Friday, April 25, 2014

Mob Vengeance in 1891 New Orleans - Tempt Me Not...

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Time travel with a darker twist. This is the basis for my erotic dark fantasy, Tempt Me Not," now on sale with other time travel romances at Amber Heat this month.

The period in history I chose as a very dark twist was the perhaps little known mob justice for the murder of New Orleans Police Chief David Hennessy, Nineteen men of Italian descent were indicted for the murder, of which nine were scheduled for a speedy trial. Those nine were subsequently acquitted of the murder, leading to an outraged angry mod in pursuit of justice. Some headlines described this 1891 lynching of 11 Italians as the largest mass lynching in the history of the United States.

Being of Italian descent, and being a writer, I wanted to know more. Hence my research began, taking me from the life of Chief David Hennessy, to maps of 1890-91 New Orleans, to organized crime and mob hierarchies in New Orleans crime families, to parishes, to the jail where the men were imprisoned. I found books, such as  "Italians in New Orleans" by Joseph Maselli, and Vendetta by Richard Gambino (with the movie, Vendetta with Christopher Walken, based on that book of the same name). And these just skimmed the surface of the research I did regarding this time period in New Orleans.

This is the problem when you love the digging into research, you go on and on and on. But in the end, Tempt Me Not is an erotic time travel dark fantasy which takes place during this very dark period of New Orleans history.

Diantha Harald, at the weakest moment in her life, makes a deal with a seductive demon named Zacchias, who wants something from her that she’s unwilling to give. Asher Smith has also made a deal with Zacchias, but little does he realize the demon plans to use him to tempt Diantha. If Diantha breaks her contract with the demon, she will lose her soul. If she does as Zacchias wants, she could lose much more, including a love she has only just discovered. 
As the end of Diantha’s contract with Zacchias draws closer, the demon changes the a demon is wont to do. The only thing he can’t do is steal what Diantha isn’t willing to give. Free will must be applied in Zacchias’s world and it’s the only thing that stops him from taking what he wants. But Zacchias never loses. To teach Diantha a lesson and force her to submit to his demands, the twisted demon sends her back to repeat a time loop again and again. 
Only Asher can save Diantha now. But first he must find her. And a desperate deal with the demon may be their only hope...

And here's an excerpt:

"How would you like me to style your hair this morning, Signora Harald?"

Diantha felt the delicate touch of her maid, Gianna, as she sifted through her thick, blond hair, kneading her tender scalp in soothing, rhythmic motions, separating, lifting, and smoothing. Gianna's hands drifted down to ease the tight muscles in Diantha's slender neck, and she sighed, allowing her to weave her magic.

Staring fixedly at the reflection in the dressing table mirror, Diantha didn't recognize the woman staring back at her. She hadn't for a long time. Closing her eyes, she allowed her thoughts to drift--a dangerous action at the best of times.
It seemed a dream. No, more a nightmare that repeated endlessly. Zacchias had changed the rules once again and sent her to this time to teach her a lesson. The black-hearted bastard.

Memories etched in her mind of the future she'd left behind, of a time when everything had been simple and where she'd had control over her own life. A career, a fiancé, a life. How had she lost control? Her life had spiraled out of control at the moment her car had impacted the tractor trailer and her world had taken a nosedive toward disaster, never to recover. Meeting Zacchias, the demon with the face of an angel, on that fate-filled night had changed everything. The appearance of Asher Smith into the dark world where Zacchias had taken her had offered her some hope, some relief from the demon world they both lived in. But it hadn't been enough to keep her safe from Zacchias's twisted, angry penance.

Opening her eyes, she studied the reflected room. Harry, her patron in this loop of time, spared no expense when it came to his comfort, and to his possessions. The room was filled with his masculinity and the heavy, dominating presence of the Victorian age. Directly behind her set a massive, mahogany, tallback bed, the headboard carved intricately with a fleur de lis repeating pattern. The enormous furniture suited Harry admirably, but whenever Diantha lay upon its crisp, thick bedding with Harry hovering above her, both he and the bed dwarfed her until she deemed herself nonexistent lying there pressed suffocatingly between them.

When Harry wasn't around, she found herself veering to the more feminine fainting couch of walnut and buttercup yellow soft, velvet cushions for her rest. Harry hated the piece because it was so out of place with the rest of the furniture. She'd paid heavily to retain the piece, but it had served to provide her the only moments of peace she received in this hated time.
A moment of surreal murkiness descended upon her, and, suddenly, she couldn't recall why she was here or how she had arrived. She was losing her sanity and that was exactly what Zacchias wanted.

A shadowy movement behind her drew her focus, and she glanced up to stare into the inquiring large, velvety brown eyes of Gianna. Her thoughts refocused and her memory cleared.

