatkan keuntungan sangat besar. Akan tetapi untuk bisa mendapatkan bonus terbesar tersebut pastinya tidak mudah sehingga bettor harus memiliki tips dan strategi permainan terbaik.

Salah satu tips yang sering digunakan bettor agar lebih mudah mendapatkan jackpot adalah dengan bermain secara acak. Anda bisa bermain beberapa jenis mesin slot secara bergantian karena tidak ada yang tahu bonus jackpot akan keluar dari mesin mana.

Tips selanjutnya untuk mempermudah mendapatkan jackpot dari link slot terbesar adalah siapkan modal lebih besar. Semakin besar modal yang anda miliki peluang untuk mendapatkan bonus jackpot fantastis juga semakin besar.

Mendapatkan jackpot dalam permainan betting sudah pasti bisa membuat bettor menjadi jutawan dadakan. Untuk mendapatkan bonus jackpot yang lebih besar, anda juga harus bermain di link slot terbesar dan selalu pastikan resmi serta terpercaya.

The post Link Slot Terbesar dengan Jackpot Fantastis appeared first on Agen Judi Bola.

Hello world!

Welcome to WordPress. This is your first post. Edit or delete it, then start writing!

Excerpt from RESCUED – Elite SEALs 2

It’s 10 AM. I planned to buy groceries at the mercado today, but there’s no way I’m leaving now. I can’t miss out on the action. Something’s about to happen. I have to know why Francisco mentioned a Navy SEAL. He’s either going to pick up a prisoner or someone’s being brought to his house. I sit in a padded leather chair by one of the front windows, keeping my profile discreetly behind the curtain, waiting. I gaze out the window, barely blinking, watching the mostly silent street.

I’m like a bloodhound on the scent during a hunt. I sniffed it out during that phone conversation, made my way through the woods, listening and trying to understand the conversation. Now I’m on the hunt, sniffing the air, knowing my prey is near.

I glance at my watch once, twice, a third time. Two hours pass—still nothing. I could pee for sure, but I won’t. A blink of an eye and I could miss something. And I’m used to holding it. That’s what people in my line of work learn to do—suffer discomfort without complaint until after a while the pain barely registers anymore.

I sit quietly waiting, thinking. And then it appears, slowly approaching—a black SUV with tinted windows. I’d be willing to bet money it’s headed to Francisco’s place. Moments later, the vehicle turns into his driveway. I do a fist pump. I knew it. It’s good to know I haven’t lost all my instincts.

The driver exits the car first, his stocky, muscular body outfitted in black. He tidies his slicked back dark hair and removes his aviator shades. He glances around, as if looking to see if anyone’s watching. He nods, toward whom, I’m not sure. Most people living around here work in Hermosillo or are snowbirds. Now that the summer heat is here, most of the gringos have headed north for cooler weather. The working folks don’t get home until after five PM or later. Mischief can go largely unnoticed this time of day, which I’m sure these people know.

I shrink further from the window, trying not to be seen. Francisco emerges from the house and strides toward the car. His brows drawn together, his stride stiff, he’s like a dark cloud moving toward the car. As he walks, he kneads his palms with his thumbs. The side door of the backseat opens. Two men step out of the car, side-by-side, like Siamese twins. One is dark-skinned and Hispanic. The other man appears to be an American. The Navy SEAL, I imagine. His shortly cropped hair looks flattened around the sides as if he’s been recently blindfolded. A purple bruise mars one side of his chiseled face.

The man gripping the American’s arm with one hand jabs a gun into his back with his other. I wonder what this SEAL did to piss Francisco off. I can see murder and vengeance written in the deep lines in his face.

But my gaze is magnetically drawn away from the hard lines of Francisco’s face toward the SEAL. Damn. The man’s an eyeful. The longer I stare at him, the more my hormones—that have been in drop-out mode for eons—kick into overdrive. His hair is reddish blond and close enough cropped to showcase every eye-pleasing angle of his wide, finely hewn face. I lick my lips and savor the view of his sleek jawline, high cheekbones and slightly square chin. His lips are full and sensual, bracketed by the deepest, hottest looking dimples I’ve ever seen. He’s squinting in the bright sunlight and too far away for me to see the color of his eyes.

No fear registers on his face. He holds his chin high, his features remain rigid and dignified. I can’t help admiring the man for maintaining steely resolve in the face of danger. He must know he has little chance of getting out of this alive. But that body… The blue button up shirt stretches tightly across his broad shoulders and muscular chest.  Some pale curls of chest hair peer out from his slightly unbuttoned shirt. Damn.  And those tight jeans showcase his well-formed thigh muscles. A view of his tight butt would make my day for sure. Blood rushes to my nipples, hardening them to peaks, and I feel a pulse of needy heat between my thighs. I almost forgot what it’s like to feel this kind of wanting.  I haven’t gotten laid for—gulp—more than for months.

Sex has rarely crossed my mind since I asked for a leave of absence. It was one hell of a shit day that made me decide to take time off. I lost all motivation. All desire to do much of anything. I could barely drag myself out of bed in the morning. I couldn’t work when I was like that. One day changed my life. And since then, I’ve been going through the motions of life, taking forward steps on a treadmill, going nowhere. I no longer dream about advancing my career or a supercharged romance. I’ve become the master of low expectations.

But I see someone now that I want. The Navy SEAL. The sight of him instantly gave me a jolt of energy. I feel like I’ve been injected with adrenaline. Like I’m alive again. The erotic tingle in my erogenous zones is a wakeup call, reminding me my life isn’t over just yet. So much for that fear my hormones were permanently shut down and that I’d never have a sex drive again. I just needed the right man around to remind me that all my nerve endings are functioning just fine. I shift around in my chair as heat blossoms between my legs. My panties feel damp with arousal. Geez. Staring at this guy long enough could probably bring on a full-blown orgasm.

I shouldn’t fantasize about kissing his thick lips and touching his to-die-for body. I need to get my head out of the clouds now. This gorgeous man is a hostage. Francisco sure as hell hasn’t invited the SEAL here for almuerzo. His life is in immediate danger. More than likely, the minute they get him off the street, they’ll shoot him execution style or torture him.

