Release date: OUT NOW!
Genre: BDSM erotic romance
Author: Lilah E. Noir
Cover design: Lilah E. Noir
International Link: http://mybook.to/PhoenixTattooSummer
Sage Phoenix has been the thorn in Paul Skyler’s side ever since their final night of high school. She was a bright spot of chaos in his cerebral world of logic and order. The manic pixie dream girl who drove him crazy and left him panting, seduced and longing for more of her spell. The only woman who ever saw him in his most naked and vulnerable state.
For years Paul’s been dreaming of nothing but giving her a taste of her own poison. When he spots Sage behind the glass of her run down tattoo studio he knows he’d never get a better chance. His briefcase contains everything necessary to punish her, put her through her paces and keep her on the edge and at his mercy… just to humiliate her completely and leave her bound to her own tattoo chair.
Little does he suspect that by the end of the night he’d be too addicted to their power exchange to walk away. Little does she know that by the end of the summer she’d be completely under his spell.
I got up without saying another word and walked to her, holding my breath as I stared at her hypnotizing eyes. Sage looked confused and insecure at my sudden move, especially when I wrapped my fingers around her tender wrist and removed the glass from her fingers. She gasped and stared up at me with genuine shock. So I used the moment to stroke her hand and run my thumb down her bottom lip. Her pulse quickened and she swallowed while looking at me in the eyes like a deer in the headlights.
“I was sure you’d be more than excited at my ability to predict and assess risks,” I said in a teasing voice while caressing her chin. “I wish I had been savvier about all the risks involved the only time I tried being a betting man... with you.” Sage blinked for a moment and opened her mouth to let out a slight, purring groan so I opened her lips wider by using my thumb. I inclined further as if about to kiss her but stopped in the last minute with a cruel smirk. “You won’t need this. Also, why ice? I thought a hardcore chick like you wouldn’t take her whiskey on the rocks?”
The look on her face when I let go of her jaw and walked away was so damned precious it made my cock throb with excitement. Sage reached out to caress her lips, where my fingers have been laying just a minute ago, warming her up, feeling her blood rush. The knowledge I could have the same effect on her made me feel powerful and stripped me of all my earlier doubts and worries. She looked around nervously and brought her hand to her neck, at a loss of words.
I kept on circling around her chair, with my hands behind my back and kept watching her, as if she was a subject of an experiment. Her perky breasts heaved up and down rapidly while the woman was trying to regain composure.
“I… I was just being playful.”
“Well, we both know how much you love playing games, kitten.”
Sage frowned a little at that unexpected pet name. I had never used it with her before. As cheesy as it was it fit her very well. Finally, she uttered in a hesitant voice, still feeling up her bottom lip.
“I wasn’t trying to belittle your success but it was always clear to see you’d go far someday.” She kept staring at her boots. Her gaze fell on on the intricate buckles and Sage kept playing with them with shaking fingers. I’ve been watching her closely and didn’t fail to notice the reddening of her cheeks, the way her nipples hardened, how her posture changed. Her confidence was melting just like the ice in my water.
Sage had always been the type of girl in need of proper handling but I never thought she might be genuinely submissive.
“You seem to be doing pretty well for yourself too, Sage.” My voice was soft as I went behind her and ran my fingers through her hair. Watching her squirm under my light and seemingly innocent touch was so much fun. It was time to raise the stakes so I brushed my lips against her earlobe and whispered.
“Are all these designs yours?”
Sage gasped again and squeezed her hands in her lap as I kept tracing the front of her neck with fingers.
“No, Finley did at least half of what you are seeing.” Her back was stiff as I let my hand slowly run along the line of her spine, caressing her skin with small, feather-like movements. “My forte is the industrial tattoo design. These are some of my latest stuff.” She pointed at an abstract steampunk styled frame. It showed a tattoo design of a sleeve that consisted of elaborate clocks and gears. “I still have a long way to go but I’m getting better, and all my clients are coming back for more.”
“Then it's a good thing you didn’t give up on your cute little art hobby, isn’t it?” She tensed at these words and looked down with her eyes closed. That was more condescending than I planned it. Bruising her ego would make her more compliant but there was no need to hurt her feelings. “You were always talented.” I laid my hands on her shoulders and kissed her neck. Her shoulders trembled slightly, her breathing hitched and she squeezed her fists harder at my touch. Other than that Sage showed in no way my intrusion in her private space was unpleasant.