Ah, yes. Now she remembered, yet wished she hadn't. The soft bristles of the brush swept down through her long, pale hair that was the color of ghosts----remembered shades of a distant time----one she was barred from returning to. This current paramour enjoyed her pale beauty--it's why he'd settled upon her when they met at Sally Soliel's House of Pleasure. He liked all things white. Pure, he called it, and he thought she'd resembled an angel fallen at his feet. For now, she was the only purity in his life. It was her responsibility to fill the void encompassing his everyday life with light, away from his demanding family, his work, his hunger to climb to the top of society and remain there.

With her, he was the one in control. Always. It was what he paid her to do--yield to him in all things. He saw to her comfort, gave her everything she could have desired, as long as she provided him the illusion of innocent purity and catered to his every need.

Tempt me not.

If only she had uttered those words when she first met Zacchias in that other lifetime, at the meeting of darkness with the dawn. If only she had said, "let me do what I must do and leave me to it. Go away and tempt me not."

But she had not. She had succumbed to temptation as surely as Eve had bitten into the apple. She had bowed to the sin of vanity tempted enticingly by a powerful demon. Vanity had certainly erupted into a deadly sin for her. And she would now pay the price over and over again. For she had been imprisoned in this darkness of history and would remain so until Zacchias chose to release her.

It was a demon's bargain and she should have realized the cost of temptation. Zacchias never lost, it was simply a question of how high the price would be in the end. Even though slavery didn't exist, 1890s New Orleans came pretty close--for women and for immigrants bent on achieving a better life. For women, freedom was still a glint in the fierce eye of feminine rebellion. Beauty was revered and placed on a pedestal, a perfect temperament, perfect reflection was what mattered. Perfect service. It didn't matter what lay beneath the still, pale waters. Any flaw either in temperament or looks and she'd be thrown into the cesspool, swallowed whole, left to die, to be eaten alive. Or to burn in the final fires of damnation. And Zacchias had flung her here to teach her a lesson about the balance of price.

She fought learning his lesson with every fiber of her being. But slowly, with each passing loop of time, it ate at her, like water against rock, lapping and tearing away at the fiber of strength. Would she be left just a small, impotent pebble, unable to stand her ground against the surging strength of a determined demon?

This was New Orleans, a decadent time of the past, a world of corruption and death and yellow journalism. Where a man's friends could be bought and sold for the price of power. Where a woman might sell her soul for the price of a loaf of bread to feed her family. Where hate thrived in the steamy heat of southern manners.

Zacchias was no mortal man and he had offered her something no human could. Not even the doctors who had tried to repair her after the near fatal accident that had left her scarred and tormented.

He had seemed to offer her hope, a miracle that she grasped with both hands, eyes wide open. All he had asked was seven years of service. What was a mere seven years? But contracts between humans and contracts made with a demon where two quite different things. Especially with the twisted mind of a demon like Zacchias. In Zacchias's world, his demon's word was the shifting law by which they all must live and try to survive. The one thing she had learned was that no one left his compound unless he deemed it so. No one. Ever.

She had soon discovered that time could be drawn out endlessly in the hands of a demon. When she had refused that final request, he'd thrown her into a time loop--a span of two years repeating time and time again with no way out. Yes, seven years had been turned into a hellish eternity as she grappled to survive and repeat those last two years over and over again as he waited for her to utter the words accepting him into her body or giving him her soul.

Tempt me not.

She couldn't recall any longer how many loops she had survived. At midnight tomorrow he would come again to offer her the same bargain as always.

At the end of the first loop she'd thought it was over, her contract up, and he would have to let her go. That was human understanding, not demon law. He simply rewound time over and over again to suit his purposes.

With each cycle ending, she felt her determination weaken. She knew what came next, always the same, yet always subtly different. The outcome was always the same. The only power she had to end it was to agree to his terms.

She felt her strength eking out. All she had to do was say yes and she would be free. She could have her life back. She would no longer be just a toy, a possession to be flung from one hand to the other. She would be free.

Tempt me not.

In April  get it for $3.25 at Amber Heat

Monday, February 03, 2014

NEW RELEASE! Odium (Blurb & Excerpt)

Title: Odium
Purchase Link:
Genres: Gay / Contemporary/ The Arts/ BDSM/ Voyeurism/ Exhibitionism/ Public Places
Author URL:
Publisher: Amber  Quill Press/Amber Allure
ISBN: 978-1-61124-549-3 (Electronic)


One man has a taste for whips and braided leather collars, riding a dangerous dark edge; the other man wields paintbrushes, the odd easel, and concrete walls and vacant buildings, expressing his artistic passions at the dead of night, in sometimes dangerous places.

Something is missing from Chaz’s life and it’s going to kill his career as an artist if he can’t resolve it. What’s missing is passion—real, honest-to-goodness passion—and emotional connection. Without it, there is no art. In desperation to find answers, Chaz takes a job at an all-night diner, hoping something, or someone, will spark that passion.

