Erotica Feature: Private Party by Anne Kane #teaser #excerpt #bdsm #erotica #comingsoon #rabtbooktours @RABTBookTours @ChangelingPress @annekane

BDSM Erotic Romance, Multicultural & Interracial

Date Published: August 7, 2026

Newly divorced, Brandi’s in trouble. What she doesn’t need? Her past coming back to haunt her.

 

Reeling from her ex-husband’s infidelity and buried in the mountain of debts he left behind, Brandi needs to make money -- a lot of money -- fast, or she’ll lose her home. When she applies for a job as a hostess at an adult club, the last thing she expects is to come face to face with her high school flame.

Greg has grown up a lot since high school, but he’s never forgotten the woman who left him behind. No longer a quiet geek, the self-made multi-millionaire intends to win Brandi back, and his first step is to make her an offer she can’t refuse. He hires her as his escort for the evening at an adult party in his mansion. Now he has one night to convince her he’s matured into the masterful mate she needs.

 

EXCERPT

Brandi stared at her reflection in the mirror. The lush black velvet suited her better than she’d expected, contrasting nicely with the soft brown of her skin. She’d had her hair styled last month -- the day before her world fell apart -- and it fell just below her shoulders in a shimmery dark curtain. Definitely a good investment. She twisted sideways, wiggling her butt. Yup. That skirt was short. Real short. Short enough she’d be afraid to bend over. Then again, if she bent over her breasts would probably spill right out of the low-cut top that formed the other half of the costume. Did people really work in outfits like this?

She gave her head a mental shake. Of course they did. If you wanted the big tips, you needed to show off a little of the merchandise.

Life wasn’t fair, and happily ever afters only happened on the pages of those sappy romance novels. Losing her job and then watching her husband desert her for a teenaged slut sure brought that one home in a hurry. She needed this job, needed to pay off the huge stack of bills he’d left her with before she lost her home as well, and in this labor market she couldn’t afford to be picky.

When she’d seen the ad for a hostess at a local after-hours club, she’d plastered what she hoped was a come-hither smile on her face and applied for the position. If nothing else, it would give her some breathing room while she figured out what she wanted to do. She’d be damned if she’d let that lecherous excuse for a husband ruin her life.

Opening the front closet, Brandi perused the selection of winter coats. Since she’d been reduced to using public transit, she’d better make sure the skimpy costume didn’t get her mugged before she got to the interview. The man who’d dropped off the costume had been very specific. The interview for the job was at three sharp, and the manager did not expect to be kept waiting.

Picking a thick wool coat that fell partway down her calves to hide the scandalous outfit, she made sure she buttoned it all the way up to her chin. Catching a chill and sneezing all over the manager would not improve her chances of getting this job. She grabbed her purse off the side table and locked the door behind her.

* * *

Oh, shit! Brandi folded her hands behind her back and tried not to stare. Greg Bridger. With the way her luck had been going lately, why hadn’t she realized it would be him doing the hiring when she desperately needed the job? Greg Bridger was the guy she’d spent her entire high school career dating. The guy everyone expected her to marry. The guy she’d walked out on for the worthless piece of trash who’d just deserted her for the pom-pom queen.

She hadn’t kept track of him for the past ten years, hadn’t really given him much thought while she’d been so entranced with her scumbag of a husband. Maybe she should have. He carried himself with a self assurance that spoke volumes. He wore his dark hair short these days, in a cut that flattered the rugged lines of his face. Six feet tall, he had the muscular frame of someone who spent hours every week at the gym. That hadn’t always been the case.

Although he’d been quiet in high school, more of a geek than a jock, Greg had always had plans and dreams, big dreams. Somehow she never thought of him settling for a safe job like manager of an adult club, even if it was the most popular club on the east side of town. Maybe he’d decided to trade in his dreams of corporate success for that fantastic body.

She had no idea if she had a snowball’s chance in hell of getting this job. If Greg recognized her, he gave no sign. He circled her slowly, his eyes impersonal as he made notes on the clipboard he was holding. Was it her imagination, or did his eyes linger with just a hint of lust on her cleavage? And should that upset her or give her hope?

Brandi made an effort to rein in her errant libido and tried not to fidget. It wasn’t her fault. Seeing Greg again had been a shock, and reawakened feelings she’d long forgotten. He’d been an enthusiastic, if somewhat awkward lover in high school, and he’d matured impressively in the last ten years. Sex appeal was stamped all over his rugged frame, and if she were honest with herself, she had to admit that her husband had never really satisfied her in the bedroom. She’d always longed for him to be a bit more inventive, but he’d never really done more than give her a quick slam-bam before he’d rolled over and commenced snoring.

After the first few disappointing months, she’d resigned herself to a less than inspired sex life. She was surprised to feel the corner of her mouth tugging upward as she wondered if the little tart he’d run off with was getting bored with his insipid technique yet.

“Do you find this amusing? I was under the impression you wanted this job.” Frost tinged Greg’s voice as he stopped in front of her, one dark eyebrow raised in query.

“Not at all, sir.” It was fairly obvious he didn’t recognize her, and personal history aside, she really did need this job. “I was thinking of something else. It won’t happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t.” His voice rang with disapproval. “I expect my staff to pay close attention to my instructions at all times.”

“Of course.” Damn. She really needed this job.

“Well, then.” His gaze swept over her in frank assessment before he consulted the tablet. “I have to say, I don’t feel you are suited for the position.”

Brandi felt her heart drop. She really needed this job. “You don’t? I’ll work really hard, I promise.” She hated the whining note in her voice. “I’ll do whatever you want me to. Just give me a chance.”

A hint of a smile hovered at the corner of his mouth. “I’m afraid not. We are looking for someone younger, someone the clients will keep buying more drinks from in the hopes of getting lucky.” His gaze swept over her briefly. “You are definitely not the cheerleader type. The clients would take one look at you and know they were outclassed. I do, however, have another opening that you might be interested in. If you would care to take a seat out in the lobby while I finish up here?”

Crap! He’d as much as told her she was over the hill. Definitely not something you want to hear from an ex-lover. Then again, he had mentioned another position. She’d come looking for a job, not a lover. At least he wasn’t holding their shared past against her, assuming he even recognized her. He’d given no signs.

 

 

About the Author

Anne Kane lives in the beautiful Okanagan Valley with a bouncy little rescue dog whose breed defies description, a cantankerous Himalayan cat, and too many fish to count. She spent many years trying to fit in and act normal, but finally gave up the effort. She started writing romance in 2008, and her fate was sealed when she won a publishing contract with Red Sage Publishing and just a month later Changeling Press accepted her first submission. Since then she has published more than thirty stories in a variety of sub-genres, all with a happily ever after.

She has two handsome sons and six adorable grandchildren and enjoys spending time with them whenever she can. Her hobbies, when she’s not playing with the characters in her head, include kayaking, hiking, swimming, playing guitar, singing and of course, reading.

 

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Erotica Feature: No Excuses, No Regrets by Wanda Violeta O. #excerpt #comingsoon #bdsm #erotica #rabtbooktours @RABTBookTours @ChangelingPress

BDSM Erotica

Date Published: August 7, 2026

Tonight, Marley will beg for every forbidden thing she’s too proud to ask for.