A depraved, dark part of me expected her to struggle, protest, cry, bite and scratch me, that I'd have my way with her whether she liked it or not. I hadn’t done anything drastic yet so there was always a chance for her to start fighting back if I went further. Still, I hoped those ugly, violent urges would remain unsatisfied. I wanted to walk out of that place cleansed, not feeling as a deranged rapist.
Besides, seeing Sage surrender herself and get down on her knees for me would be more arousing than the thought of fucking her against her will.
If you missed it the first time, here is a recap of Ms. Noir's interview with me. See the whole interview and her previous book highlighted, Unorthodox Therapy by CLICKING HERE: rbobrien.weebly.com/news-and-featured-authors/tribute-to-the-wicked-pen-writers-and-author-lilah-e-noi
What is your favorite word? Least favorite?
Perhaps words like VELVET or SILK. I love the combination of consonants and the sensuality with which they roll off the tongue. They also evoke rather vibrant images of afternoon lust and abandonment. The touch of the fabric against the exposed… ops, I got carried away. See what happens when you make me think of favorite things, my mind always go to the gutter. The second part is more difficult since I love words and interweaving a story from them (though I don’t believe in sleeping with the thesaurus). Probably the word is NAIVETY since no matter what I do I always end up pronouncing it in some horrible, laugh inducing manner that makes me feel embarrassed and stupid. That doesn’t meant I’d discriminate or expel it of my writing. Just by the end of the story or novel the character who starts as naive will be stripped off their NAIVETY so I’d not have to deal with that word too much. No, in all seriousness, if a character starts as naive and remain naive until the end of the story there was not much point in it being told.
What sound or noise do you love? Hate?
Sounds definitely inspire me. Waterfalls and fountains, sea winds and waves. Violin music. Soft, deep and rich voices, both male and female. Moans in throes of passion, right before the tipping point. Guitars. I could go on forever.
Screeching noises, someone tapping their foot without concern they are disturbing everyone, sniffling, screaming, babies crying. These sounds can make me go absolutely berserk. But the one I hate the most is loud motorcycle roar. It cuts straight through my brain, the worst kind of torture. It also gives me some very bad thoughts to the rider. As far as I know the best maintained motorcycles are supposed to purr like kittens. Speaking of kittens their meowing can get on my nerves after some time even if I adore those animals.
If Heaven Exists, What Would You Like To Hear God Say When You Arrive At The Pearly Gates?
“Miss, miss, hold on for a second. You have confused the path, you can’t move past the Pearly Gates. Hell is in the other direction.”
“But that is where I’m coming from."
If you were reincarnated as some other plant or animal, what would it be?
I’d probably be a thistle or some other wild, thorny flower with bright colours. As for animal, a sinister, evil owl that creeps up on the horny couples having sex in the woods. Or a black, nonchalant cat who appears out of nowhere to provide an unnecessary jump scare.
What is your idea of earthly happiness?
A hedonistic self-indulgent private paradise, probably in a sunny house next to the seaside. There I’d be free to write, design, swim, tan my body, have all the filthy sex I want whenever I want it. Not that I have any intention of lazying around, spending the entire day on the beach and justify myself with a writer’s block. Ideally I’d work my butt off on a novel or design concept while sipping cocktails, white wine and gin, small doses, just for inspiration. At the end of the day I’d take a long, soothing swim in the sea, maybe even enjoy the company of a special someone at a quite candle dinner. Then we’d take advantage of the candle wax. When my book or project is launched I can relax, open a bottle of champagne and just celebrate.
As unlikely as it is to happen we all have such sweet, savoury dreams and mental images that keep us sane while we’re chained to an office desk at our day job.
Michael Dalton is a professional journalist and editor. He lives with his family and multiple pets in Southern California, but he is much more than that to me.
Michael was one of the very first authors I met when I started my journey into publishing. He tells me I approached him timidly (I'm denying that--lol!), when I asked him if he might be interested in a gift copy of my Natalie's Edge Series. Over the course of a year, I have not only come to highly respect his writing, I have come to highly respect his opinions, advice, and guidance. I often call him my Obi Wan Kenobe--his knowledge is incomparable.
But really, beyond coming to depend on him for myriad weird questions and late-night worries, I have come to call him a friend: honest, smart, and kind. And now, you can get to know this Jedi master yourself, as he boldly answered my interview questions (which he wanted to change, by the way. I said, "No."). ENJOY!