I’m hot dude’s only chance. I’ve got to act. Fast. The clock is running, and I might have only minutes to turn this around. Maybe I can create a distraction. Before I have a chance to think, I bounce up from my chair and burst out my front door. “David, is that you? It’s me, Hannah.” I rush toward the men. But my gaze is fastened on the Navy SEAL. I take a step toward him, my voice softening. “It is you. You still look the same as I remember. It’s been so long since we were at UCLA. I always wondered what happened to you.”

The man’s mouth falls open. He stares at me with wide, sea blue eyes. I blink twice to regain my focus. The man’s eyes stimulate my senses as much as the rest of him. They’re completely mesmerizing. There’s a moment of hesitation before he speaks. “Hannah.” His voice trails off.

Francisco frowns, perches his hands on his hips and looks at the SEAL, then back at me. “Wait. His name’s not David.”

When the SEAL meets my gaze, I see flecks of gold warmth in his eyes. He’s looking at me as if he’s remembering something, something wild and erotic. He’s playacting, but behind it, he’s a bundle of nerves. I see the slight tick in his jaw, hear the barely detectable tremor in his voice. “Oh, yes, now I remember you. We met that night at the Tri Delta mixer. And then—”

This is going quite well so far. Now to give Francisco the illusion I’m helpless and weak. “I had so much fun that night and when you took me to that steak place for dinner. I always wondered if you tried to call. I got really sick suddenly. My phone got stolen after I collapsed.”

“That’s awful. I did try to call. So many times.”

“I was rushed to the hospital. The doctors diagnosed me as having MS, said I needed to rest, that I wouldn’t have the energy for school or work. I dropped out of school and lived with my parents for a while. Eventually, I was able to find some online writing work and saved up enough money to move down here.  Living in Mexico is relatively cheap. And the sea air does me good.”

“I’m sorry, Hannah. I wish I had known. I kept wondering what happened. I heard rumors that you were ill, that you left school, but when you didn’t answer my calls, I figured it was over between us. I wish I had known the truth.”

“That’s very kind of you to say. But I’m okay now. I’m getting by. And I like the slow-paced life down here…It has been good for m—.”

Francisco’s face darkens several shades. He takes an ominous step toward me. His voice cuts through the tension-filled air like a knife. “Señorita, go back in your house and take your pills. Mr. Harris and I have business to discuss.”

I notice the red marks on the American’s wrist where he must have been tied up. But now he’s free. The man’s a fortress of sheer muscle. He could probably escape if both of us acted quickly. “Oh, yes, of course.” I glance at the American one last time with longing eyes and a sexy wink. “I’d love it if you’d drop by after you finish your meeting, David. I just made a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies. We could have a cup of tea and reminisce about the good old d—”

“He won’t have time for that. Now go.”

When the men seem to not be looking in my direction, I nod toward the American. He reaches for the weapon in the man’s hand and twists sharply. I hear the violent crunch of breaking bone. The man drops on his knees, shrieking in agony. Leaping in the air, I aim a round house kick toward Francisco’s chest, launching him across the lawn.

The SEAL grabs the weapon and points it at the driver. “Don’t move or you’re dead.”

The driver, standing shocked like a deer in headlights, holds his hands up.

I lunge toward him and order him to give me the keys.  “Let’s get out of here.” The instant we’re in the car, I peel out of the driveway and drive fast down the street.

“Where the hell are we?” the man asks. “And how did you do that?”

“Don’t you want to tell me your name before you start asking questions?”

“I’m Master Chief Logan Harris.” His voice is deep and resonant.

“I’m Hannah. I’m big on brevity so I hope it’s okay if I leave off the Master Chief part.”

He laughs, deepening the dimples next to his mouth. “Of course.”

“My name actually is Hannah. Francisco knew my name anyway, so I figured it wouldn’t help much good to lie. This place is Kino Bay. It’s on the Sea of Cortez, west of Hermosillo in the state of Sonora.”

“So, you live next door to him.”

“I have a six-month rental contract on the place. But I guess I won’t be going back there for a while.”

“Damn.” His jaw clenches. “Is that true you have Multiple Sclerosis?”

“Hell, no. I’m healthy as a horse. I made all that shit up.” My body’s in top shape at least. Better not to mention the shabby state of my mind.

“Well you did a good job of pulling off that little charade, that’s for sure. I don’t know how you managed it.”

“It was kind of a flying by the seat of my pants move.”

“I should probably apologize for messing up your day, but I’m damn glad you saved my ass. But why did you—bother to help me, I mean? Did someone hire you?”

“Nope. I’m just a non-working gringo with nothing to do all day. I saw you were in trouble and acted before I had a chance to talk myself out of it.”

He rubs his dimples with two fingers as if he’s trying hard to put all the pieces together. “So, you’re one of those women always standing by the window spying on your neighbors?”

“Something like that. I knew something was about to happen. Francisco isn’t the sharpest tack. He thinks I’m just another one of those monolingual gringos that don’t understand a word of Spanish. He talks on his cell on his deck all the time. He keeps his wife and kids safe in some mansion in Mazatlan, apparently. He comes to his Kino Bay house to run his new weapons smuggling business. And today, I caught a few lines about a SEAL being brought here.”

“So, you knew he was bringing a prisoner?”

“Yup. I overheard him talking about it two hours ago.”

“Damn. The guy isn’t too smart, is he? So where are we going?”

RESCUED will soon be available for pre-order on Amazon with a February release date.

 

The post Excerpt from RESCUED – Elite SEALs 2 appeared first on Sabrina Devonshire Romances.

New Release – Taken Elite SEALs 1

Taken (Elite SEALs 1)
published September 26, 2019

Blurb:
Mia Russo had her whole life ahead of her. She was a junior studying physical therapy at UCSD, an avid surfer, and a triathlete—up until the day she became a human trafficking victim. Kidnapped by members of a Mexican cartel, she’s been held captive for over a year. Injected with heroin whenever her body is given to another man, she’s lost all hope of surviving.
SEAL Team 3 embarks on a mission to rescue trafficked girls being held outside Nogales, Mexico. Chief Petty Officer Ethan Patterson is a tough warrior on the outside, but deep inside, he’s broken. He still blames himself for the death of his best friend and SEAL team brother. Out of fear of experiencing another devastating loss, he has withdrawn from everyone.
SEAL Team 3 rescues Mia and six other girls. Mia’s instantly attracted to Ethan. Suffering from drug withdrawal, her life in tatters, she believes Ethan could never want her. After being violated by all those men, she’s not sure anyone will ever love her.
Ethan believes it’s his duty to maintain a professional distance from Mia. As the attraction between them simmers and threatens to burst into flame, he begins to wonder if he’s staying away to follow normal military protocol—or because he’s afraid.

