Sunday, June 5, 2016

Sunday's Safe Word Shelf: The Elegant Corpse by AM Riley

Detective Roger Corso is open about his sexual orientation. He's less forthcoming about his leather lifestyle. There's only so much his coworkers can take. He thinks he's doing a pretty good job of keeping it covert, but then something happen that changes his mind.

Someone delivers an elegantly clothed corpse to his home. His couch to be precise. And that corpse is carrying a leather flogger. Roger's taking that personally.

Additional distraction comes in the form of the victim's younger brother Sean. He's annoying. Knows something about the murder he's not telling. Wants something from Roger--and is everything Roger ever wanted. But before he can make Sean his, he's going to have to solve the mystery of the elegant corpse.

Publisher's Note: This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable: Anal play/intercourse, BDSM with significant D/s play, male/male sexual practices, spanking, strong violence.

Roger had neither the time nor the inclination for the usual meeting and interview, though he generally savored that process. Roger's entire body had been an agonized knot of outrage since he'd crossed his living room and discovered the corpse where his tuxedo pillows were supposed to be.

The building was a nondescript red brick without a sign. The window and pneumatic door Roger pushed through were opaque gray. The room he entered had a rubber black mat floor and unpainted drywall supported between open beams. A dusty boot heel-marked front desk and posters from old videos sat in the corner manned by one lone youth with a white face and dyed purple hair.

"Is Peter here?" he asked the receptionist, presenting his ID. The young man's wrists were encased in black cuffs with metal studs; he checked Roger's ID, cracking chewing gum, and said, "Yeah. Peter's in tonight."

"Tell him I'm here and ask if he has time."

"Sure." The torn green vinyl on his chair creaked as he leaned forward to punch numbers into a phone. "We got Mr. C here for Peter."

A few minutes later a rear door opened and a man in his midthirties, light brown hair and eyes, wearing jeans, loafers, and a short-sleeved cotton dress shirt came across the room and shook Roger's hand. "Where've you been keeping yourself?" he asked as he escorted Roger through the door and down a long concrete-floored hallway.

"We've been busy at work."

"Tell me about it," chuckled Peter, shaking his head. He opened another door. "Here we are."

The room was opulent compared to the hallway and reception lobby. Gray soundproofing showed through behind deep burgundy curtains. The floor was wooden except near the center, where black rubber again muffled the sound of Roger's shoes. The cross, bench, and horse there were not quite what one would find in a men's gym.

Roger looked around. "This is fine."

"Great. Well, I think you'll find everything you need over there," Peter waved in the general direction of a wet bar-type area. "I'll be just a minute."

Roger went to the wet bar, opened a closet behind it, and hung up his suit coat. He unlaced his tie and hung it carefully there as well. There were empty hangars, and he took off his work shirt and hung that up, buttoning it to the top. He placed his watch and the slim silver ring from his right hand into a tray there.

The mirror mounted in the door of the small closet reflected his massive shoulders and bulky biceps. Roger didn't keep himself shaved, as did many practitioners of his art, but he wasn't overly hairy to begin with. A spattering of black hair arched from brown nipples to encircle his navel and point toward his belt buckle. Green eyes sharp with canny intelligence, something that often startled witnesses, met themselves in the glass and dropped away.

Peter reemerged from the door by which he'd departed. He was stripped down to a black jockstrap. Instead of talking to Roger, he walked to the middle of the room and stood, hands clasped behind him, head down.

Roger closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly, entering the scene. As he did so, he felt a small amount of tension coiled at the base of his neck just unfurl and float away. The tension held stiffly in every muscle of his back would take more work to release.

"You may speak," he said.

"Master," Peter's normally jovial voice was subdued, barely a whisper. "My safe word is ‘jello.'"

"Understood," said Roger. As the scene descended on him, he felt the rigidity in his knees and calves, the result of extreme self-control, relax into a powerful rolling walk as he paced around Peter, looking the familiar sub's body up and down.

Grasping Peter's joined hands by the wrists, he gently guided the man to a St. Andrew's Cross mounted on the wall as if at some Spanish minimalistic shrine, raising each wrist to fasten it securely, but not too tight.

Then he went to the wet bar and opened a door in it. There were quite a few dildos and butt plugs. Roger studied each one, and finally selected a long wide smooth butt plug and a simple jelly dildo. He liberally oiled the butt plug and, holding Peter's hip with a firm hand, worked it into him very slowly. Peter made a deep sound as the butt plug was fully seated.

Then Roger went back to the wet bar and opened another door. An array of riding crops, canes, and floggers hung there. He selected a traditionally designed flogger with velvety-looking, light-colored tails and returned.

Roger stretched his muscles, working the flogger through the air. He walked back and forth, rolling his head to stretch out his neck and working the flogger in the air with both hands before stopping at a point about five feet back from Peter, the flogger loosely hanging from his relaxed hand.

Peter sighed as the first blow struck his round white ass cheeks. Roger swung the flogger with a smooth quick rhythm, the tails painting figure eights in the air as they struck the subs buttocks and thighs with precision. Peter's creamy skin flushed and his eyes closed as Roger laid one bright mark after another across that beautiful behind.