Marley -- I built the model. Denton stole the credit, sabotaged my numbers, and tried to bury me in front of the client. Then Lucan walks in. Three nights ago, he was the Dom who bound my wrists, stripped away my control, and made me scream inside Sanctum Black. Today, he’s the client who can save my career -- or destroy it. He demands I lead the account. Demands a direct line to me. And when he orders me back to his private room, kneeling and waiting, I know exactly what he wants. Worse, I know exactly how badly I want to give it to him.

Lucan -- Marley thinks she can hide behind sharp suits, sharper words, and professional boundaries. She’s wrong. I saw what she needed the first night I had her under my hands. I saw the hunger, the surrender, the beautiful way she fought herself before giving in. Her boss tried to take what belonged to her. I handled that. Now I’ll handle Marley. I won’t break her. I’ll bind her, test her, praise her, punish her, and make her beg. She’s mine. By the time I’m done, she’ll say it. More? She’ll believe it.

 

EXCERPT

 

Marley

I sat at my desk, staring at my finished project. Three weeks of work stacked into a clean PowerPoint. The numbers aligned. The previous projections had been spot on, and I had worked to complete this project and move to the next phase for over two years. Now waves had started in upper management. The completed work would not be presented by me.

My boss, Denton, had made that clear in his email yesterday. He would lead. I would attend as backup for any questions he couldn’t answer. The email didn’t mention why he’d pulled the rug out from under me, but I had a good idea.

My phone buzzed. A text from the front: Denton wanting me in the conference room now. I’d already sent him my presentation for review so I couldn’t imagine why he’d want me early. Even with him doing the bulk of the meeting, I still had prep work to finish.

With a sigh, I shut my laptop and slipped it into my briefcase before leaving my tiny cubicle. The open-plan office stretched around me. No one looked up… which was the first warning. The conference room sat at the far end of the floor, all glass walls and polished table. I could see two junior associates already seated inside, their postures attentive, laptops open. Denton stood at the head of the table with the room’s projection screen pulled down. The navy suit he wore looked expensive and tailored, his tie perfectly straight.

I stepped inside and the door closed behind me with a soft click. Denton did not look up from his phone. “Marley. Thank you for joining us.” He set his phone down and reached for the laptop in front of him. “I’ve made a few adjustments to the presentation.”

He opened the file to the first slide. My name in the bottom corner was now gone, replaced by his name in a large, bold font.

He glanced up at me. “Optics. I’m sure you understand.” His curt explanation cut me off before I fully processed he’d actually taken credit for my work. His voice stayed level. I opened my mouth to object but heard how petty I’d sound in front of my colleagues. “The client expects senior leadership on engagements of this size. It’s about inserting confidence into the relationship between our companies.”

Neither of the other two men in the room spoke up. Instead, they both kept their eyes on their own screens.

“This is an editorial decision, not a reflection on your work.” Denton smiled, though there was nothing remotely friendly or pleasant about the expression on his face. “You’ll be in the room. You’ll have the opportunity to contribute during Q&A.”

My heart pounded in alarm. He was edging me out. Denton had every intention of taking credit for the work we’d done on the first phase. He knew enough about the next steps to make everything work, but I doubted he could explain the finer points, or keep the project on track to meet the projections for phase two which would mean a significant delay in phase three. Assuming the assigned team made it to phase three.

“I understand the optics,” I said. My voice came out clipped, precise. Anything louder would give him what he wanted. “But the analysis is mine. The client should know who built it in case there are adjustments leading into phase two.”

“Of course.” Denton nodded as if I had said something helpful. Then he pulled up a slide with a page I had never seen. A figure chart with numbers that did not match any data set I’d worked with.

“I did want to raise one concern.” He turned the slide toward the juniors. “This figure. The correlation coefficient here is significantly off from the rest of the model. I caught it during my review.”

The room went very quiet. I stared at the slide. The numbers were wrong. They weren’t numbers I had generated and they definitely didn’t belong in my analysis. Nor had I put them there. Suddenly, everything made sense. The way he’d undercut me in the first meeting when he’d replaced my topic without notice. The way he’d taken credit for my work. He wanted point on this project and the prestige that went with it.

“This is exactly the kind of oversight that concerns me,” Denton continued. His tone had shifted to something gentler, almost paternal. “Attention to detail matters at this level. The client will have questions. We need to be prepared with answers.”

My whole body broke out into a sweat, the visceral reaction to the way I’d just been undercut. My jaw tightened. The furrow between my brows deepened, a physical response I could not control.

“That slide isn’t mine,” I said. The words came out steady. Barely.

Denton’s expression did not change. “The file was submitted to me under your name.”

“I didn’t build that chart. The numbers are wrong.”

“Then we’ll correct it.” He set the slide down. “The important thing is that we caught it before the client saw it. That’s what a senior review process is for.” Could he sound more patronizing?

Through the glass walls, I could see heads turning toward the conference room. Not staring directly. The careful, sidelong attention of people who understood exactly what was happening without needing to hear the words. The shape of a public correction. The unmistakable geometry of a superior establishing dominance.

 

About the Author

Welcome to Wanda Violet O.'s world of bedtime fantasy, where you'll find a variety of sexy creatures ready to drink their fill. Wanda specializes in extreme kink. Monsters, BDSM role play... she's got it all. Come take a look for yourself!

 

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Erotica Feature: The Dark One by Angela Knight #teaser #excerpt #comingsoon #erotic #rabtbooktours @ChangelingPress @RABTBookTours

BDSM Romance, Capture Fantasy

Date Published: June 26, 2026

 

Kaska means to make Matia the centerpiece in an erotic ritual to honor his Dark god.

Matia of Ruza is one of the legendary Battlemaids -- a woman warrior who has taken an oath of celibacy in service of the Maid of Light. When mercenary Kaska of Artane helps Matia defeat a gang of brigands, the two become partners.

Matia finds her oath of celibacy tested by her handsome Shieldmate’s erotic appeal. But Kaska means to do more than test her. He worships the Dark One, and he wants to make Matia the centerpiece in a sizzling erotic ritual in honor of his god.

But first, he must defeat her in combat -- and win her heart.

EXCERPT

 

Kaska of Artane slowed his stallion to an easy amble. Prince Britar's fortress lay a full day away, and he'd ridden poor Warbringer hard this past month. He knew the Prince awaited the intelligence he'd gathered as a spy in neighboring Trovan but laming his horse would serve no purpose.

Particularly with war on the horizon.

Besides, the last time Kaska had come this way, he'd had to battle the local brigands. Two fell to his blade before the rest fled, but that left five. And they might be in the mood for revenge. I don't care to ride headlong into an ambush.

"Whoreson bastards!" A woman's roar of fury brought Kaska's head up. He drew Warbringer to a prancing halt.

Swords clashed, interspaced with male taunts and laughter. The laughter had a distinctly ugly note. The woman swore again, an edge of grim desperation in her voice.

The thieves had found a new victim.

Kaska set his heels to Warbringer's flanks and thundered up the road toward the sound. Rounding the bend, he saw five men fighting a lone female traveler they'd managed to unhorse. He recognized the dented, rusted armor and unshaven faces; it was indeed the same band of thieves.