Excerpt:
CHAPTER ONE
The hotel room reeks of stale beer and cigarette smoke. The Hispanic, mustached man leering at me smells equally repulsive. Like sweat, mingled with ejaculate. He’s wearing a white, button up shirt. A mass of curly dark hair pokes out from the open collar. A flabby potbelly hangs over the waistband of his skin-tight jeans that have a wet stain in the crotch.
My expression must telegraph that I don’t want to be here. The man clenches his jaw and I flinch as his palm strikes my cheek with a sharp smack. The creases on his sweaty forehead and around his mouth deepen. He’s been angry since he first saw me.
I don’t know why. Diego—one of the men holding us prisoner at the compound—said this guy particularly requested me, although I don’t think I’ve ever seen him before. I was blindfolded, hauled outside, and stuffed into the backseat of a car. That’s always how these deliveries of our bodies go. After hours riding in the back of a sedan, I was dropped off here. Diego told the man he’d return for me in a few hours. He introduced me to the man, but I don’t remember his name. Or even want to. There have been too many. I want their faces and names to blur in my mind and turn to vapor.
Always they want to fuck me. But first, they want to show their control and to make me recognize how powerless I am. The man orders me to turn around, to bend over. He asks me to do other things, too, but I pretend I don’t understand. I have a few choice words I’d like to say to this bastard in Spanish.
“No entiendo.”
“You stupid bitch,” he says, switching to accented English. He grabs the tattered cotton shirt I’m wearing and jerks on it until the torn fabric exposes bra straps and bruised flesh.
So, he does speak English. I thought it strange that he didn’t. Most of these men my handlers sell me to—for a week, a day or an hour—are bilingual. They’re all involved in the drug trade in one way or another. Another cog in the wheel of this miserable international drug and human trafficking operation. They kidnapped me, stole me away from my life. Now my body is here for the taking for someone owed a favor or to celebrate a recent promotion in the organization. God only knows who this man is. He’s not wearing a neatly pressed suit or cloth-shined shoes like the top dogs I’ve been pawned off on. His sour body odor assaults my nostrils, making me sneeze.
“Take your fucking clothes off, God dammit.”
I pull what’s left of my T-shirt over my head and discard it. My hands tremble. The shaking intensifies. Sweat drips from my brow. Fuck. Withdrawal symptoms. It’s been hours since anyone shot me up with dope and my body’s craving a fix. The dependence sucks, but it sucks worse when I’m in these situations with full awareness. An intoxicating haze offers a layer of protection.
I shuck off my jeans. Remove my underwear. I stand naked in front of him, gazing at the floor. Right now, I’d give my life for one hit of heroin, just one. I need something to take the edge off, to help me endure what he’s about to do to me. I don’t want him near me. I want to run from this room, run away from what my life has become. Instead, I’m trembling, repulsed, afraid.
Sometimes before I’m taken from the compound, a Mexican woman visits my cell and applies layers of makeup to my face. Foundation and blush smear away my pallid complexion, my dead eyes are resuscitated with mascara and eyeliner. But today, nothing. My face and the rest of my body is naked and exposed.
The man wipes sweat from his forehead and one side of his upper lip curls up in a sneer. “Javier said you were a great piece of ass, but I’d say you’re a worthless bitch. You don’t smile, you don’t flirt. Are you a fucking dyke?”
“I’m not a dyke.” I place my hands on my hips. I don’t like men who smell and who think I’m just an object to be slapped around and fucked.
“You act like a fucking lesbian. And you’re so goddamn skinny.”
This emaciated and sickly body that turns him off is all that’s left of the body I once trained daily to keep healthy and strong. My mind—well, there’s not much left of that either. A person can’t be victimized like this every day—sometimes two or three times a day—without eventually falling into an abyss. I fought for a long time—pushing down the despair and depression—telling myself I would stay strong and find a way out. But days turned into months. One day I just gave up. I don’t remember exactly when it happened. I’ve long lost track of the day, the week. I’m not sure if it’s April or September.
The day I gave up, I knew I couldn’t deal with my emotions anymore. I didn’t want to fantasize anymore about breathing in the scent of salty sea air or walking barefoot on a soft carpet of grass. Or imagine eating fresh seafood on my mom’s outdoor patio in Del Mar, which overlooks the Pacific coastline. I didn’t want to ache to feel my mom’s hugs, to hear my best friend’s laugh, to actually salivate when I imagined taking one sip of a salt-rimmed margarita. I wanted to feel numb. Like a machine, instead of flesh and blood. So being violated wouldn’t hurt so bad anymore. So I wouldn’t feel that painful wrench in my heart every time I flash back to everything I lost.
I don’t want to think about the fact that I’ll never surf a Pacific wave again, I’ll never compete in another triathlon, I’ll never graduate from college or meet the man of my dreams or have his children.
My life will end in wretchedness. I’m no one now. I have no identity. I’m an empty shell. A spaced-out drug addict. A worthless, forgotten girl who partied with her friends on a Costa Rican vacation one day and became the personal property of drug lords the next.
The man spews out a stream of expletives. His eyes narrow to slits. I stare at him without speaking. I competed in Olympic distance triathlons and half marathons. Any weekend I wasn’t racing, I was riding waves on my surfboard. My friends and classmates all said I had the perfect body—muscular and well-proportioned.
It’s hard to believe I was ever an athlete. Weariness overtook my brain and slowly worried its way through every muscle, every bone. Now loose skin hangs off my bones. All my muscles have wasted away. I get dizzy and out of breath just walking across a room. None of us have ever been served a decent meal in this place. Sometimes they feed us rat stew. I’m constantly hungry. Night and day, I dream about spaghetti piled high on a plate—topped with enormous meatballs, juicy steaks, mountains of ice cream.
Acid is eating through the lining of my stomach. Being full would be nice, but right now I’d just like to have enough food inside my stomach that the pain eroding my gut would go away. It’s agony to be this hungry. All of us here are so hungry, we gobble down the rat stew like it is prime rib. I’ve gotten to the point that I’ll eat anything. Moldy bread. Cockroaches unfortunate enough to crawl into my living space.
The man’s hand connects with my cheek again. I close my eyes and can’t help wincing when his hand smacks the other side of my face. I squint to look at him, relieved that he’s done hitting me—at least for now. A randy smile curls up the corner of his oily looking lips. “That’s better. At least you have some color now.”
I say nothing. I stand in front of him waiting to see what he’ll do to me next.
He grabs me roughly by the shoulder and shoves me toward the bed. I stumble backward. He lunges again, forcing me to sit on the mattress. “I’ll never be able to get it up looking at that sorry face. I want to see desire in your eyes.” He pulls a vial and a needle out of his pocket.
That’s what all the men want, to see that dazed, drugged-out expression on my face. It’s how they can immerse themselves in fantasy. Instead of looking at a frightened face, they can see stoned, heavy-lidded eyes and imagine that they’re seeing desire. As if I could ever desire any of these pigs. I could never lust after this repulsive man with his sweat and his smells or even any of the others with their shiny shoes and fancy shirts. The mere thought causes sour bile to surge up into my throat.
If only I had a knife. I’d slit his throat and then stab him again and again, his blood splashing on my face until the agony of what he has done, and all the others have done to my body and my soul was finally cleansed.
He presses his lips down as he prepares the needle. He injects himself first. He’ll inject me second with the dirty needle. His sweaty hand holding the syringe moves toward me. “You want this bad, don’t you?”
Yes, God help me, I ache for the liquid injection into my veins, to feel the warm, comforting haze that will follow. I want it bad. But I won’t let him see the desperation in my eyes. Unfortunately, my body gives me away. The slight tremor in my hands, the occasional tick in my jaw is worsening. If I go much longer without heroin, my muscles and limbs will perform a spastic dance I have no control over.
He grabs my arm with a jerk and I grimace when I feel the stab of the needle. The cold liquid enters my veins.
Relief rolls through me and the taut tension in my muscles slowly ebbs away. I despise my dependence. I never needed anything or anyone until I ended up in this place. But I won’t think about that now. I’ll savor this moment of escape. I no longer feel the acid burning in my belly, the deep ache in my muscles and bones. The man’s voice sounds far away, like he’s in another room or another plane of existence. I allow myself to journey far away. In my mind, I am gliding across the perfect blue wave on my surfboard, my body balanced, in control, strong. I barely notice when the man with the sweaty hands tosses me back on the bed.
Download for 2.99 or FREE on Kindle Unlimited