He’s not wrong, because one night, a mysterious man with a simple tattoo enters the diner. Chaz senses something different about the stranger, and becomes intrigued when the man arrives with a different date every Friday night. And what transpires in that last booth on Fridays at midnight is enough to spark anyone’s libido.

Icarus Smith, a former slave in the BDSM world, is trying to break out of a lifestyle that has become onorous and destructive. And he has taken drastic measures to accomplish this, but it’s not easy turning to affluent clients with dark needs for the only relationships he allows himself. Things, however, are about to change.

When a new employee shows up at the diner, all hell breaks loose for both Chaz and Icarus as they fight against the unrelenting grip of fate.

Two men, vastly different, and yet some spark, some need, some danger draws one to the other. Is it simply desperation, or can this be true love, the one thing that has eluded both men until now?


"Hello there," a deep voice said.

Chaz glanced up, then quickly turned his sketchpad over on his knees. He felt the telltale heat slide up his neck and flood his cheeks. God, he was pathetic. You'd think he'd never been interested in a man before. But Icarus made him feel like some virgin attracted to a man for the first time. He remembered what that felt like, just like now. But he wasn't fifteen any longer, and Icarus Smith was most definitely not Chaz's French tutor hired that long ago sizzling summer by the law firm to pump up his failing boarding school grades. Oh yeah, far from the suave Mr. Taylor who'd tutored Chaz in more than French.

Icarus was masked in black leather, but the banded tattoo around his very muscular bicep was telltale enough as to his identity.

"Oh, hey, how are you?"

"I already saw what you were drawing," Icarus said. He hovered over Chaz, an arm raised to the silver bar above his head, as he stared down at Chaz.

"Shit." Chaz didn't know which way to look. He couldn't imagine being more embarrassed than he was at the moment. Nor more excited. "Sorry about that."

"Embarrassed at getting caught sketching me?"

"Yeah, I guess. Some people get funny about that kind of thing."

Icarus leaned in closer. His dark blue eyes were made more prominent by the confines of the bat mask. The dangerous look of the man took Chaz's breath away. "You can sketch me anytime you like. Any way you'd like."

Chaz felt the sweat break out on his forehead. Was it hot in here? He hadn't thought so a moment ago, but now it felt like a sauna.

"Uh, thanks. I'd like that."

"Maybe when we have that coffee."

God, the man's mouth was so...exciting. So expressive. Looking so tasty. Way too tasty.

"That would be...nice."

"Maybe someplace private, if you want to sketch me nude. Do you want to sketch me in the all-together, Chaz?"

"I--" Holy Christ, this man had a way of leaving him speechless. Did he do that with all the men he went out with?

Icarus chuckled. "You think about it. If it makes you as horny as it does me, you let me know and we'll get the thing done."

Change of subject would be good now. Very good. Chaz swallowed. His throat was so damned dry. And he forgot to bring a bottle of water. "Going to a party?" It was the only thing he could think of to ask. " appointment?"

Icarus tilted his head. "I'm free tonight. This is for my own pleasure." He paused for a moment, and then gave Chaz a penetrating look. "Wanna come with me?"

"I-I don't have a costume."

"You don't need one. Are you the kind of man who likes to take chances? I'm betting you are." He stepped back, and held out a hand to Chaz. A hand with big, thick fingers sheathed in fingerless black leather. Like a man asking his partner to dance. An offer to join him on the dance floor. The train slowed. Chaz shoved his sketchpad back into his backpack, slung the backpack over his shoulder. This was exactly the sort of opportunity Chaz wanted. His heartbeat quickened. And the offer came from a man he wanted more than anything to learn more about. Chaz yanked his cell phone out of his backpack. He quickly tapped off a text message, then shoved the cell phone into the backpack and zipped it up. Chaz glanced up at Icarus and then clasped Icarus's proffered hand.

Icarus gripped his hand and yanked Chaz up from the seat. He fitted Chaz in front of him between his hard body and the solid silver pole. The pole rubbed against Chaz's cock, making him want to groan. But it was the hard cock grinding against his back that really had Chaz sweating.

The train picked up speed again. Chaz gripped tightly to the metal pole. His sweaty palms kept sliding down it and he had to focus on retaining his grip.

"Ever seen a pole dance?" Icarus whispered into his ear. "Ever been to a gay strip club?"

"N-no. Have you?" God, Chaz didn't think he was going to last the night.

"I used to dance. When I first ran away from home I was seventeen, and I looked my age. The owner liked the look of me and he let me slide by. He turned me out a year later after he broke me in."

"He's your p-pimp?"

"He was then. For almost three years. And then I met another man, a different sort of man, with a different sort of club and more exotic expensive tastes. He liked me and I wanted what he offered."

"What did he say?"

"He said I had potential. How old are you, Chaz?"

