Monday, September 15, 2014

Releasing Tomorrow! Sinful Rewards 3 by Cynthia Sax!!!

Bee Carter’s carefully constructed world is tumbling down around her designer knockoff heels. Pleasing others isn’t working for this small-town fashionista. Bee decides to throw caution to the Chicago wind for one night and release her inner bad girl, accepting a sexy challenge from an unknown texter, exploring the backseat of a limousine with gorgeous billionaire Nicolas, and entering a rough, tough biker bar with the mysterious Hawke.

Two hot men, one wicked night. When this good girl goes wild, who will make her erotic dreams come true—the enigmatic billionaire or the tattooed bad boy?

Buy Links:


Barnes And Noble:



Tuesday, September 9, 2014

Excerpt from New Claire Thompson Book Beyond the Compound!

I can't wait for this to come out!!

Pre order link

Hailey lifted her arms and rested her wrists against the open leather cuffs that dangled by chains from the roller on either side. Ronan closed the cuffs around each wrist and then reached for the handle to the left of the roller. He turned it slowly. As it moved, the chains at both sets of cuffs tightened, stretching Hailey’s body into a taut X.

At first the feeling was purely sensual—the rush of release and pleasure she always felt when properly bound. Then he turned it once more, and her muscles and tendons strained against the tension. He was watching her carefully. She felt faint, her heart beating wildly. He turned the handle once more, and her shoulder and knee joints popped softly. She yelped without meaning to.

Shit! Was she going to have to use her safeword so soon?

But he had let go of the handle. He moved in front of her and placed his hands over her breasts, cupping them. “Shh,” he said soothingly. “Shh, slow down. Breathe. You’re okay, Hailey.”

As she caught her breath, Hailey realized she was, indeed, okay. True, she was stretched more tautly than she’d ever been, but she was extremely limber due to her yoga training, and her muscles and tendons seemed to be adapting to the tension.

Ronan leaned closer, his lips brushing hers with just the hint of a kiss that nearly had her begging for more. He leaned away, his hands still cupping her breasts. He must have been able to feel the pounding of her heart. “That’s as far as I’ll go with the roller. I would never harm you.”

He moved his hands from her breasts, trailing them down her stomach to her thighs. He cupped her cunt with his right hand and stroked the heat between her spread legs. She was unable to stop the low, feral moan of pure lust his touch wrenched from her lips. His smile as he stared into her eyes was a knowing one, and she felt the heat of a blush flame over her face and neck.

“You’re wet, slave Hailey. Did you know that?”

Her face still hot, Hailey nodded and then forced herself to answer. “Yes, Sir.”

“Why are you wet, slave?”

Hailey blew out a breath. “Because I’m bound to the rack, Sir. It’s that feeling of being held down, the giving over of myself. I’m—I feel helpless, erotically helpless.” And because you’re about the sexiest man I’ve ever been with. No. I can’t say that. “It’s hard to explain but—”

He touched her lips with two fingers. “You just did. Perfectly. And I understand. I am the flip side of your coin, Hailey. As you were born to this, so was I. We both get it. I know what you need. Not just what you want. And I plan to give it to you.”

He stepped back, and though she couldn’t move even a fraction of an inch, Hailey strained in her bonds, her cunt throbbing, her nipples aching with longing for this man she’d only just met.

She could see the outline of his cock, long and hard beneath the white cotton shorts. His legs were strong, his stomach flat, his shoulders and chest smooth and broad. No wonder women swooned over this guy. And yet, while clearly masterful, he didn’t come off as an arrogant creep. How in the world had she gotten so lucky?

She watched as he went to the wall that contained the floggers and whips. She hoped he would choose the flogger, her favorite. Her skin began to tingle in anticipation of its sensual, all-encompassing caress. But when he returned, Master Ronan was holding a cane.

He released some kind of lever at the base of the rack and pushed the apparatus, causing the whole thing to tilt back, lifting Hailey from a standing position to a forty-five degree angle above the ground. The disorienting effect of her new position was heightened by the taut stretch of her limbs and her complete inability to move a muscle.

Standing beside her, he ran the edge of the long, thin cane along her stomach and tapped her breasts lightly with the tip. “Do you like the cane, slave Hailey?”

“Yes, Sir.” A tremor rippled through her core. Like was such an inadequate word to describe how she felt about being caned.

As if reading her mind, Master Ronan supplemented, “You’re a masochist, and you have a love-hate relationship with the cane, am I right?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“You thrill to its anticipatory swish in the split second before it lands, aching to feel its cleansing, sharp cut.
But when it actually hits, the pain is excruciating—you can’t take it. And yet you do. And a moment later the pain eases into something deep and powerful, something that grabs hold of you and pulls you into its dark, erotic embrace. And you want another. And another. And another.”