 

The post New Release – Taken Elite SEALs 1 appeared first on Sabrina Devonshire Romances.

Coming Soon…Taken – Elite SEALs 1

Elite SEALs 1 will be available in e-book format on or before September 30th. Check out this HOT cover by Anya K

 

Blurb:

Mia Russo had her whole life ahead of her. She was a junior studying physical therapy at UCSD, an avid surfer, and a triathlete—up until the day she became a human trafficking victim. Kidnapped by members of a Mexican cartel, she’s been held captive for over a year. Injected with heroin whenever her body is given to another man, she’s lost all hope of surviving.

SEAL Team 3 embarks on a mission to rescue trafficked girls being held outside Nogales, Mexico. Chief Petty Officer Ethan Patterson is a tough warrior on the outside, but deep inside, he’s broken. He still blames himself for the death of his best friend and SEAL team brother. Out of fear of experiencing another devastating loss, he has withdrawn from everyone.

SEAL Team 3 rescues Mia and six other girls. Mia’s instantly attracted to Ethan. Suffering from drug withdrawal, her life in tatters, she believes Ethan could never want her. After being violated by all those men, she’s not sure anyone will ever love her.

Ethan believes it’s his duty to maintain a professional distance from Mia. As the attraction between them simmers and threatens to burst into flame, he begins to wonder if he’s staying away to follow normal military protocol—or because he’s afraid.

 

Excerpt:

CHAPTER ONE

 

The hotel room reeks of stale beer and cigarette smoke. The Hispanic, mustached man leering at me smells equally repulsive. Like sweat, mingled with ejaculate. He’s wearing a white, button up shirt. A mass of curly dark hair pokes out from the open collar. A flabby potbelly hangs over the waistband of his skin-tight jeans that have a wet stain in the crotch.

My expression must telegraph that I don’t want to be here. The man clenches his jaw and I flinch as his palm strikes my cheek with a sharp smack. The creases on his sweaty forehead and around his mouth deepen. He’s been angry since he first saw me.

I don’t know why. Diego—one of the men holding us prisoner at the compound—said this guy particularly requested me, although I don’t think I’ve ever seen him before. I was blindfolded, hauled outside, and stuffed into the backseat of a car. That’s always how these deliveries of our bodies go. After hours riding in the back of a sedan, I was dropped off here. Diego told the man he’d return for me in a few hours. He introduced me to the man, but I don’t remember his name. Or even want to. There have been too many. I want their faces and names to blur in my mind and turn to vapor.

Always they want to fuck me. But first, they want to show their control and to make me recognize how powerless I am. The man orders me to turn around, to bend over. He asks me to do other things, too, but I pretend I don’t understand. I have a few choice words I’d like to say to this bastard in Spanish.

“No entiendo.”

“You stupid bitch,” he says, switching to accented English. He grabs the tattered cotton shirt I’m wearing and jerks on it until the torn fabric exposes bra straps and bruised flesh.

So, he does speak English. I thought it strange that he didn’t. Most of these men my handlers sell me to—for a week, a day or an hour—are bilingual. They’re all involved in the drug trade in one way or another. Another cog in the wheel of this miserable international drug and human trafficking operation. They kidnapped me, stole me away from my life. Now my body is here for the taking for someone owed a favor or to celebrate a recent promotion in the organization. God only knows who this man is. He’s not wearing a neatly pressed suit or cloth-shined shoes like the top dogs I’ve been pawned off on. His sour body odor assaults my nostrils, making me sneeze.