But their victim was no common woman. Her armor and sword marked her as a follower of the Maid of Light -- a female warrior. She was tall for a woman, with a lithe, muscular build and pretty breasts barely contained by her intricately embossed breastplate. Long black hair swirled around her face as she spun and hacked at her tormentors with a slim sword designed for a woman's hand.

One of the brigands already lay dead at her feet, but four others remained, odds too great even for one of the legendary Battlemaids.

A grin of sheer, savage joy spread across Kaska's face. With a howl, he drew the blade sheathed across his back and kicked Warbringer into a thundering charge.

The nearest of the brigands whirled too late. Kaska took his head with a single stroke.

Another of the men jumped at him, hacking for his thigh with an axe, but Kaska spun Warbringer aside and thrust his blade into the thief's chest. The man tumbled off the lethal point, gurgling out his life.

Meanwhile, the third brigand fell to the Battlemaid's sword. His head tumbled from his shoulders.

The fourth man looked from Kaska to the thieves' would-be victim, calculated the odds, and took to his heels.

Kaska snatched a dagger from his thigh sheath and hurled it at the coward with an expert flip of his wrist. The man went down, the blade buried to the hilt between his shoulder blades.

Scarcely breathing hard, Kaska turned to the maid. "Are you well?"

"Well enough." She studied him, her dark eyes level. There was a sharp and elegant beauty to her face, with its broad, high cheekbones and square little chin. Her lush mouth could inspire a monk to carnal fantasies.

"My thanks, warrior," she said at last in a low, husky voice, pushing the long black hair out of her face. "There were too many of them for me to best alone." She considered him, appraising the width of his chest and the strength of his sword arm. Female appreciation lit her gaze, mixed with a warrior's caution.

She had reason for that caution, for he meant to challenge her himself. He worshiped the Dark One, and his god relished nothing as much as the moans of a defeated Battlemaid.

Imagining the tight grip of her virgin ass, Kaska felt his cock swell behind his loincloth.

Give her time to rest, and then…

Of course, the maid might well kill him instead, but looking at her long legs and full, sweet breasts, Kaska thought it a chance well worth taking.

But as he opened his mouth to warn her of his intent, all color left the Battlemaid's face. Her eyes rolled up. Kaska threw himself from Warbringer's back as she collapsed in a heap.

Two long strides carried him to the maid's side. Dropping to one knee on the dusty road, Kaska began an anxious examination. He found no wounds on the front of her body, so he rolled her onto her back.

The maid groaned and lifted her head. "Wha -?"

"Seems one of your cur attackers landed a blow after all," he told her grimly. "There's a stab wound in your back just under your backplate, over your left hip."

"Aye," she said, letting her head fall. "One of them had a dagger."

"'Tis not deep, but it bleeds still," Kaska said. "I can treat it, if you permit."

"Aye," the maid said, breathing now in shallow pants. "My thanks."

Kaska nodded and rose to retrieve his pack of battlefield medicines from Warbringer. Well, he thought as he walked to his horse, I won't be challenging her any time soon. Not with that wound.

Later, perhaps. When he'd examined her, he'd noticed she had a truly delicious ass.

He wanted it.

 

About the Author

New York Times best-selling author Angela Knight has written and published more than sixty novels, novellas, and ebooks, including the Mageverse and Merlin’s Legacy series. With a career spanning more than two decades, Romantic Times Bookclub Magazine has awarded her their Career Achievement award in Paranormal Romance, as well as two Reviewers’ Choice awards for Best Erotic Romance and Best Werewolf Romance.

Angela is currently a writer, editor, and cover artist for Changeling Press LLC. She also teaches online writing courses. Besides her fiction work, Angela’s writing career includes a decade as an award-winning South Carolina newspaper reporter. She lives in South Carolina with her husband, Michael, a thirty-year police veteran and detective with a local police department.

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Erotica Feature: Bad Decisions Make Good Lovers by Wanda Violet O. (Sanctum Black, 2) #bdsma #erotica #comingsoon #excerpt #rabtbooktours @ChangelingPress @RABTBookTours

 

(Sanctum Black 2): A Razor's Edge Enemies to Lovers BDSM Erotica Short

Erotica

Date Published: June 12, 2026

Publisher: Changeling Press

Sanctum Black. Rules Marley can follow. Boundaries she won’t cross. Until Lucan…

Marley’s built her life on control. Sanctum Black is the only place she feels safe enough to let go. No names. No past. No attachments. Then Lucan walks in and shatters every one of them. He sees through every wall she’s built and takes exactly what she’s too afraid to give. One night was supposed to be enough. It isn’t. Because now he wants more than her submission… he wants her. And walking away might break her…

Lucan doesn’t believe in coincidence, and he definitely doesn’t walk away from something worth keeping. Marley thinks she’s in control, but he knows better. She’s been hiding behind rules instead of facing what she really needs. Him. Claiming her means crossing lines that can’t be uncrossed, inside Sanctum and out, but once he decides she’s his, there’s no backing down. Marley isn’t a game or a temporary escape. She’s everything. And Lucan doesn’t lose what belongs to him.

Excerpt

Copyright ©2026 Wanda Violet O.

Marley

I slipped through the unmarked door next to the rear entrance of the art gallery, nodding to the security guard, who recognized me despite my elaborate mask. The transition from bright city lights to the subdued glow of the gallery always felt like crossing a threshold between worlds. Tonight, I needed that separation more than usual. The workday had left its residue on my skin, a film of expectations and responsibilities that clung despite my shower. Sanctum Black waited below, promising the only freedom I truly trusted.

“Good evening, Ms. Marley,” the attendant murmured, his eyes never quite meeting mine. Only first names mattered at Sanctum Black, and only the first name of our choosing. I could be anyone I wanted to be.

I offered my keycard to the attendant. He scanned it at the elevator and the doors slid open silently. “Your usual table is ready. Enjoy your evening.” He offered no other pleasantries.

I nodded politely before stepping into the elevator, the doors closing as I turned. The car descended smoothly. When the doors opened to the main lounge, I welcomed the subtle jazz playing through hidden speakers. Sanctum Black represented the only truly safe place in my life. Confidentiality was not a suggestion here. There were hard penalties for even acknowledging anyone you’d met at Sanctum on the outside. The privacy appealed to me more than even the physical release I never failed to receive.

Black velvet stretched across the walls, muffling sound and creating a soothing feel to the atmosphere. The amethyst sconces cast their violet glow in hypnotic patterns. I inhaled the soothing scent of lavender.

Clear rules protected everyone here. I needed that. No one judged at Sanctum. No one got into the club who hadn’t been completely and thoroughly vetted. And no one talked. Ever.

Outside these walls, my life consisted of endless decisions. Even personal relationships became battlegrounds at times. But here, consent was explicit and spelled out beforehand. Desires were stated plainly. Limits were respected absolutely. And for a brief moment, I could surrender to someone, if only in small measure.

I moved deeper into the room. A hostess appeared at my elbow, her approach silent on the thick carpet. “Welcome back,” she said, with a polite smile and escorted me further inside.

The corner table offered the perfect vantage point to see the room so I could… watch. I loved how people interacted with each other here. The dynamics fascinated me on a purely intellectual level. Some of the most powerful men and women in the world frequented Sanctum Black. When provided a place offering complete and guaranteed anonymity, the true nature of these people came through.