What is your favorite word? Least favorite?
I don’t have a single favorite word, but I’m a sucker for two-dollar words used correctly. As a journalist and life-long writer, I’ve been exposed to a pretty broad vocabulary, and I live for the moments when I can drop in a word I noticed years ago but never had the opportunity to use.
If I know an obscure word that will work as well or better than a common one that needs a string of modifiers to say the same thing, you’d better believe I’ll use it. But I’ve found you have to let this happen naturally—going out of your way to use big words is just pretentious. I once read about an author (who I shall leave unnamed) who kept a list of big words he liked next to him as he wrote just so he would remember to use them the first moment he could. That to me is putting the cart before the horse.
As for least favorite, it might be a tie between rather and quite. Both words have their place, but they’ve been overused to the point of the sign of a lazy writer most of the time.
What turns you on creatively, spiritually or emotionally?
I like challenges. I have a habit of doing things just because I haven’t done them before, just to see what happens. Part of the reason I write in so many genres is that I feel like I’m in a rut if I keep doing the same thing. I like to break molds, to take conventions and twist them around into something else. Much of what I tried to do with my latest novel Spider is in that vein. I wanted to take the typical “abducted woman” fantasy—a genre that’s often replete with giggle-inducing elements—and turn it into a grittily realistic thriller without losing the erotic elements.
And I think he succeeded. See my review here: amzn.to/2cLfW5c
Who are your favorite fictional heroes/heroines?
I love Roland in Stephen King’s Dark Tower series. He’s the epitome of the guy who’s going to Finish What He Started no matter the obstacles fate throws in his way. He’s a damaged, flawed guy who’s made some mistakes and carries a basket of regrets, but at the same time he knows in his bones who he is and what he’s meant to do. He doesn’t make a big deal about it, he just goes out, gets the job done, and never, ever gives up.
Who is your favorite artist (writer, painter, musician, poet, etc.)?
I’ve always been fascinated by Leonardo da Vinci, which was one of the reasons I wrote him into a section of Vector. As iconic as he is, I still feel he’s unappreciated in many ways. You have to really think what it would have been like to be as brilliant and talented as he was, but hamstrung by the technologies and culture of his day. To have all these ideas and inventions in his head that were simply too far beyond the state of the art to achieve. Imagine what he would have been able to do today. I’m convinced he would have ended up as a billionaire visionary like Elon Musk or Steve Jobs, neither of whom is/was anywhere near the polymath that da Vinci was.
If you were reincarnated as some other plant or animal, what would it be?
If karma is a thing, and your next life is determined by the things you do and think about in this life, likely one of those Japanese Hentai tentacle beasts.
(Katsushika Hokusai’s “The Dream of the Fisherman’s Wife”  Ukiyo-e shunga example of Shokushu Goukan.)
If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?
Thank Me you idiots didn’t elect Donald Trump!
Michael Dalton's SPIDER is out now, one of my favorite books of the year.
A deeply jaded ex-CIA agent with a long-held grievance. A disillusioned politician's daughter, called to account for her father's sins. A teenage prostitute in a hopeless downward spiral.
San Diego lawyer Cassandra Dunne is trapped in a world she wants no part of, with a father whose career has controlled the entire trajectory of her life. But when she is yanked out of this existence by a dark man with a terrifying past, she must re-rexamine everything she thought she understood about herself and her father.
For the man holding her is no run-of-the-mill kidnapper. He was once of the CIA's most dangerous agents, a man whose moral compass has been destroyed by a decade of torture and murder—and the methods he honed at the behest of men like Cassandra's father he soon turns on Cassandra. Confined in a mysterious cell in an unknown location, tormented by a teenage girl whose behavior makes little sense, Cassandra can only survive by coming to understand the true meaning of freedom.
Redemption is there. If only she can take it.
Before even completely deciding to do it, she reached down and palmed the note as
she passed him. Still wondering what was going on, she went back into the service
area. Maybe he had some special request he didn’t want to say out loud. It happened
from time to time in First Class.
But it was something else entirely.
You can fool everyone else, but you can’t fool me. I know the things you think
about at night, the things you’ve never admitted to your husband or your
friends, the things you can scarcely admit to yourself. The needs that frighten
you even as they consume your thoughts.