“Take your fucking clothes off, God dammit.”

I pull what’s left of my T-shirt over my head and discard it. My hands tremble. The shaking intensifies. Sweat drips from my brow. Fuck. Withdrawal symptoms. It’s been hours since anyone shot me up with dope and my body’s craving a fix. The dependence sucks, but it sucks worse when I’m in these situations with full awareness. An intoxicating haze offers a layer of protection.

I shuck off my jeans. Remove my underwear. I stand naked in front of him, gazing at the floor. Right now, I’d give my life for one hit of heroin, just one. I need something to take the edge off, to help me endure what he’s about to do to me. I don’t want him near me. I want to run from this room, run away from what my life has become. Instead, I’m trembling, repulsed, afraid.

Sometimes before I’m taken from the compound, a Mexican woman visits my cell and applies layers of makeup to my face. Foundation and blush smear away my pallid complexion, my dead eyes are resuscitated with mascara and eyeliner. But today, nothing. My face and the rest of my body is naked and exposed.

The man wipes sweat from his forehead and one side of his upper lip curls up in a sneer. “Javier said you were a great piece of ass, but I’d say you’re a worthless bitch. You don’t smile, you don’t flirt. Are you a fucking dyke?”

“I’m not a dyke.” I place my hands on my hips. I don’t like men who smell and who think I’m just an object to be slapped around and fucked.

“You act like a fucking lesbian. And you’re so goddamn skinny.”

This emaciated and sickly body that turns him off is all that’s left of the body I once trained daily to keep healthy and strong. My mind—well, there’s not much left of that either. A person can’t be victimized like this every day—sometimes two or three times a day—without eventually falling into an abyss. I fought for a long time—pushing down the despair and depression—telling myself I would stay strong and find a way out. But days turned into months. One day I just gave up. I don’t remember exactly when it happened. I’ve long lost track of the day, the week. I’m not sure if it’s April or September.

The day I gave up, I knew I couldn’t deal with my emotions anymore. I didn’t want to fantasize anymore about breathing in the scent of salty sea air or walking barefoot on a soft carpet of grass. Or imagine eating fresh seafood on my mom’s outdoor patio in Del Mar, which overlooks the Pacific coastline. I didn’t want to ache to feel my mom’s hugs, to hear my best friend’s laugh, to actually salivate when I imagined taking one sip of a salt-rimmed margarita. I wanted to feel numb. Like a machine, instead of flesh and blood. So being violated wouldn’t hurt so bad anymore. So I wouldn’t feel that painful wrench in my heart every time I flash back to everything I lost.

I don’t want to think about the fact that I’ll never surf a Pacific wave again, I’ll never compete in another triathlon, I’ll never graduate from college or meet the man of my dreams or have his children.

My life will end in wretchedness. I’m no one now. I have no identity. I’m an empty shell. A spaced-out drug addict. A worthless, forgotten girl who partied with her friends on a Costa Rican vacation one day and became the personal property of drug lords the next.

The man spews out a stream of expletives. His eyes narrow to slits. I stare at him without speaking. I competed in Olympic distance triathlons and half marathons. Any weekend I wasn’t racing, I was riding waves on my surfboard. My friends and classmates all said I had the perfect body—muscular and well-proportioned.

It’s hard to believe I was ever an athlete. Weariness overtook my brain and slowly worried its way through every muscle, every bone. Now loose skin hangs off my bones. All my muscles have wasted away. I get dizzy and out of breath just walking across a room. None of us have ever been served a decent meal in this place. Sometimes they feed us rat stew. I’m constantly hungry. Night and day, I dream about spaghetti piled high on a plate—topped with enormous meatballs, juicy steaks, mountains of ice cream.

Acid is eating through the lining of my stomach. Being full would be nice, but right now I’d just like to have enough food inside my stomach that the pain eroding my gut would go away. It’s agony to be this hungry. All of us here are so hungry, we gobble down the rat stew like it is prime rib. I’ve gotten to the point that I’ll eat anything. Moldy bread. Cockroaches unfortunate enough to crawl into my living space.

The man’s hand connects with my cheek again. I close my eyes and can’t help wincing when his hand smacks the other side of my face. I squint to look at him, relieved that he’s done hitting me—at least for now. A randy smile curls up the corner of his oily looking lips. “That’s better. At least you have some color now.”

I say nothing. I stand in front of him waiting to see what he’ll do to me next.

He grabs me roughly by the shoulder and shoves me toward the bed. I stumble backward. He lunges again, forcing me to sit on the mattress. “I’ll never be able to get it up looking at that sorry face. I want to see desire in your eyes.” He pulls a vial and a needle out of his pocket.

That’s what all the men want, to see that dazed, drugged-out expression on my face. It’s how they can immerse themselves in fantasy. Instead of looking at a frightened face, they can see stoned, heavy-lidded eyes and imagine that they’re seeing desire. As if I could ever desire any of these pigs. I could never lust after this repulsive man with his sweat and his smells or even any of the others with their shiny shoes and fancy shirts. The mere thought causes sour bile to surge up into my throat.

If only I had a knife. I’d slit his throat and then stab him again and again, his blood splashing on my face until the agony of what he has done, and all the others have done to my body and my soul was finally cleansed.

He presses his lips down as he prepares the needle. He injects himself first. He’ll inject me second with the dirty needle. His sweaty hand holding the syringe moves toward me. “You want this bad, don’t you?”

Yes, God help me, I ache for the liquid injection into my veins, to feel the warm, comforting haze that will follow. I want it bad. But I won’t let him see the desperation in my eyes. Unfortunately, my body gives me away. The slight tremor in my hands, the occasional tick in my jaw is worsening. If I go much longer without heroin, my muscles and limbs will perform a spastic dance I have no control over.

He grabs my arm with a jerk and I grimace when I feel the stab of the needle. The cold liquid enters my veins.

Relief rolls through me and the taut tension in my muscles slowly ebbs away. I despise my dependence. I never needed anything or anyone until I ended up in this place. But I won’t think about that now. I’ll savor this moment of escape. I no longer feel the acid burning in my belly, the deep ache in my muscles and bones. The man’s voice sounds far away, like he’s in another room or another plane of existence. I allow myself to journey far away. In my mind, I am gliding across the perfect blue wave on my surfboard, my body balanced, in control, strong. I barely notice when the man with the sweaty hands tosses me back on the bed.