Unfortunately for me, I didn’t number among the rich and powerful people here. I’d helped out Mr. Price, the owner of the club, a couple of years ago. My membership was an expression of his gratitude.

I settled into a velvet chair behind the low table, allowing myself to sink into its embrace. I set my leather play bag at my feet next to the table.

A server approached almost immediately, carrying a crystal tumbler on a black lacquered tray, the amber liquid inside catching fragments of the purple light. “Your Macallan 18, neat,” he said, placing it on the obsidian coaster. Another gift from Mr. Price each time I visited.

“Thank you.” I tried to always thank the staff. Mr. Price had been kind to me. The first sip, as always, warmed me all the way down in the most pleasant way. This small pleasure settled me.

Though the club was relatively quiet tonight, the room filled as regulars occupied their usual territories while newcomers gravitated toward the central bar.

A man I recognized, but had never met personally, occupied a leather armchair near the east wall, one leg crossed casually over the other. I knew him only as Lucan. Anything said about him usually only happened in hushed whispers in private.

I noticed Lucan was paying more attention to me tonight because every time I looked up at him, his gaze was pinned me. Unlike the careful poise most patrons maintained, his posture suggested coiled energy, barely contained. Dark hair fell just slightly out of place above eyes that seemed to take in everyone and everything around him. I’d had patrons stare at me before, but nothing like this man. He looked at me like he wanted to possess me. Or maybe, like he already owned me and waited for me to catch up and get the message.

This time when our gazes connected across the room, I didn’t look away and he didn’t back down. I had a brief moment to wonder if I might have somehow stepped into a trap. I usually kept pretty much to myself, only occasionally seeking out a professional at the club to scene with in private. As was the way of the people here, that unspoken request was usually honored and no one approached me.

Lucan ignored that unspoken protocol. His stare was direct. Unwavering. It held none of the polite distance that formed Sanctum’s foundation. He watched me with such focused intent that I felt my skin warm under invisible fingertips.

 

About the Author

Welcome to Wanda Violet O.'s world of bedtime fantasy, where you'll find a variety of sexy creatures ready to drink their fill. Wanda specializes in extreme kink. Monsters, BDSM role play... she's got it all. Come take a look for yourself!

 

Wanda on Facebook

Wanda on Goodreads

 

Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress

Save 15% off any order at ChangelingPress.com with code RABT15

 

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Erotica Feature: Enemies with Benefits by Wanda Violet O. #comingsoon #bdsm #erotica #excerpt #rabtbooktours @changelingpress @RABTBookTours

 

 

Sanctum Black (#1)

A Razor’s Edge Enemies to Lovers BDSM Erotica Short

BDSM Erotica

Date Published: February 27, 2026

Publisher: Changeling Press

Power made them enemies. Desire makes them reckless. One surrender changes everything.

Mira: Elias Hartmann is a billionaire power player and my biggest professional obstacle. Six months of brutal negotiations turned into six months of tension I refuse to name. Every meeting is a battle. Every look feels like a challenge I shouldn’t want to accept. Then I receive an invitation to Sanctum Black. A private sex club where power, and desire collide. When Elias appears, I should leave. Instead, I let him show me exactly how thin the line is between control and surrender. Outside, we’re enemies fighting for the upper hand. Inside, I give him everything I pretend I don’t crave.

Elias: Mira Calder doesn’t bend. She dismantles. Brilliant, relentless, and impossible to ignore. I wanted her from the first meeting. Not romance. Not dates. I wanted to break her composure and earn her surrender. Sanctum Black gives us rules, boundaries, and privacy with no consequences. Just heat, power, and obsession in a safe, anonymous environment. She’s my equal in the boardroom. In the dark, she’s mine to challenge and claim. Enemies to lovers. High-stakes power play. One mistake neither of us can afford to walk away from untouched.

Excerpt

All rights reserved.

Copyright ©2026 Wanda Violet O.

Mira

The moment I crossed the threshold of my apartment, I kicked off my heels, not caring where they landed. My feet throbbed with the special kind of pain reserved for women who spent twelve hours in Italian leather torture devices, all for the sake of standing eye-to-eye with men who confused height with authority. The negotiation with Elias Hartmann had dragged on until sunset, both of us refusing to yield on key points until our respective teams were practically falling asleep at the table. I’d won this round, but victory felt hollow when measured against the ache behind my eyes.

“Fuck it,” I muttered to no one, dropping my briefcase on the entryway bench. My apartment greeted me with familiar silence, the kind I usually found comforting after days filled with strategic verbal combat. Tonight, though, it felt like just another empty space.

I shrugged off my blazer and hung it with more care than I’d shown my shoes. Six hundred dollars of tailored wool deserved better, even if I couldn’t muster the energy to pick up my heels, which were now scattered across my polished hardwood floor. My blouse came next, the top three buttons already undone during the elevator ride up. Freedom, in small increments.

The wine rack in my kitchen called to me like a beacon. I selected a Cabernet I’d been saving, though I couldn’t remember why. Some mythical special occasion that never materialized. The cork came free with a satisfying pop that echoed in my silent kitchen.

I didn’t bother with a glass at first, taking a generous swig straight from the bottle. Only after that initial hit did I pour properly, the dark liquid swirling as I carried it to my living room. The tension in my neck had transformed into something solid, a concrete weight pressing down on my spine. I rolled my head, feeling vertebrae pop in protest.

Elias fucking Hartmann. The man was infuriating. Brilliant, undoubtedly, but maddening in a way that made me want to either slap him or…

I cut that thought off, unwilling to follow where it led. Six months of negotiations over this acquisition, and the progress we’d made could be measured in millimeters. Every concession was a battle, every clause scrutinized with microscopic closeness.

I raised my wine glass to take a healthy pull. I couldn’t deny the grudging respect I’d developed for my opponent. He had a mind like a steel trap and eyes that missed nothing. Including, I suspected, the way my breath sometimes caught when he leaned too close across the conference table.

I massaged my temples, pressing hard enough to make little starbursts appear behind my closed eyelids. Professional attraction was a complication I didn’t need. Especially not with someone whose corporate ambitions directly opposed my client’s interests.

Something caught my eye as I passed entryway table. A black envelope, sleek and heavy, with a minimalist gold emblem stamped in the corner. I froze, wine glass halfway to my lips. It definitely hadn’t been there this morning.

Setting down my glass, I approached the envelope cautiously, as though it might bite. My building had excellent security, a key consideration when I’d purchased the apartment. Someone placing this here meant either my security had been compromised, or…

I picked it up, feeling the substantial weight of the cardstock. Expensive. The gold emblem caught the light, an ornate “SB” intertwined in a design that managed to suggest both elegance and something darker. No postage, no address. Just my name in metallic ink that gleamed under my fingertips.

I slid my finger under the flap, breaking the wax seal that I hadn’t initially noticed. Inside was a single card of the same heavyweight black stock, text printed in the same gold ink.

To: Ms. Mira Calder

You are cordially invited to Sanctum Black, where discretion meets pleasure without judgment. Your reputation for excellence has been noted by our selection committee. Should you choose to accept, present this invitation at 1158 Blackwood Avenue at 10 PM this evening.