"Twenty-two. Why?"

"Just want to make sure I'm not robbing the cradle. You're not lying to me, right?"

"I can show you my license if you insist. I'll be twenty-three in April."

"Hmm. An Aries. Creative genius. Adventurous. Impulsive. Someone who doesn't submit easily. Do you get spankings on your birthday? Do you like getting spanked, Chaz? Or do you prefer to be the one doing the spanking?"

Oh, God, Chaz couldn't last much longer. Although he wasn't quite sure where Icarus was going with all of this, the only thing Chaz knew was that he was in way over his head. And he loved how that made him feel. How Icarus made him feel. Totally out of control.

The car slowed and the doors shot opened. Icarus yanked Chaz away from the pole and pulled him out through the doors before they could slide shut again. Icarus dragged him along, past the platform, away from the stairs, and down along the track. And farther along into the darkness until they came to a set of stairs and a door. Icarus opened the heavy door and shoved Chaz through. The door slammed with a bang.

What had Chaz gotten himself into? ...

Wednesday, November 20, 2013

New Release, "Love Me Tonight" and a chance to win 5 stories...

“Love Me Tonight” is included the newest AmberPax Collection from Amber Allure, “No Tell Motel.” My contribution to the Pax is a tasty little story about a secret assignation at a seedy little motel. Here’s a little bit about this steamy story.

Title: Love Me Tonight
Author: Adrianna Dane
Genres: Gay/Contemporary
Amber Quill Press/Amber Allure
ISBN: 978-1-61124-517-2 (Electronic)


At Hotel Draysden, management fraternizing with staff is a no-no. Casper Rosabella knows the rules, but he also believes that sometimes rules were meant to be broken. Sometimes it was worth taking a risk, especially when the man Casper craves is as hot as Lando Madrid.

Eye contact leads to a need to experience more, and through phone calls and texting, the men start to learn about each other. But then the lines blur when Casper and Lando make arrangements to meet for one night of unfettered sex in a seedy motel room, when taboo passions will culminate between two men who work at the same place, but certainly shouldn’t play together.

With secrets shared and desires revealed, the men are drawn deeper into a burning need to know more about each other. But considering their situation, could the relationship become something other than just a one-night stand?


"You decided to come," Casper said.

Stepping farther into the room, the door slamming shut behind him, Lando efficiently blocked out the rest of the world. And now, at last, it was just the two of them. Lando smelled of fine, clean things. Casper inhaled sharply. Musk, maybe some vanilla, earthy sandalwood perhaps. The mix of scents was intoxicating. Lando gave Casper the shadow of a smile as his gaze rode over him assessingly.

"Your invitation intrigued me."

"Do you get a lot of propositions like this?" Casper couldn't help asking the question.

Lando shrugged. "In my position, I get a few. Usually from women. It took a lot of guts to approach me the way you did. I admire that in a man. But are you certain you know what you're asking for?"

"I've asked around. Discreetly, of course. As far as I can tell no rumors of rudeness or disrespect or otherwise. Most of the people I spoke with have the greatest respect for you, at all levels, and that's not easy to do. I've been watching you for the last year."

"Watching me?" Lando asked a little sharply.

"Not the way you think. We can't help but stumble across each other on occasion, you know. But it wasn't until I saw you in the Cascade Bar that I thought maybe... Well, until then, I didn't know you were gay, so all I allowed myself to do was... Well, enjoy the view so to speak. But when I saw you in the bar, then I knew. You keep your private life very close, don't you?"

"I guard my personal life. It's nobody's business." He shrugged. "What I like, who I like, and how I like it is my business. No one else's. And I expect my privacy to remain that way."

"Yet, you're here. Do you trust me to keep your secrets?"

Lando circled the room. He studied the candles, the new sheets on the bed, then he turned back to Casper. "I don't know yet. But I've asked around about you, too."

"We don't travel in the same circles."

"No, we don't. I'd bet we grew up differently as well. I'll bet you went to private schools and expensive universities. I went to public school and just barely stayed out of the gangs. But, when it comes down to it, in a place like this, we level the playing field, sí?

Casper licked his lips. He was so ready for the games to begin. "But I bet we have similar dreams, similar fantasies. Or we wouldn't be here, would we?" Casper paused. Lando remained silent. "No promises," Casper finally said.

"None," Lando agreed. "No strings attached."

"No strings," Casper echoed.

Casper took several steps toward Lando. Casper's cock was already hard. He reached out, but, like a striking viper, Lando grabbed his wrist and stopped Casper from touching him. The grip was not so punishing, but Lando certainly made Casper aware of who had the control. "Have you done this before?" Lando asked.

"No. Not in a long time," Casper responded, not fighting the firm grip on his wrist.

Lando glanced at the bed. "You did as I requested."

"Yes. Do you like them?"