 

 

 

The post Coming Soon…Taken – Elite SEALs 1 appeared first on Sabrina Devonshire Romances.

New Release – Jade’s Song – South of the Border 2

Jade’s Song
South of the Border 2

Blurb

Jade Phelps fled from her old life to escape it all. The chaos and stress of American life. Her sister’s constant criticism. Men who said she wasn’t enough. She learned to listen to what was wrong with her more than what was right. She felt insignificant and unworthy of love. It had to end—she knew it. In a small Mexican beach town on the Sea of Cortez, Jade begins again, making peace with herself day by day. She swims in the sea. She writes. She vows to stay away from men. But when she meets Luca and is instantly drawn to him, her plans fall apart. Will he hurt her or try to run her life, like everyone else? Or could Luca be her one chance for happily ever after?

Luca Espinoza grew up on the Amalfi Coast of Italy. Now he’s a famous pop singer who travels the globe with his band. His wavy dark hair, gorgeous blue-green eyes and to-die-for-body drive women wild. They throw themselves at him constantly, but most only see his fame and money. They don’t see—or even want to see past—his celebrity veneer. On a short vacation, he meets Jade—a beautiful, athletic woman full of energy and joy who swims with dolphins and shares his passion for artistic expression. She excites him in an alarming way and seems to genuinely like him. The bond he feels with her touches his heart. But he senses her fragility. And that the pain she’s buried deep inside might destroy their chance for lasting happiness.

Note: Each book in the South of the Border series is a stand-alone read.

Excerpt

Facebook is my new best friend. Instead of meeting my daily writing word count, I now spend most of my days and nights lurking online, skimming other people’s posts. I click through photos taken in the south of France, another person’s Switzerland hiking vacation, a photo of a cute fluffy dog that died. I select the sad face icon for the last post and write a short phrase of condolence. Then I browse through more vacation photos—of beaches in Costa Rica, Mexico, the South Pacific. Bikini-clad women stand in shallow clear sea water smiling, sipping tropical drinks or holding a mask and snorkel.  The locales pique my interest mostly because they’re far away from here—the one place on Earth where I really don’t want to be right now. In Tucson. Near Brandon. As hard as I try, I can’t seem to wipe the man from my mind for even a minute.

What if scenarios break into my thoughts during the day and keep me awake late into the night. I keep wondering what made him change his mind about me. I keep thinking if I did this or that differently, he might not have hooked up with someone else and we might still be together. I know he didn’t want me to quit my engineering job to write full-time. Maybe that made him decide to end it.  Or maybe he lost interest and started noticing other women because I dressed too sloppy around the house.  Maybe if I’d worn more makeup or sexier clothes or—oh, damn—why do I keep torturing myself like this? If he didn’t want me the way I am, I shouldn’t want him anyway. I let out a frustrated sigh. If only it were that easy.

I glance at a list of suggested groups that pops up. Beach Vacation Homes and Condos. Expats Living in Mexico. Andes Mountain Tours. Wait, Expats Living in Mexico? That sounds interesting. No, it sounds outstanding. That’s something I could go for right now—running away to live in another country. I walk into the kitchen, pour myself a third glass of wine, and return to my computer. I click the link, then click again on the Join button. Minutes later, I’ve been added to the group and am reading strangers’ posts.

One thread’s all about Mexican towns and cities where people have relocated including all the pros and cons. Another’s about how Americans can obtain permanent residency. There’s another discussion about food—how you go about sanitizing fruits and vegetables, what kind of water filters to buy, where people should buy their meat, cooking with nopal, which turns out to be diced prickly pear cactus. Who knew you could make a meal with that? I wonder how you get the spines out. And then there’s talk about housing and how much people pay for homes and condos. My eyes widen when I see the numbers. Wow. Whether you rent or buy, it’s dirt cheap to get a place compared to what we pay in the US.

I bounce in my seat with excitement. I could do this. Why the hell not? It would be great to escape and pretend this shit with Brandon never happened. I’d be so busy adjusting to the lifestyle differences, I’d stop thinking about how I just wasted eight years of my life with him. I could live on a beach somewhere. In Mexico, it would be affordable. Some of these homes and condos people are buying—in Mazatlán and Colima and Puerto Vallarta—cost way less than the house I own now.

The next week passes in a blur. I cull through my stuff and put my house on the market. My house sells in two days. The buyer wants to close in thirty days. Now what? I still haven’t picked a destination. Mexico is a big country. And there are so many cool places to choose from. After a marathon online research session, I pick San Carlos, near Guaymas, in Sonora, Mexico, for its beautiful beaches and the fact that it’s only a seven-hour drive from Tucson. It’s a safe gamble, I tell myself. It’s close enough to the States that I can easily come back if this crazy idea of mine turns out to be a mistake. But staring at photos of the deep blue Sea of Cortez and all the offshore islands makes me think it could never be anything short of amazing.

My skin prickles with excitement. I play an electronic dance music mix on my iPad. I snap my fingers and sway my hips to the beat as I pack my suitcases. I love this plan. I can’t wait to leave here, to go somewhere new where I have no bad memories to weigh me down. For years, I’ve wanted to travel. Brandon and I took a few trips, but we never went anywhere unusual.

I told Brandon I’d always wanted visit Costa Rica or Greece, but he said there were dangerous pythons and huge spiders in Costa Rica and that Greece was a poor country full of desperate people. So we vacationed in Florida, which was nice, but not the least bit exotic. I wanted to see toucans and brightly colored scarlet macaws in Costa Rica and swim in the blue Aegean Sea off the coast of Greece. All these urges have nudged me in the ribs for years. Now, I can finally give in to them. I no longer have to worry about what Brandon wants—what any man wants. I’m free. I can do whatever I want. And right now, I want to move to Mexico.

I shouldn’t have told my sister I was leaving. But I figured someone related to me should know, and she’s kind of it as far as family goes. Kelsi said moving to Mexico was the stupidest idea I’d ever come up with, almost as dumb as quitting my job to become a full-time writer. “Everyone sells drugs down there,” she said. I rolled my eyes and shook my head at that. Like no one’s selling drugs in Tucson.