Boundaries respected. Desires fulfilled.

Sanctum Black

Your privacy is our sacred covenant

HW George

Concierge

I turned the card over, looking for more information, but found only the same emblem from the envelope. Sanctum Black. I’d heard whispers about it in certain circles. Sanctum Black was an exclusive club where the elite could shed their public personas. Not exactly a sex club, but definitely not a simple social club either. The kind of place where people went when they wanted experiences they couldn’t get elsewhere, with the absolute certainty that what happened there would never leave its walls.

My analytical mind immediately began dissecting how my name had reached their “selection committee.” Who had recommended me? What did they know about me that made them think I’d be interested? And more importantly, who else might I encounter there?

 

About the Author

Welcome to Wanda Violet O.'s world of bedtime fantasy, where you'll find a variety of sexy creatures ready to drink their fill. Wanda specializes in extreme kink. Monsters, BDSM role play... she's got it all. Come take a look for yourself!

 

Wanda on Facebook

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Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress

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BDSM Erotica, Contemporary, Polyamorous

Date Published: October 31, 2025

Warning: This is a Razor’s Edge Daddy Dom BDSM Erotica short story. Expect limited plot and character development, and lots of heat. If you’re looking for a lengthy plot driven erotic romance, this is not it!

 

His Bunny. His rules. One night of denial becomes a lifetime of surrender.

I never dreamed being Max’s Bunny would feel like this. Owned, protected, and utterly consumed by his desire shouldn’t be the enticement, but pleasing Max, submitting to him, fulfills something inside me I didn’t know I was missing. Every touch, every command, every whispered promise reminds me I belong to him. But belonging comes with its own exquisite torment.

Daddy Jacob’s masquerade promises a night of temptation and denial, where every glance burns hotter and every stolen touch leaves me trembling on the edge. I ache for release, but Max’s rules are absolute: I come only when he allows it. And tonight, he intends to push me further than I’ve ever gone before.

Surrounded by power, lust, and dangerous devotion, I have only one truth to hold on to. I’m Max’s Bunny. Always.

 

EXCERPT

 

I traced my finger along the edge of the invitation, the gold filigree catching the late afternoon sunlight that streamed through my bedroom window. Not just any invitation. This was for Daddy Jacob’s Halloween masquerade, an exclusive gathering where only his closest circle received the embossed card resting in my trembling hands. I never would have imagined my life leading me here. A year ago, I couldn’t have imagined being Max’s bunny, his precious pet, his possession. Now, I wasn’t sure I could imagine not being Max’s bunny.

Which brought me back to the invitation. I knew I was expected to be there, but I had assumed I would go as Max’s pet. Seeing my name on my own invitation made me feel a kind of acceptance I hadn’t realized I needed. My life here wasn’t only about Max. I thought I needed Daddy Jacob and Kitten, too. Everyone in this house. We were a family. Unconventional, but all the better because we had to really listen to each other and communicate to have the level of trust we had with each other.

“Are you ready for me to dress you, Bunny?”

Max’s deep voice startled me from my reverie. He leaned against the doorframe, his imposing figure filling the space with quiet authority. He wore dark leather pants slung low on his hips and a crisp white button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms roped with muscle. His blue-gray eyes caught mine in the mirror, and his lips curved into that half smile that always made my stomach flip.

“Yes,” I answered, setting the invitation down on my vanity. “Slightly nervous.”

“You’ll be perfect.” He crossed the room to stand behind me, his hands settling on my shoulders. “Let’s get you dressed.”

The costume lay spread across my bed. Max had chosen fuzzy black bunny ears with sparkling gems on the inside. My hair spiraled in waves down my back. I had taken care with my make up, using a light foundation then contouring my face in tones of dark gray to give me an otherworldly appearance.

Dark eye shadow in charcoal smeared over my eyelids and fanned out past the corners, filling in the skin around my eyes to match the jeweled, sequined, black and gold mask. I’d lined my eyes in a gold liner. Max had also laid out a slinky, shimmering black dress trimmed in gold that would swish around me loosely, held on my shoulders by barely there gemmed straps meant to look like diamonds on a thin gold chain. Hell, for all I knew, they might well be diamonds.

“Arms up,” he instructed, and I obeyed without hesitation.

The cool fabric slid over my skin as he smoothed the garment over my curves. He brushed my ribs, my back, the sides of my breasts as he worked the delicate material into place. Each touch, though seemingly casual, sent sparks shooting through me. I knew Max well enough by now to recognize when his movements were deliberately slow, calculated to build anticipation.

“This looks perfect on you,” he murmured, adjusting the straps over my shoulders. His fingers lingered on my collarbone, tracing my skin and making my breath catch. “Turn around, little Bunny.”

I pivoted slowly, allowing him to see how the dress fluttered around my curves in a gentle wave that landed above mid thigh, barely long enough to cover my ass. His eyes darkened as his gaze traveled down my form, then back up to meet mine. “You’ve always been beautiful,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “but tonight you are the most exquisite creature I’ve ever seen.”

I heated with pleasure and I smiled up at Max like he was my hero. And I suppose he was. He and Daddy Jacob.

“You’re trembling,” he observed.

“The invitation is… a lot,” I admitted. “Everything.” The truth was more complicated. His touch, his proximity, the anticipation of what would come later, all combined to leave me dizzy with anticipation. And so fucking horny I thought I might die if I didn’t get relief! I smiled up at him. “But I’m good. Better than even.”

 

About the Author

Welcome to Wanda Violet O.'s world of bedtime fantasy, where you'll find a variety of sexy creatures ready to drink their fill. Wanda specializes in extreme kink. Monsters, BDSM role play... she's got it all. Come take a look for yourself!

 

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Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress

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Erotica Feature: The Boss by Gale Stanley #preorder #comingsoon #bdsm #erotica #rabtbooktours @changelingpress @RABTBookTours

BDSM Erotica

Date to be Published: August 29, 2025

Publisher: Changeling Press

Maxwell Barnes runs the top law firm in the city, owns a private BDSM club, and has more money than he can spend in a lifetime. He gets everything he wants, and now he wants his paralegal, Aaron Marshall. Mixing work and pleasure is a big no-no, but their mutual attraction is off the charts. The one thing Maxwell isn’t looking for is love, but sometimes fate has a mind of its own.

Praise for The Boss (Roosters)

"I found this to be an interesting and sexy short read... I adored Aaron right from the get-go and found him delightful and really easy to relate to. The chemistry between the two men is delicious, the kink is hot and well written and for a fun and quick read this story certainly fits the bill to my mind."

-- Fern, Long and Short Reviews

 

Excerpt

All rights reserved.

Copyright ©2025 Gale Stanley

Fucking traffic. Even at this hour of the day, the streets were as jammed as my calendar. Doesn’t matter what I drive. My Mercedes-Maybach won’t get me to the office any faster than a Prius, but my ride got a lot of looks. It commanded the eye as well as the road. I imagined the other drivers were wondering what VIP was enjoying all this luxury. The thought ignited me. Being the center of attention was a turn-on. It was better than sex.