Lando released Casper's wrist and walked over to the bed. He ran his hands across the sheets. "Very nice." He checked the corners on the bed. "I am impressed. Perfect corners. I wouldn't have expected a man like you to make your own bed so well."

"I possess a certain skill. My father was in the military and he was a bit of a taskmaster about certain things. If the corners weren't right, he had a habit of ripping all the bedding off and making me do it again. Maybe you don't know as much about me as you think you do."

"He sounds harsh," Lando said. "Any brothers or sisters?"

"No. Just me." He hesitated for just a fraction of a second. "I had a younger brother, but he died when he was two. A blood disease. My mother wouldn't agree to more children after that." Another one of those silences. Lando stared off toward the curtained window. "And you?" Casper asked in order to fill the void.

"Five sisters, one brother."

"Where do you fit in the line-up? I always wanted to be part of a large family."

"It's not as much fun as you might think. Especially when you know you're different. You learn to keep certain things to yourself. I was the oldest, my brother was the youngest, with the girls in the middle. Like bookends who have to shore up the middle."

"Do your parents live in Seattle?" Casper asked.

"No." That was it. Lando turned back to face him. Again, that blue-eyed look that scanned Casper from head to foot. And then his gaze fastened on Casper's crotch. He sat on the side of the bed.

"Pull off my boots. I want to get comfortable. And then I want you to strip for me. And then once you're bare, I want you to bring me a glass of wine. And when you bring it to me, I want you to kneel in front of me. Think you can handle that?"

Casper's pulse quickened. "Y-yes. I can do that." Just by the list of demands Lando had texted him, Casper had developed a sense of Lando's likes, as well as his desire for dominance. Casper might have called a halt to this dalliance right then and there, but he hadn't. In fact, the whole thing had excited him.

Now about that contest...

Keeping in mind that a red car isn’t always simply a red car that looks pretty on the cover, today at the AmberPax blog I'm blogging about what's under the hood, discussing my latest release, "Love Me Tonight," from Amber Allure, and digging deep inside not just the characters, not just locations, but objects and symbolism as well. Stop by and comment, be entered to win a copy of the AmberPax Collection, "No Tell Motel," which includes 5 stories written by 5 different authors: Vivien Dean, Heidi Champa, L.A. Witt, Rick R. Reed...and me.

Sunday, August 25, 2013

The Effects of Sound and Writing from a Quiet Place

Came across this New York Times Opinion article this morning. "I'm Thinking, Please Be Quiet."

In American culture, we tend to regard sensitivity to noise as a sign of weakness or killjoy prudery. To those who complain about sound levels on the streets, inside their homes and across a swath of public spaces like stadiums, beaches and parks, we say: "Suck it up. Relax and have a good time." But the scientific evidence shows that loud sound is physically debilitating.

I happen to be one of those people who has to have quiet in order to write. I need to focus, I need to hear what the characters are saying, I need to visualize what's happening in the scene. Noise--the television, the radio, conversation, etc.--all those things tend to play havoc with my creation process. The thing about writing in coffee shops, restaurants, and such, is that I study my surroundings, and I'm interesting in everything that going on. If I'm watching television, I'm focus on the activity of the actors, the character arcs, the formation of the plot of what I'm watching. So my attention is fractured. If I'm out among people, I'm watching for expressions, for interaction, listening for language cues, boy cues, I smelling the scents in the air, I'm study the feel and the environment. I'm not and cannot focus on the writing and listening to what's going on inside my head with the attention it deserves.

I'm a very good multitasker and my husband marvels at the things I can manage to accomplish in a day. But the writing time--it has to be sacred. I can listen to music before or after my writing, but not during. I hate being pulled out of a world that I'm creating as I write.

What's your ideal writing environment consist of?

Monday, October 08, 2012

New Release - Black Leather and New Boundaries

I had a new story released yesterday so thought I'd post an excerpt today. Black Leather and New Boundaries is an MF Contemporary BDSM Erotic Romance.

Title: Black Leather and New Boundaries
Author: Adrianna Dane
Author URL:
Publisher: Amber Quill Press/Amber Heat
Publisher Link:

35% New Release Discount


Ariyel Esmund introduced Ren Noletta, a bookkeeper, to an erotic world of dominance and submission. And then he introduced her to his friend, Creed Bennett. The two men took Ren on a journey of discovery until finally she had to make a choice between white leather or black. Now, in a new environment of whips and chains and floggers, suspension bars and bondage, Creed will take Ren even further with an exploration of her darker, hidden desires. Not regretting her choice, Ren continues sexual lessons with her new Dom, a mysterious man with closely held secrets. But rather than being put off by Creed's reticence to share every facet of his life with her, Ren is drawn deeper into his compartmentalized lifestyle. Though Creed is a man who rules his world with a strong hand, he uses slightly different methods of seduction and domination on Ren rather than forcing her, and she falls for him hard. New York City is a different beast from her tame-cat environment of lonely, small-town life, and Creed gives Ren new, unexpected boundaries to challenge her. Will Ren accept the additional tasks Creed presents? And where exactly does love fit into the texture of this frighteningly delicious relationship?