But that conversation’s long over. I’m ready to run. Away from that limiting logic that says I have no other choice other than to stay here and wallow in my misery and spend half the day tied up in traffic jams. Tucson has never been right for me. Since Brandon dumped me, it’s become more apparent than ever. The barrenness of the place and all the chaos of traffic and constant construction depresses me. It makes me feel lost—like I can’t keep up with a pace I have no desire to keep up with. Every day, I seek solace in the pool. Underwater, it’s quiet. During that hour I swim from end to end, the anxious chatter in my mind slows down at least temporarily. But it returns the minute I climb out of the pool. This week when I swam, I heard the water rush past my ears and imagined I was swimming in the Sea of Cortez. Floating over a wave, smelling the salt in the air and gazing up at the sky. Maybe in the sea, I can finally find freedom, instead of remaining a prisoner of my own negative thoughts.

Download on Amazon for 2.99 or for FREE on Kindle Unlimited

 

The post New Release – Jade’s Song – South of the Border 2 appeared first on Sabrina Devonshire Romances.

Final Memoir in 5 Book series by Young (Bernard Foong)

Metanoia
A Harem Boy’s Saga – V – METANOIA; a memoir by Young is the 5th and final volume to a sensually captivating autobiography about a young man coming of age in a secret society & a male harem.

 

Synopsis

Metanoia is the fifth and final volume to A Harem Boy’s Saga; a memoir by Young (five-book series). This erotically sensual and captivating autobiography is about a young man coming-of-age in a secret society before being spirited away to serve in several Middle Eastern male harems.

Metanoia follows Young and Andy’s (the young man’s lover-cum-chaperone) journey to their fifth Arabian Household at the opulent residences of their patriarch, Tad; an athlete of international fame. Although the couple had to maneuver through a minefield of explosive sentiments, they also acted as their “Master’s” confidante as they move through the world of the wealthy and elite.

This book is steeped in preternaturalism and spirituality. It is enlighteningly educational in the Middle Eastern way of life and the different aspects of Arabian culture.

This memoir is also an epic love story between Young and Andy. The joys and pleasures together with the trials and tribulations that come with heroic and unconditional love.

A Harem Boy’s Saga; a memoir by Young (book series) is in Film Option contract.

Ready to read it now?

Ebook: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07JM3WBCF

Print book: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1625268513

 

Excerpt:

I was tossed about in the tiny confines of Murashshahaan (Running Mate), Sheik Fahrib’s eleven meters’ sailboat. A month before the races the doctor had transported this top of the line vessel from its mooring facility in Musandam Dibba Al Hisn, the Sultanate of Oman to Acapulco; in readiness for the 1968 Summer Olympics yachting competition. Tad (his team-mate) and he had been out daily to acclimatize to the sailing conditions in this Mexican playground of the rich and famous. A week preceding the competition, my Valet and I left from Daltonbury Hall to join them. With our Assalamu Alaikum service behind us, Andy and I needed the repose, to revivify our love and friendship. Our summer vacation was spent traveling around the tranquil English countryside, soaking up the beauty of the Lake District and getting reacquainted with one another. We needed to necessitate our physical and mental bond before departing to Aldhdhib Dann ( وكر الذئب Wolf Den) and Manarat Lilddaw’ ( منارة الضوء Beacon of Light); Tad Abdul Hafiz’s London and Riyadh residences. The both of us had a hunch that our services at our fifth household would not be as smooth sailing as compared to our previous assignments.

Much like Count Mario, Tad was a playboy at heart. His irrational and spur of the moment decisions often send those close to him into dramatic tailspins of immense proportions. It was under this circumstance I now found myself at the mercy of howling winds, roaring waves and pounding rain. Thrown repeatedly from the hull to the rear of this racing vessel. The vicious waves and torrential downpour lapped at my person. Not only did I puke up the gastronomical contents I had consumed not so long ago, but I also had to hold on for dear life in the unfortunate event I would be swept into the ocean. Seasickness had overtaken my person, and no help was available since every strong hand was working furiously to keep Murashshahaan afloat. Hard-pressed at the helm, the sheik steered his vessel away from colliding rocks while Tad and Andy held firm on either side of the riggings to steady the dinghy; in the unfortunate event that the mast should collapse under the onslaught of the ferocious winds. Within this treacherous weather condition, I was left to fend for myself. Not knowing how long this perilous dilemma would last, I rocked, slid and vomited while keeping myself from slipping into the abyss of this bottomless ocean. Suddenly, a hand reached for my collar to pull me away from the slippery taffrail. I was dragged into the boat’s cabin that was now filled with ankle-deep water. As if I had gone bonkers the sportsman glared at me transfixed.

“What in the world were you doing on deck. You were repeatedly told to stay below. This is not a time to tamper with the forces of nature. You could have been swept into the ocean and drown!” he chastised sternly.

“You, Fahrib and Andy are above deck…,” I muttered meekly.

He scowled at my defiance.

“We are experienced seamen and you, boy, is not,” he admonished. “The last thing we want on our hands is your dead body floating in the water.”

“Andy isn’t an experienced sailor,” I negated truculently.

He raised his hand to land me a slap for being an insolent brat. Before his hand could touch my cheeks, the boat’s violent oscillations hurled us in opposite directions. I crushed against the bulkhead while the athlete pulverized onto a dividing panel. Before he left me to my own expedient, his grimace had sent chills across my trembling body. When we finally came ashore, search teams were already scouring the vicinity for distressed boats adrift at sea.  The Running Mate was indeed one resilient lady whose damage was next to none. Thanks to our two experienced yachtsmen, we were relatively unharmed. Besides some minor bruises and concussions, the four of us were up and running after a good night’s sleep. I did not relate to my Valet what transpired in the cabin. After all, I conceded I was in the wrong and shouldn’t have put myself and crew in harm’s way, causing further perturbation if I should indeed fall into the turbulent waves. That would have been an unforgivable disaster.

 

A Harem Boy’s Saga: A Memoir by Young.

This intriguing story spanning 4 decades and 3 continents is about a boy who was sent to a very exclusive English boarding school in the 1960s where he was initiated into a clandestine sexual society and then spirited away to serve in wealthy and elite Middle Eastern harems. 