At last, my building came into view. It was an impressive sight. The Barnes Building was a soaring glass tower, twenty stories high, and one of the most prestigious addresses in the city. I helped design it myself. I demanded a seat at the table with the architects and builders, and my input resulted in a stunning building that met my needs. If you want something done right, do it yourself. ‘Nuff said.

I turned into the parking garage and pulled into my reserved spot, savoring the rewards of success. My car, my building, designer duds, a Rolex, they were all symbols of my wealth and status. None of it was due to luck. I worked damn hard to get where I was, long hours, high-profile court cases, good investments… I was on top of the world. Now I was ready to enjoy myself. For years work had overshadowed everything else in my life. I had made a name for myself and accumulated stuff, but I had neglected the hedonistic pleasures that shaped my life. It was time to focus on the thing that lit me up. BDSM. Erotic play made me feel complete. It energized me. I just needed the right partner. Lately, I had wondered whether the man I wanted even existed. It was a tall order to fill.

I knew who I was and what I wanted -- single, gay Dom looking for a playmate, not a relationship. Nothing serious or exclusive. I wanted a man who was submissive because he loved the way it made him feel, but finding a compatible play partner wasn’t easy. In the past I’d had partners who played at being submissive so they could gain access to me. They were only interested in my prestige and money. I liked a man who was willing to work hard and make it on his own. Someone who was constantly learning and wanted to challenge his limits.

Even with my connections, it was difficult to meet men because my kink was a well-hidden secret. Submissives who were looking for a Dom wouldn’t know how to find me. It had been a long time since my Dominant side got any attention, and it had been frustrating as hell.

Until the day Aaron Marshall showed up. We had instant chemistry. Chemistry counted for a lot, but it wasn’t everything. There had to be more to it than attraction. The big question was, could we build something on that chemistry? This was such an improbable match, I couldn’t believe it was more than a fluke. But what if it wasn’t? I intended to find out because I was used to getting what I wanted, and I wanted this man.

I took the private elevator to the top floor. My suite was bright and modern, a stark contrast to my public office one floor down. There it was all cherry wood and leather, the warm traditional look I presented to the public. But the private penthouse was my home when I was working on an important case so it was all me, a personal office, sitting room, kitchen, bedroom, and a large bath, even a walk-in closet stocked with some of my favorite paddles and floggers.

I listened to my voice mail and found a message from Brett Holiday, my best friend. No need to answer it. I’d be seeing him tonight. I went into the bathroom to check my appearance before taking the back stairs to my office.

Before settling in, I walked out to the front office to greet Aaron, who was now my newest paralegal. My current office manager was teaching him the ropes, a task I planned on taking over shortly. Pun intended.

Aaron always clocked in ahead of everyone, even me. He wanted to make a good impression, and he had. The man was a quick study and very professional, but he had other assets that sparked my interest.

I never forgot our first meeting. I liked his looks immediately -- dark blond hair, hazel eyes, slim build, but his stance was what caught my attention. Aaron stood in front of my desk, his back ramrod straight, arms at his sides, head up, eyes down. His deference was flattering to the point of overkill. I saw it as a tendency to yield to the will of another. He was hard-wired to be a submissive.

We made eye contact and it was hot as hell. I pictured us having wild sex and I sensed he felt the same. The undeniable connection between us was like an out-of-body experience. That mysterious attraction couldn’t be forced. It was what I longed for, but seldom found. Calm down, I told myself. Do not hire this man because you want to fuck him.

“Have a seat, Mr. Marshall.”

“Thank you.”

I decided to test the water. “Thank you, Sir.”

Aaron’s eyes went wide but he responded immediately. “Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

His reaction was beautiful to behold. Being told what to do excited him. I could tell he wanted me to take control, to dominate him. Anticipation shivered along my spine. I knew an untrained submissive when I saw one. Aaron was struggling to recover his self-command, but his desire and arousal shone like a beacon in a storm. I was intrigued.

 

About the Author

Gale Stanley grew up in Philadelphia PA. She was the kid who always had her nose in a book, her head in the clouds, and her hands on a pad and pencil.

Some things never change.

 

Author Links

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BDSM Erotica

Date to be published: August 29, 2025

Publisher: ‎ Changeling Press LLC

Warning: This is a Razor’s Edge Daddy Dom BDSM Erotica short story. Expect limited plot and character development, and lots of heat. If you’re looking for a lengthy plot driven erotic romance, this is not it!

Every night with Max is a rush, a storm of sensation and wild, beautiful chaos. But today? Today feels different. From the moment Max wakes me, in the naughtiest of ways, I know something’s about to change. I have a feeling whatever he has in store for me today may break me, unravel me to my very core, only to rebuild me stronger than ever before.

Excerpt

All rights reserved.

Copyright ©2025 Wanda Violet O.

I woke up to the feel of Max’s tongue between my thighs, pulling me from sleep with waves of pleasure that made my back arch off the silk sheets.

“Fuck, Max,” I gasped, my fingers tangling in his dark hair as he worked me with that skilled mouth of his. The morning light streaming through the windows of our suite caught the blue of his eyes as he looked up at me, never breaking rhythm. He knew exactly how to make me come undone, his tongue circling and flicking until my orgasm forced a scream from my throat as I trembled beneath him.

“Good morning, beautiful,” he murmured against my skin, his voice rough with desire. “I wanted to give you a treat.” Another swipe with his tongue. Another moan from me. “Before you go to work today.”

“Work?” Oh, boy… I tried to act nonchalant, but I thought I’d failed when Max smirked at me.

“Yep. And, boy, are you going to need your strength today.” The wicked gleam in his eyes never failed to make me wet. That always meant something naughty and fun as fuck was about to follow.

I could barely form words as he continued his assault on my senses, building me higher and higher once more until I shattered with a cry that echoed through the room. My body convulsed as waves of pleasure crashed over me, and Max didn’t stop until I lay panting and boneless beneath him.

He crawled up my body like the predator he was, all muscle and controlled power, before claiming my mouth in a kiss that tasted of me and pure hunger. “You’re insatiable,” I said, my voice a hoarse whisper.

“Daddy Jacob said I should put you in a good mood.” The rough timbre of his voice vibrated through my chest. “I’m just following orders.”

A shiver of anticipation raced through me. Daddy Jacob did this often for me and his Kitten -- a game we played. He and Max knew how we loved our “jobs” and they both took great delight in keeping me and Kitten as busy as we wanted to be. I’d come to love this play time. I also loved coming back to our suite and letting Max question me and repeating every single thing I’d done while away from him.

He didn’t push into me. Not yet. Instead he braced his weight above me, his arms caging me in, and bent to kiss me. His kiss, soft, almost reverent, carried the taste of my pussy on his tongue, filthy and sweet. I opened for him, letting him take what he wanted.

Max kissed like he did everything. With full attention, like there was nothing else in the world. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, burying my fingers in his thick hair. He growled low, a vibration that started in his chest and echoed in mine.

When he broke away, his face hovered just above mine, his eyes impossibly blue and focused.

“I need you, Max,” I whispered, my body still on edge despite the two earlier orgasms.

He flashed me a wolfish smile. “You’ll have me, little Bunny.”

Max reached over the edge of the bed, rummaging in the nightstand, a practiced move. Condoms and lube were two staples in this house. With practice ease, Max tore open the packet and rolled the condom down his length with a downward stroke of his hand. For a second, I let myself savor the view, admiring the way his cock jutted from his body, thick and veined and angry red at the tip. I ached for him to fuck me.