“Oooh,” Hailey breathed, stunned at the picture his words were creating, amazed he understood so well.

“I know,” he whispered, his eyes blazing. “I know.” He stepped back and raised his cane arm. “I’m going to cane you now, slave. I’m going to take your measure. You will thank me for each stroke. And if you want more, you will ask me for another. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Relax your hands.”

Hailey realized she had unwittingly clenched her hands into fists. She forced her fingers to uncurl.
“We begin.”

The first cut landed across both thighs. No gentle warming of the skin with the light tapping she was used to during caning sessions at The Compound. Just one brutal crack and then the sharp, cutting pain.

“Thank you, Sir!” Hailey cried, remembering only just in time his instruction. She was breathing shallowly, and she forced herself to take a deep breath, the air shuddering through her and then easing as she blew it out. Precisely as he’d described, the pain had shifted into a dark, perfect craving, and she begged, “Please, Sir. May I have another?”


The second stroke landed slightly higher than the first, the tip of the cane hitting her hipbone and sending a stinging jolt through her that emerged from her lips as a cry. She felt the sweat breaking out on her forehead and beneath her arms. She swallowed hard and managed, “Thank you, Sir. Please…may I have another?”

“You may.”

The third stroke hit the tender flesh of her abdomen and she groaned. “Thank you, Sir. Please, may I have another?”

She expected the next cut to land on her breasts, but instead the stroke seared across her left thigh. A rapid second stroke landed on the right. “Oh god,” she breathed. I can’t do it. But I have to. I can’t let him down. I want it. But I hate it. I want to be let off this thing. I want to suck his cock. I’m thirsty.

“Focus,” Master Ronan warned.

Focus. The word cut through the jumble of her unruly thoughts.

She was supposed to do something. Say something. Her skin was on fire, her joints and muscles aching, her heart pounding, her cunt throbbing, her senses whirling.


Finally she remembered, and belatedly cried, “Thank you, Sir!” She swallowed and twisted to look at her tormentor. He was watching her intently, the cane poised in his hand. Waiting.

She knew what he wanted. Did she want it?

She did.

“Please, Sir. May I have another?”

“With pleasure.”

This time he struck the underside of her left breast, the blow gentler than the others had been, but it still hurt like hell against the tender skin. She hissed her pain, then managed her thanks. As much as it hurt, her right breast was aching for the symmetry of a like cut, and she asked for it. “Please, Sir. May I have another?”

He obliged, searing her second breast with the cracking cut of the cane. A trickle of sweat rolled down her back. The welts she couldn’t see but certainly could feel undulated over her skin like fiery snakes. At the same time, her cunt ached and she silently begged her new Master to climb on top of her and fill her with his hard, perfect cock.

“Slave. You are forgetting yourself.”

His words startled her and for one terrified second she was afraid she’d accidentally uttered her wanton thoughts aloud. Then she realized what she’d forgotten and hastily said, “Thank you, Sir.”


Did she want another?


She asked.

This time the cane hit the upper side of one breast, and then the other in rapid succession. “Fuck,” Hailey whispered, and then blushed, the word not usually part of her active vocabulary. In a louder voice, she cried, “Thank you, Sir,” and before giving herself a chance to think about it, added, “May I have another?”

The stroke to her nipple made her see stars, and she heard herself scream. She knew if she had been standing, she would have fallen to the ground at that moment, her hands clutching her throbbing nipple. It was too much. Too much.

But all she could do was open and close her hands as she struggled to maintain what was left of her decorum. “Thank you, Sir,” she finally managed to croak.

She knew he was waiting.

I’m going to take your measure.

This was a test—her first test. She would not fail. “Please Sir,” she said, the sound of her words faint in her own ears. “May I have another?”


The second nipple exploded in a ripple of radiating pain and a sob burst from Hailey’s mouth. She pressed her lips together and blinked back tears.

“Thank you, Sir,” she whispered.

Her eyes were closed, but they flew open when she felt his mouth close lightly over her nipple, his tongue licking away the pain. He lifted his head and lowered it again on her second nipple, again kissing away the worst of the pain.

“You please me, slave girl,” he murmured. He stepped back and to the side of the rack. She heard a clicking sound she recognized as the lever release. He pushed against the rack until it was parallel to the ground so she faced the ceiling, which was comprised of rough, bare wooden beams.

Master Ronan ran his fingers lightly over the welts he had left on her body. His hand trailed down between her legs, his fingers once again finding her spread cunt and slipping inside. “You’re soaking wet,” he announced, and Hailey closed her eyes, embarrassed her lust was so obvious, even though she recalled his mandate that she always be wet and ready for him.

Now the question was, would he do anything about it?