Ranked Internationally Best Selling Author on amazon.com

A Harem Boy’s Saga – Book I – Initiation (a memoir by Young)

A Harem Boy’s Saga – Book II – Unbridled (sequel)

A Harem Boy’s Saga – Book III – Debauchery (3rd volume in the series))

A Harem Boy’s Saga – Book IV – Turpitude (4th volume in the series)

A Harem Boy’s Saga – Book V – Metanoia (5th and final volume in the series)

A Harem Boy’s Saga series is published by Solstice Publishing and is available in print and E-books internationally.

A Harem Boy’s Saga (series) – Film Option Agreement signed with a U.K./Hollywood Film Production Company.

A Harem Boy’s Saga – Book I – Initiation is currently in film production.

Contact information:

Website: www.BernardFoong.com (fashion) 

     www.AHaremBoySaga.com (books)

Email:  young@aharemboysaga.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/aharemboysaga/

Tweeter:  https://twitter.com/aharemboysaga  

Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/haremboysaga/

Google+: https://plus.google.com/u/0/+BernardFoong

Amazon Authors Page: https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B00CENKJKM

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/2992700.Young

https://www.goodreads.com/author/dashboard

LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/bernardfoong/

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The post Final Memoir in 5 Book series by Young (Bernard Foong) appeared first on Sabrina Devonshire Romances.

There’s Still Time to Join our Sizzling Hot Book Club!

Pandora Spocks and I

invite you to join our…
Sizzling Hot Romance Book Club

 

The purpose of this book club is to read and enjoy sizzling hot romance! So, if you love reading steamy books, and you’re pumped to read and discuss one feature book a month, you won’t want to miss out. We’re planning some great giveaways, too!
Every month, we’ll choose one sizzling hot romance to read. Sometimes it will be one of our newest releases, sometimes it will be a book requested by our readers. The first Monday of the month, we’ll announce the featured book and share the buy links.
Periodically, the authors and readers can post questions or comments related to the book. On the last Monday of the month, we’ll have a LIVE 1-hour book club meeting where we can discuss the book together. You will get to know us and we’ll get to know you and we’ll have lots of fun in the process.
Sound like fun?
Please join us!

The post There’s Still Time to Join our Sizzling Hot Book Club! appeared first on Sabrina Devonshire Romances.

Check Out Maggie Carpenter’s New Release

SPY

His Mission. His Orders. His Promise

AMAZON: 

APPLE:

KOBO: 

 

BLURB

HEARTBREAK AND HEALING. SIZZLING SUSPENSE. SMOKE AND MIRRORS…!

Natalie Freeman, a headstrong, talented art historian, is staring in shock at the man who has broken into her hotel suite. He also broke his promise and her heart two years before.   Her fury at his betrayal still burns in her   soul, but she’s never stopped craving his decadent desires and take-charge passion.

Oliver Barton, a spy for a secret organization, has been searching for the red-headed spitfire since circumstances ripped them apart. He has finally found her, and to his dismay she’s working for a ruthless Russian gangster, Victor Pichenko.

But Oliver is on assignment, and   though he can rescue her from the   clutches of the murderous mobster, the perilous mission will put them both in grave danger.

SPY stars an edgy British tough guy, a wily willful woman, salacious sex and sizzling suspense. If you enjoyed the best selling Motorcycle Master and Cowboy by this author, you’ll love this riveting romance.  

EXCERPT 

When we were separated I wasn’t a monk, but you were always with me, always on my mind, and I was always wishing I was with you.”

“You’ve made me all gooey.”

“Like soft caramel? Then I’ll have to eat you up,” he purred, softly kissing her neck, “but what was it you were thinking about when I walked in?”

“How amazing it is when we have sex.”

“We don’t have sex. Sex is mundane, boring, yawnsville.”

“If it’s not sex what is it?”

“It’s possession,” he said huskily, moving his lips to her ear. “It’s all-consuming lust, it’s my devouring you, every part of you, your luscious body, your mind and your heart.”

She was utterly lost before he’d even finished speaking, and as his mouth kissed its way to her breasts and hungrily sucked her nipples, she moaned loudly and raised her chest.

“It’s owning your pussy,” he breathed, slipping his fingers between her legs, “making you wet like this, then ravaging you with my cock.”

Moving on top of her, he placed his member at her entrance and thrust home, and as he began to stroke she clung to his back, loving the feel of his powerful member and the rasping of his chest hairs against her nipples.

“It’s bending your body to my will,” he continued huskily, “controlling its responses, feeling your willing surrender.”

“Yes,” she bleated, “yes, it’s all those things.”

“I can take you higher and higher,” he purred, his lips at her ear as he accelerated. “You can feel me lifting you.”

“God, Oliver, yes.”

“And I can bring you back down,” he crooned, slowing his strokes, “but still make you feel things.”

Staying buried inside her, he returned his mouth to her breasts, initially lapping, then nipping, making her squeal, then suddenly withdrawing he knelt up, deftly flipped her on to her stomach and pulled her hips into his pelvis.

“It’s also smacking your ass,” he said sternly, landing his hand with a volley of hot slaps, “chastising and dominating you. Beg for more, Natalie!”

“Please, Sir, spank me.”

“That’s not begging,” he scolded, teasingly rubbing his cock at her entrance. “Try again.”

“Please, Sir, please spank me harder. I need you to, please?”

Thrusting back inside her, he began spanking with one hand, dropping the other against her pussy and searching out her clit. As he urgently massaged the magic nub he could feel her walls pulsing against him, and hear her groans growing more fervent. Clasping her hips he began to pummel in earnest, pounding her pussy with quick vigorous strokes.

“It’s taking you to the edge,” he exclaimed, then stopping abruptly he added, “then saying no.”

“Sir,” she gasped, “please, I can’t stand it. Please let me come?”

“It’s hearing your need,” he said, unexpectedly softening his voice, “and giving it to you.”

Gripping her tightly he began to move, slowly building her back up, gaining momentum until her gasps told him it was time. Increasing his speed he rode her forward, and as she let out a series of wild cries he let himself erupt, and shuddered through his powerful climax.

The post Check Out Maggie Carpenter’s New Release appeared first on Sabrina Devonshire Romances.