Max must have seen the hunger on my face because he gripped my hips tighter, his fingers digging into my soft curves. He lined up, teasing the head along my slit, and the heat of the intimate contact the ultimate tease.

He paused, holding himself at my entrance, his mouth at my ear. “You ready, Bunny?”

 

About the Author

Welcome to Wanda Violet O.'s world of bedtime fantasy, where you'll find a variety of sexy creatures ready to drink their fill. Wanda specializes in extreme kink. Monsters, BDSM role play... she's got it all. Come take a look for yourself!

 

Author Contact Links

Wanda on Facebook

Wanda on Goodreads

 

Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress

 

Pre-Order Today

Erotica Feature: Chain of Kisses by Angela Knight #preorder #comingsoon #excerpt #bdsm #erotica #rabtbooktours @RABTBookTours @ChangelingPress @AngelaKnight

 

BDSM Romance, Capture Fantasy

Date Published: June 13, 2025

 

Runaway Bride meets Unstoppable Force -- recipe for disaster? Or love rekindled?

 

For years, Prince Admiral Arles of Tor has been obsessed with Gisel Vanda, who jilted him at the altar. When he discovers the lovely runaway is now a mercenary space captain, he captures her, determined to get Gisel out of his system. He soon discovers she's even more intelligent and beautiful than he remembered, but she is also a political liability he can't afford.

Gisel bitterly regrets jilting Arles, and her love for him still burns bright. Even as he tests her with acts of erotic dominance, she sees the opportunity to redeem herself. But with a murderous enemy closing in, can love survive the demands of royalty?

EXCERPT

I gave the manacle on my right arm a restless tug, and it responded with a musical rattle. I couldn't see a damn thing. A blindfold bit into my temples, wrapping me in sensual, intimate darkness.

The lack of vision only made me more aware of him -- his scent, that faint tang of spice and masculinity, the heat of his big body standing just to the left of the bunk he'd chained me to, the slight rasp of his breathing. I have always been acutely aware of Prince Arles of Tor, once my intended, now my captor.

The bed dipped under his weight as he sat down beside me. I quivered like an animal, imagining his nudity. The way he'd looked that night ten years before was branded on my memory. Arles's broad back had flexed as he'd used the light whip, the perfect, tanned hemispheres of his bare ass working in concert with the leap of thigh muscles and the snap of brawny arms.

The girl had squirmed and sighed every time he hit her. Even as young as I'd been a decade ago, I'd known she loved it. The smell of sex hung in the air like some kind of musky, exotic spice.

"That's what he'll do to you," my sister had whispered as we watched from the secret chamber. "And he'll make you want it. Mother will be appalled."

Our mother might have known Arles dominated other women, but it would never occur to her that one of her daughters would feel the need to submit.

We, after all, had been born to rule.

"Never," I'd snarled, with all the melodrama of the seventeen-year-old I'd been. I couldn't drag my eyes away from the prince's feral strength. "I will not shame my blood." I could feel myself going wet.

"You will. He'll weave his alien magic, and you'll bow that proud little head."

I feared Isa was right. Even if I hadn't been in love with him, Arles was too much for me. I'd end up sacrificing everything I was to his dominance and raw male power. My mother would turn from me in disgust and revulsion. I couldn't bear the thought of her disappointment.

But I also knew my mother would force me to abide by the demands of the treaty. Saying no at the altar was not an option.

Two hours later, I slipped from the palace, abandoning my world, my family, and my life. The Capital Spaceport was only a few blocks away, and I meant to seek passage off world. I was too well known to take a flitter taxi -- any capital cabbie knew my curfew and would refuse to pick me up, for fear of the Royal Guard's wrath -- so I decided to walk.

A block from my goal, I was attacked by a pack of throat slitters who dragged me into an alley. I survived only because a passing mercenary heard my screams and charged to the rescue. He killed every one of the slitters and flew me to his ship for treatment of some ugly injuries.

Captain Galon Teve had a merc's hard eyes, but his heart was soft. When I told him my story, the big, gray-haired cyborg took pity on me and hired me on as crew.

My new mentor taught me how to fight, how to kill, and how to pleasure. Yet no matter how I tried, I could never love Galon as he came to love me. My heart was already captive to a boy with a Paladin's eyes -- and a man with a devil's smile.

Under Galon's tutelage, I discovered a talent for tactics and strategy. Eventually I became his second-in-command. When Galon fell in battle against the Fafnar, I succeeded him as captain of the Valkyrie Quest.

Through it all, Arles haunted my shamed fantasies. I'd lie in my lonely bunk with one hand stroking between my thighs, remembering the shadows rolling across his big body in time to the snap of his whip.

Now it was no dream.

Arles touched my nipple, brushing calloused fingertips over the hard nubbin. Just once, but I still caught my breath at the liquid heat that rushed through me.

"Sensitive little breasts." His voice rumbled in the intimate darkness of my blindfold. "I wonder how you'll taste. Shall I find out?"

Saliva flooded my mouth, and I swallowed. I didn't answer.

"I asked you a question." His fingers closed over my flesh in a pinch carefully calibrated to give more pleasure than pain. Yet the potential sting floated just beneath the delight like a dark promise. "I want an answer. Shall I taste you?"

"You'll do as you please. You always do."

"True." He twisted, released, flicked the nipple back and forth, sending warm delight lapping along my nerves. "But a show of submission on your part might appease me."

"I rather doubt it."

"But can you afford to take the chance?" Another hot pinch, this one with a hint of sting. Perversely, I felt heat flood my belly. "My reputation is not exaggerated."

"I never thought it was."

"Perhaps a silk flogger." He brushed his hand over the sensitive flesh of my left breast, gave me a caressing squeeze. "Right across these pretty tits. I would enjoy watching you dance."

"I've heard that of you." I tried for a tone of mild contempt, but my voice sounded too high, too breathless. I silently cursed myself. I could usually act more skillfully for my enemies.

Unfortunately, I'd never seen Arles as a foe. Even now, bound and naked, I remembered the thoughtful boy who'd first taught me strategy over endless games of Conquest. The prince was even more skilled now, a conqueror of two worlds who'd driven the Fafnar from Torrean space with his ruthless, brilliant tactics. When Arles tracked me down three days ago, I'd known I was in trouble.

I wasn't really surprised, though. I'd known the prince would demand a reckoning one day; my actions had done too much damage to his reputation. Anybody who watched the news vids knew that.

I'd also known winning a fight with him wasn't likely. Arles commanded a huge, Starbreaker-class warship that was the pride of the Torrean fleet. Bristling with blaze cannons and thermal torpedoes, the Mjˆlnir outgunned the Valkyrie three to one. Naming that ship after Thor's Hammer had been entirely too apt.

But though the Valkyrie was small, she was fast and nimble. She proved it as the Mjˆlnir chased us for three days through the thickest asteroid field I could find. Arles caught us just as we prepared to escape into superlight space. A salvo of thermal torpedoes blew Valkyrie's quantum engines, leaving us dead in space.