Food for Thought. Tonight Creed surprised her. He'd prepared dinner for her, an elegant feast of tender rosemary chicken, succulent honey-drenched baby carrots, wild rice, and a rich cherry cheesecake for dessert. The wine was a chilled white chardonnay from his cellar.

"I'll be leaving in the morning. I'm not sure how long I'll be gone," he said.

"You never tell me where you're going. What you do is very secretive isn't it?" She picked at the chicken, snagged one of the carrots and cut it into tiny pieces.

Like everything else, Creed was very deliberate and controlled when he ate. He cut things very precisely as though he had a comfortable, almost surgical skill with a knife. He chewed slowly as though savoring each bite. He picked up his glass and took a deep swallow of the wine. With a quiet, yet deliberate motion, he set the glass back on the table.

"It's for your own protection, Ren. You don't want to know the details of what I do. That's the only way I can keep you--and keep you safe. Is dinner to your liking?"

Obviously, the conversation about his upcoming trip was closed. She tried to force her thoughts away from the fact he was leaving again, and turned toward the dinner and taking some comfort from the fact that he was with her tonight. And she planned to make the best of the evening.

After dinner, he gave her time in the guest bathroom with the hand-detailed gold and white wallpaper, luxuriously accessorized for guests, to prepare. Ren wondered about those guests, but then her attention was caught by something else--a silver rectangular gift box tied with a wide silver ribbon, setting on the counter in the bathroom in front of the antique oval mirror. She gasped with pleasure when she opened it. Inside was a short black satin robe with black roses embroidered around the hem and cuffs, and a pair of elegant, silk, black-and-silver stilettos, also embroidered with a matching design. They appeared to mirror her tattoo startlingly well.

She removed her beige heels, slipped out of the jade green business suit, unhooked and rolled down her beige stockings and removed them. She unfastened her light green satin garter belt, then folded all the garments neatly and set them inside one of the inset cupboards. When she finished her preparations, she donned the robe, tied the belt, then slipped on the heels. After one more glance in the mirror, she left the spacious bathroom.

Creed eyed her appreciatively when she entered the living room. He sat in a forest green winged-back chair in front of the fireplace. When he saw her, he set aside his snifter of cognac and rose to his feet.

"When I saw the robe in the shop, I knew you had to have it," he said as she moved toward him and knelt down. "And then I found the heels at another shop not far away." He placed a hand on top of her head. He smoothed it over her hair.

"Thank you, Sir. They're perfect."

He placed a hand beneath her chin and tilted her head back. His black eyes bore into her. "I enjoy shopping for you," he murmured. "I enjoy it very much. I enjoy fantasizing about how you'll look in the clothes I choose for you. Or how you'll respond to the toys I discover. What I'll do to you, and how you'll scream with pleasure when I've made you come. Again and again. Just as you'll do tonight."

Then he leaned down to kiss her quite thoroughly, and possessively, leaving her breathless, but still yearning for more.

He brought her to her feet, then guided her through the hallways and down to his dungeon. It was a room with black walls and black-light tracking at ceiling and floor to illuminate it. There was an array of equipment, including the suspension bar. Ren was never as aware of her surroundings as when she was in Creed's private dungeon. Her trust in Creed was never more evident as when she was hanging from the suspension rack.

She looked toward the wall displaying implements for chastisement and pleasure. She noted the horse, a cross, and, of course, the simple bed with iron head and baseboards, hung with matching chains and manacles. Which would he use tonight?

She stripped off the robe and he took it from her and hung it from a hook near the door. He led her to the suspension apparatus. She felt no fear. Ren trusted him implicitly.

"Tonight, we'll see if we can turn something distasteful into something quite pleasant and in fact make you yearn to repeat the experience again and again. We'll begin with a bit of sensory deprivation. Do you have a problem with that, Ren?"

She bowed her head. "Whatever you wish, Master." She was excited. He had never failed to challenge her, to excite her, to please her. But she couldn't deny there was a hint of fear of the unknown tingeing her excitement. That always magnified the experience.

He placed his hand at her lower spine and guided her forward. His bare hand, so warm. Calluses, a mark of the man unafraid of hard work. As he positioned her and bound her, she glanced at the wall, at the whips, the ropes, the chains. She wondered which of the whips he'd use tonight.


Want to know what came before Black Leather? Read White Leather and No Regrets. Now available from Amber Heat or other fine ebook retailers.

