Genre: BDSM erotic romance
Author: Lilah E. Noir
Cover design: Lilah E. Noir
International Link: http://mybook.to/PhoenixTattooSummer
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.
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.