The prince demanded my surrender as the price of my crew's lives. I didn't want my people to pay for my sins, so I'd agreed. Leaving the Valkyrie in the hands of my executive officer, I flew to meet Arles in my personal launch.

When I stepped off the small craft's ramp onto the Mjˆlnir's squadron deck, I found him holding a collar and a set of magnetic slave bands equipped with chains. The golden restraints were engraved with erotic images and studded with emeralds for maximum barbaric glitter. He'd chained and collared me as his grinning crew watched. I could only grind my teeth in rage, trying to ignore the heat in my cunt.

Now Arles traced one finger down my torso, dipped suggestively into my navel, and paused at the neatly trimmed edge of my bush. I managed not to squirm. "I have a suspicion you're wet," he said, his voice dark and low. "Are you? Do I arouse you, Gisel?" He laughed. "Odin knows you've made me hard and hot."

His fingers dipped between my spread thighs. Both of us groaned at the slick, tight flesh he found.

"Ripe," Arles murmured. "Ripe as a peachango. Ready for my cock. Is that what you want, Gisel?"

 

 

About the Author

New York Times best-selling author Angela Knight has written and published more than sixty novels, novellas, and ebooks, including the Mageverse and Merlin’s Legacy series. With a career spanning more than two decades, Romantic Times Bookclub Magazine has awarded her their Career Achievement award in Paranormal Romance, as well as two Reviewers’ Choice awards for Best Erotic Romance and Best Werewolf Romance.

Angela is currently a writer, editor, and cover artist for Changeling Press LLC. She also teaches online writing courses. Besides her fiction work, Angela’s writing career includes a decade as an award-winning South Carolina newspaper reporter. She lives in South Carolina with her husband, Michael, a thirty-year police veteran and detective with a local police department.

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Erotica Feature: Ride 'Em Cowboy by Anne Kane #preorder #bdsm #erotica #comingsoon #excerpt #rabtbooktours @annekane @ChangelingPress @RABTBookTours

 

BDSM Romance, Contemporary

Date Published: June 6, 2025

When Fiona sees a gorgeous cowboy ride up on his Harley, she figures it's her lucky day. Bikers don't do forever, right? Her perfect match!

She really isn't in the market for a lover, or a partner, or some guy to give her a sappy-sweet happily ever after. Been there, done that, got the scars to prove it. They can tell each other a few lies, scratch each other's itches, then go their separate ways.

The last thing she needs is to hook up with some guy she'll smack headlong into at church tomorrow. She just wants a nice one-night stand. She plans to be long gone come breakfast time.

Simple, right? So how did it all go so very wrong?

EXCERPT

Fiona wasn’t really in the market for a lover or a partner or some guy to give her a sappy, sweet, happily ever after. Been there, done that, got the scars to prove it. She didn’t believe in any of that romance novel type crap. All she needed was a nice quick fuck to take the edge off.

Okay, maybe not so quick. She was wound pretty tight. It could take a while. She’d be happy spending a few hours trying out different positions and options. According to the Kama Sutra there were over sixty-four sexual positions, and she’d only tried about a dozen of them, tops. Lots of fun still waiting in those pages.

She didn’t want any strings attached, though. She hated it when the guy felt he had to pretend to care about her just to get into her panties. She planned to be long gone before it was time to discuss breakfast options.

She wasn’t some weak-kneed virgin with stars in her eyes. She knew the score. She’d been married at the tender age of seventeen and the term “hell on Earth” didn’t begin to describe it. Sure he said he cared, but his brand of caring had left her so gun-shy she refused to attend any and all weddings, let alone participate in one in any way. At twenty-two, she was done trusting anyone else with her happiness or well-being.

She still bore the scars from her last tiff with the hubby, and the bill from a month spent in the hospital recuperating. The doctor said he could maybe do something about the scars, make them less visible, but she figured, why bother? She’d earned them, and at the current interest rate on the loan she’d had to take out to pay the hospital bill, she’d still be paying for them a decade from now.

She picked a bar four towns over for her evening’s activities. No chance she might run into the guy at church the next day. She attended church every single Sunday, rain or shine. Not sure why. Not sure if she still believe in God and heaven, but she sure as shit didn’t want to go back to hell.

Again, been there, done that.

The flashing neon sign over the door claimed the beer was cold and the band was hot. She felt the corner of her lips curl up in a smile. Now that sounded like exactly the kind of place where she’d find what she was looking for.

She pulled her old Chevy truck into the parking lot and undid the top four buttons on her blue-checked shirt. She had decent boobs, and the frilly black bra she’d bought last week showed the cleavage off nicely. She was wearing jeans and cowboy boots, and she’d spent a goodly amount of time on her makeup.

She knew she looked good. Not office-type good, but I-want-to-get-laid good. The blue shirt showed off her eyes, and the jeans showed off her ass. She had to suppress a giggle at the thought of her co-workers. Her day job was as a receptionist at a church and her boss, Reverend Mac, would have a heart attack if he saw her in this outfit.

If she didn’t get laid tonight it wouldn’t be for lack of trying.

The sound of a motorcycle approaching at Mach One had her turning her head. Sure enough, a Harley the size of a small tugboat roared into the lot and the rider did some fancy maneuvering to bring it to a stop without standing it on the handlebars. The guy was either showing off for someone she couldn’t quite see, or he needed a cold beer worse than she needed to get laid.

That piqued her curiosity. She needed to get laid pretty bad.

She’d made the mistake of thinking she could get along without a man but it turned out that adult toys only went so far toward satisfying her carnal cravings. Nothing felt quite as good as a hot, hard cock ramming into her pussy, and it needed to have a man attached to it for optimum sensual sensation.

Yup, she needed a man, and a mouthwatering specimen was currently disentangling himself from the Harley. He shrugged out of the well-worn leather jacket, draping it across the handlebars, and she restrained the urge to drool. His tight shirt outlined a muscular chest before it tucked into a nice pair of jeans covered by leather chaps. No, wait. As she watched the rider unbuckled the chaps and stuffed them into the saddlebags. That maneuver required him to turn his back on her and bend over ever so slightly.

Damn, those jeans looked good on him! She stared at that ass like a dumbstruck teenager until the man straightened up and plucked a worn cowboy hat from under the cargo netting on the back of the seat. Jamming the hat onto his head, he sauntered over to the entrance. When he disappeared through the door, she picked her jaw up off the floorboards and took a deep breath. She could just imagine how gorgeous he’d look once she managed to entice him out of the remainder of his clothing.

Taking a quick peek in the rearview mirror, she fluffed up her hair and opened the truck door. Operation Get Some Action was officially a go...

About the Author

Anne Kane lives in the beautiful Okanagan Valley with a bouncy little rescue dog whose breed defies description, a cantankerous Himalayan cat, and too many fish to count. She spent many years trying to fit in and act normal, but finally gave up the effort. She started writing romance in 2008, and her fate was sealed when she won a publishing contract with Red Sage Publishing and just a month later Changeling Press accepted her first submission. Since then she has published more than thirty stories in a variety of sub-genres, all with a happily ever after.

She has two handsome sons and six adorable grandchildren and enjoys spending time with them whenever she can. Her hobbies, when she’s not playing with the characters in her head, include kayaking, hiking, swimming, playing guitar, singing and of course, reading.

 

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