Monday, May 21, 2012

Erotic Romantic Domination - Daimaen & Sylvie's Story

Erotic Romantic Domination - Daimaen & Sylvie's Story

This is not a new story, it's ancient as love and sex, as primal and soul-deep as any passion may run. Would you call it animal magnetism? Animal attraction? That primitive recognition of one mate for another, undeniably drawn one to the other - even in modern society, sometimes it can't be ignored.

Desire, romance, love, and secret fantasy aren't always found where we expect. It isn't always politically correct, it's certainly not polite. It's mot always safe.

A powerful, dominating man is a forced to be reckoned with. Some might run in the other direction. And then some will step forward into a world where they have never gone before.

Sexual charisma can blindside so swiftly and completely it takes one's breath away.  But just because a woman may not be experienced, doesn't mean she's necessarily a pushover either. Take Sylvie, which Daimaen certain wants to do, though usually a very caution and controlled sort of woman, may have finally met a man who can reach right into her soul, and draw out the woman within, that secret woman she has always yearned to be. She may be one who is his perfect mate--his perfect submissive. Sylvie has kept control all her life--be it in business, be it during sex, be it her past, or her future. Taking one small risk, may change everything. Sylvie has a gift to give, is Daimaen the right man to receive it?

Sylvie's Gift


Sylvie Taylor has never experienced sexual fulfillment, never felt uncontrolled desire. Her best friend, Allison Hunter, has kept secret her taste for the dark side of passion. Introducing Sylvie to sensually seductive Daimaen Sinclair, a Master of the game, has Sylvie yearning for the forbidden. But someone has made an attempt on Sylvie's life. Can Daimaen protect her, or is he the reason someone wants her dead?


Ms. Dane's story Sylvie's Gift isn't one of the normal BDSM stories. If you're looking for a loving, erotic tale of two people with a mystery thrown in, then grab this one. --Fallen Angel Reviews

 Sylvie's Gift is not for the faint of heart. It's very hot and well written, with good characters, but the main sexual theme of submission is not for everyone. Readers who don't mind their sex on the kinky side will definitely enjoy Dane's offering. --Romantic Times BOOKClub Magazine

Sex, power, and complete control are a few ways to describe this hot number. ...Sylvie's Gift is a powerfully hot book.  --The Buzz

I needed several glasses of ice water to make it through Ms. Dane's novel. --Coffee Time Romance


Sylvie was nervous and paced the living room floor, her stomach churning. What she had read on the Internet scared her to death. Of course, she was always one to assume the worst.

A knock at the door caused her to jump. She swallowed hard, then walked to the door and opened it.

Very male, very dark, very…arousing. He was dressed in white Dockers and a navy blue polo shirt that set his caramel tan off to perfection. Damn, he looked good enough to eat. Her heart pounded in anticipation. The memory of her Internet search was fading fast.  His eyes slowly surveyed her from her feet to her head. Each nerve
in her body reacted as those rich dark-brown eyes slid upward. Her hands clenched and unclenched. She felt naked beneath their intensity, or maybe it was just the way the cloth of her sundress rubbed against
her sensitive nipples.

He hesitated at her breasts. Her breathing increased and her nipples beaded. She felt them swell, as though demanding to be touched.  Sylvie saw an appreciative golden gleam in his eyes and a smile curved those sensuous well-shaped lips. What she wouldn’t do right now to feel their touch on her body.

“You look beautiful, Sylvie. Quite lovely. Are you ready to go?”

She couldn’t get her voice to work, so she just nodded. She turned and grabbed her purse and a white cardigan to wear over the floral yellow-print sundress.

She cleared her throat. “I don’t know where we’re going—is there anything else I should be bringing? Different shoes, a heavier jacket?”  She was trying to get him to tell her what their destination was.

“I’ll take care of everything. You only need to bring yourself.” He stood aside for her to precede him out the door.

Well, that didn’t get her far. She still didn’t know where they were going.

As she walked past him, he stopped her with a light hand to her forearm. His fingertips trailed a lazy path from her shoulder to her fingertips and she shivered.

She looked up at him, knowing there was uncertainty in her eyes, and most likely, some fear. “This scares me, you know. I think I’m out of my depth here. I get the feeling you’re way out of my league.”

He curved his arm around her waist and guided her to the bank of elevators. “Nothing is going to happen that you won’t like. I only want to give you pleasure. Today we’ll just get to know each other better.  You’ll enjoy it, believe me. Think of it as a little adventure, someplace you’ve never been before. You like discovering new places, don’t you?  Finding a new restaurant is always fun. Discovering new tastes you
didn’t know you’d like, that’s enjoyable, isn’t it?”

Sylvie nodded her head. “Yes, but I somehow don’t think this is the same thing.”

They stepped into the elevator. He tapped the garage level button to take them down, and the shiny silver doors closed. Daimaen turned to her, his heated gaze fusing her to him.

“Do you know how much I want to have you naked right here, right now? I wonder what you’d do if I asked you to strip?”