Roger worked into a rhythm, the flogger's tails beating against Peter's skin like a drum. Roger paused on occasion and surveyed his work, running his palm lightly against the fiery hot skin like a sculptor caressing his clay. Peter's body trembled beneath his touch. His armpits were damp and a trickle of moisture had already begun sliding down each of his sides.

Roger removed his belt, his shoes and socks, and slacks. He folded and put each away carefully. Then he went back to the wet bar and exchanged his flogger for another of suede. The tails were longer and when he swished it against Peter's legs, they seemed less flexible.

This time, Roger swung the flogger over his head and laid it on Peter in a snaking motion. Peter moaned. He flinched with every blow, and soon his entire back was red and he was pulling at the restraints. He was breathing hard now, shaking visibly. Roger paused, panting. Sweat was rolling down his body.

He ran his hand lightly over Peter's hot skin again, checking the man's face, too, for any sign of distress. Then he moved behind him and slowly removed the butt plug.

Peter's head tipped back. His ass cheeks tensed noticeably. He was panting as Roger carefully oiled and inserted the dildo, moving it back and forth until it slid in and out easily. A small needy noise came out of Peter's throat and Roger murmured in an assuring way.

He took up his position behind Peter and began the sinuous flogging routine again. Switching from hand to hand this time, his speed increasing, the weight of the blows mounting as well, as he stepped closer into Peter's body.

When he stopped, both he and Peter were fully erect, drenched in sweat, and shaking.

Author Bio:
A.M. Riley is a film editor and amateur poet living in Los Angeles, California. She writes murder mystery, romance and urban paranormal with GLBT characters. In addition to writing, Riley enjoys politics, police blogs and ice hockey.



Sale Blitz: A Fortune to Die For by Liza O'Connor

Title: A Fortune to Die For
Author: Liza O'Connor
Series: White Oak-Mafia #1
Genre: Contemporary Mafia Suspense
Release Date: February 1, 2016

***99 cents June 1-7***

Megan Clarke had a good life until she wins the Mega Times Lottery and discovers the prize comes with a curse. Worse than the many money-hungry suitors, a serial killer has her in his sight. She changes her name and moves to Iowa with plans to buy their last major forest of white oaks and turn it into a State Park. Unfortunately, the Lottery Curse doesn't stop at state lines and someone there wants her dead, as well. Good thing a disturbingly handsome law officer is just as determined to keep her alive.

Megan realized it was going to be a while before Steve would refocus on the package. “Can I get you something to drink? Green Tea with lemon grass?” He looked health conscious. Actually, he looked like a movie star with a crew cut.

He glanced up. “Sounds good.” He then glanced around. “Any place I can sit and read these?”

“Seriously? There’s got to be over two hundred letters in there.”

“I know. Which is why I’d prefer to do this sitting down.”

“Okay, but if this package blows up on a timer, I’m going to be grumpy when I reach the afterlife.”

He chuckled at her warning, set down the letter he was reading, and picked up the package. “If I open this in the next room, will you be safe from blasts?”

“The room is steel-lined, so I think so. But wouldn’t you rather have some sort of robot handle the matter?”

His adorable grin returned. “Oddly, we don’t have one of those.”

“I could buy you one… You could just take the package somewhere safe and leave it unopened until the robot arrives. I have no problem donating the money to get you guys a bomb robot, given this probably won’t be the last time I need one.”

He studied her a long moment before replying. “You know how I got to be a detective so early in life?”

She almost replied that good-looking people lived a charmed life and received promotions more often than less attractive people, but realized he wouldn’t appreciate her observation. So she behaved and answered, “No.”

“I’ve very good instincts. For example, before you replied, you were thinking something…something I wouldn’t like, so you wisely kept it to yourself.”

Her face burned. Busted! “And your instincts tell you the package is safe?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Then take it in the other room and open it.”

Despite his confidence in his instincts, Megan remained on pins and needles for the excruciatingly long half-hour that crawled by as she waited for Detective Williams to return.

Or blow up.

Unexpected Love #2
Tess Campbell is a mafia princess who wants nothing to do with her dangerous family. She’d rather spend her life making Grams's forest the best state park in Iowa.

Alistair Castile, aka Steel, is a British prince, his archeological career in ruins due to his promiscuous nature. He’s hired on as forest manager of Tess’s woods and quickly falls in love with the charming young woman, so different from the socialites of his world.

Only there are several serious barriers between them: Steel’s career cannot withstand another scandal and Tess’s father will kill anyone who gets in the way of his daughter marrying a Chicago mobster.

Author Bio:
Liza O’Connor lives in Denville, NJ with her dog Jess. They hike in fabulous woods every day, rain or shine, sleet or snow. Having an adventurous nature, she learned to fly small Cessnas in NJ, hang-glide in New Zealand, kayak in Pennsylvania, ski in New York, scuba dive with great white sharks in Australia, dig up dinosaur bones in Montana, sky dive in Indiana, and raft a class four river in Tasmania. She’s an avid gardener, amateur photographer, and dabbler in watercolors and graphic arts. Yet through her entire life, her first love has and always will be writing novels. She uses all her life experiences to create interesting characters, set them loose, and scribe what happens.


A Fortune to Die For #1
***99 cents June 1-7***

Unexpected Love #2

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