Rachel stared at the note, blinking in disbelief. Being a Ilight attendant, let alone an
attractive blonde, meant getting hit on from time to time. Especially in First Class,
there was a certain breed of men who thought her attentions came along with the
Most of the time, she politely deIlected the overtures. Avoiding a passenger was not
usually difIicult, since they were supposed to remain seated. If they were persistent
about it, there were ways of escalating the situation, such as turning on the Fasten
Seatbelts sign to get everyone locked down. If it was bad enough, she could call the
pilot back. And, of course, the nuclear option was diverting the Ilight on a “disruptive
passenger” call and turning him over to the police. She’d never had to do it herself,
though she knew FAs who had.
But in ten years, Rachel had never gotten something like this.
She should have ignored it. She should have avoided him as best she could until they
landed in an hour. Except for one thing.
He had read her.
He couldn’t have known all the things in the dark shadows of her mind, couldn’t have
known about the stories Iilling her iPad that she kept hidden from everyone, the
things she had barely discussed with Steve after he had laughed in her face the few
times she had half-heartedly brought them up.
It might have been nothing but a guess. Maybe he was just a pervert who did this to
random women hoping to get lucky.
She slowly peered around the corner of the service area back into First Class. He was
reading his magazine again, but his eyes came up after a moment or two. Boring into
her. She stood there frozen. He held her gaze for long seconds before looking down
When he released her, Rachel rolled back around the corner, leaning against the wall,
and tried to catch her breath. An embarrassed Ilush spread over her body.
Who was he?
Rachel didn’t know how, but he knew. He hadn’t hit her up randomly. Somehow he
could see it in her.
Something she barely knew herself. But he saw it.
The Ilush intensiIied. She felt her nipples hardening, felt herself growing wet even as
she tried to Iight it.
She was on duty. This was insane. She had to get control of herself and get back to
But when she looked around the corner again, he was watching for her. Those eyes
locked onto her once more. She suddenly felt like a child, staring up at her gruff,
Marine ofIicer father in shame after he caught her misbehaving.
When he let her go, Rachel fell back into the service area. She looked down at the
note, still in her hand, re-reading it a few times.
She thought of the book she was in the middle of reading, a dark, deeply twisted
story about a woman who sold herself to her boss to pay off a debt.
She thought of the one time she tried to role-play something like that with Steve. He
had tried, but his lack of seriousness, his fucking amusement with her, had ruined it.
She could try to ignore this. Or she could let it happen.
The plane shook as it went through an air pocket, jerking her out of her reverie. Not
fully believing what she was doing, Rachel found a napkin, pulled a pen out of her
blazer, and wrote a reply.
What do you want?
She folded it in half and went back into the cabin, working her way down, asking if
anyone needed anything. 2B said nothing, but his eyes looked down as she discreetly
dropped the napkin in his lap.
She went back to Economy, found Kelly, made some small talk for a minute or two.
They would need to start prepping for landing soon. She had to Iinish this, whatever
When she returned up front, there was another folded note on his tray. She took it
without looking at him as she went past. Only when she was back in the service area
did she look at it.
Take your panties off and bring them to me.
Rachel’s heart thumped in her chest. If she did something like this and got caught,
she would get suspended at the very least.
She stared at the bulkhead in front of her, breathing hard. Then she looked back into
the cabin. 2B was not looking at her. Kelly and Doris were in the rear.
Body shaking in agitation, Rachel went as far into the service area as she could get,
leaning against the outside bulkhead where no one could see her. Then she pulled
her skirt up an inch or two, and wriggled out of her thong as quickly as she could.
The moment when she had to step out of her underwear—when it would be obvious
what she was doing if Kelly came up—sent her heart into a staccato beat of terror.
But it took her only a moment or two to retrieve the thong from around her ankles
and wad it up in her Iist.
She had to gather her courage for a few moments, feeling like she had fallen into an
insane parallel universe. Then she stepped back into the cabin, and as she had done
with the note, carefully dropped the damp little wad of cotton into 2B’s lap.
Kelly was coming up the aisle. It was time to prepare for landing. For a minute or
two, Rachel occupied herself with getting the seat backs up and laptops put away,
trying to ignore the draft between her legs. But she saw 2B writing another note.
When she came back to his aisle, she took it without looking at him.
It was a few more minutes before she could look at the note in privacy.
Those were awfully wet. I’ll be waiting outside the gate.
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