She was surprised by the jolt of excitement that shot through her at the thought of exposing herself in such a public place. She saw it in her mind, just a flash that made her wet. The hooded, lazy look in his eyes as he studied her seemed as though he knew what the thought of such an exhibition was doing to her.

Daimaen’s fingers caressed her arms, shivers ran through her. She held her breath as he ran one warm, thick finger along the inside edge of her halter style top, tracing from her collar bone to the dip between her breasts. “No,” he murmured, a small smile on his lips. “Not today.  Another time, maybe.” He removed his finger and turned away from her as the doors to the elevator slid open and he guided her toward his car.

If you like Sylvie's Gift, be sure to check out Sequestered Passion.

Wednesday, May 09, 2012

Delicious Sinn - Coming soon as an original free ebook on Goodreads

Hello All,

Are you ready for summer? I sure am. I actually got some seedlings to sprout. Spent some time yesterday transferring the tomatoes and basil to larger pots. So far they've survived the transplant. Keep your fingers crossed because I so have a brown thumb. Soon, hope to be transferring the lavender, rosemary, sweet peppers, and oregano.Yikes! I am so out of my element here.

So how about some steamy summer reading?

I'm taking part in a huge gala writing, and reading, event courtesy of the M/M Romance Group on Goodreads ,called "Love Is Always Write." There will be 149 free stories written by a broad spectrum of authors available for download throughout the coming 2 1/2 months. My story, "Delicious Sinn" will be one of those books. This isn't a "sip" sort of story, it's 30,000 words so fully realized. "Delicious Sinn" will be available to download in a number of popular e-reader formats. Boy, was I inspired by the imagery and reader prompt. Delicious. :-)

Here's a little bit about my story for this event.


Two men, born with a Montana-bred sense of adventure. Neither stays, both leave to make their fortune. Each walked a different line, made different choices. Both ended up in Seattle. One a jaded and scarred rocker with no dreams left; the other a young photo journalist who has a gift for dealing with wild things.

Both men have secrets. But one night's chance encounter in a Seattle nightclub, will likely change their lives forever....

Join the M/M Romance Group on Goodreads to see the photo and reader prompt that fueled "Delicious Sinn."

To join the GR M/M Romance Group follow this link:

To check out the prompt and photo to discover the inspiration behind the story::

Here's a small taste of "Delicious Sinn."

Excerpt for Delicious Sinn

Will took another sip of his beer, leaned against the bar, and watched the dancers gyrating on the dance floor. His sights were fixed to the tall blond with the wild, naturally curly hair, more wave than tight curl. There was an intensity about him. His black T-shirt, darkened and drenched with sweat, clung to his tightly-packed chest. Black leather pants settled close to lean hips, hugged his richly-muscled thighs, enhancing every nuance of swivel, screw, and thrust. Every flex of his tight ass as he whirled on the dance floor, drew hungry, covetous eyes from more than one corner of the nightclub.

Will was a patient man, perhaps more so than most. He'd waited this long, a few more hours wouldn’t hurt. The cold draft soothed his parched throat. His gaze circled the club, studied the occupants, then returned to the dance floor. Laced leather thongs encircled the rocker’s bulging biceps, slender whips of leather trailed free lashing, swinging with the heavy metal rhythm. A grin crossed the blond’s features as a Medusa’s Thorn tune blasted through the room; the blond’s voice–as lead vocalist screamed the lyrics. Sinn Midnite, up and coming rhythm guitarist, lead singer, songwriter.

Fuck me, beat me, you’ll never keep me. A strong bass and gut-pounding drumbeat pulsed and throbbed through the nightclub igniting the dancers.

The blond surged forward and cupped a hand around the nape of his dance partner, yanked him forward and ground his mouth against his partner's lips. The shorter, younger man was engulfed by the more assertive, tall blond. A thin reed blown, claimed, and tossed about by the fierce tornado; it gobbled him up with little compassion. Lust - dance lust - blood lust. Crushing force. The music screamed, it jarred, it incited.

No way to break me, no way to destroy me. It’ll be me killing you first.

Blinding yellow and red lights strobed across the dancers. Will remained intrigued by the potent foreplay occurring on the dance floor. The smaller man with the straggly purple and black hair was no match for the more dominant blond. The younger man easily gave way beneath the dynamic dark energy of the rocker. Will surmised there was no way for him not to break beneath the driving onslaught. The possession would be fast and it would be final.

The blond knew exactly how to play him. Or would have, if he hadn't lacked self-control. On stage, Sinn’s angry forceful immersion into music worked for him. Here, that very same passion worked against him. An instrumental genius, most certainly. But here, with this instrument in his hand–this instrument of opportunity required a steadier hand than his–a very different sort of skill.

In the meantime, while you're waiting, be sure to check out my latest releases, "Joe Gallant," and "White Lightning."