Monday, February 27, 2017

Featured Author: Nia Farrell

Welcome Today's Featured Author
Nia Farrell!!!






The Three Graces Series by Nia Farrell from Dark Hollows Press
SOMETHING ELSE August 25, 2015
SOMETHING DIFFERENT September 29, 2015
SOMETHING MORE October 15, 2015
Something Special May 4th 2016





SOMETHING ELSE by Nia Farrell
WARNING: Explicit sexual content, written for mature readers 18+.
BLURB: Grace Murphy is the local psychic medium who dreams of her soulmates –Nico White, a bisexual American Indian musician, and J.T. Santiago, an ex-Navy SEAL and former cage fighter with PTSD on top of the guilt that he’s still carrying from other lifetimes that they’ve shared. J.T. is a dominant, but he’s never had a male submissive and Grace and Nico are a package deal. It’s a learning curve for all of them, with J.T.’s initiation into MMF and MM relations and Grace’s introduction to BDSM. With Grace’s yin, J.T’s yang, and Nico’s center balance, the three of them come together as far as J.T.’s PTSD will allow, but forging a future means healing the past, however painful it might be, in an interracial paranormal MMF ménage BDSM erotic romance.





$2.99 @ Amazon ➔ http://mybook.to/TG1




Excerpt: 

J.T. notices my submissive traits: keeping my eyes down, letting the two men lead the conversation, listening more than talking. And I notice his dominant traits: paying attention to my needs, making certain Cherry finally brings the glass of water I ordered when we first got there, asking if my burger is cooked the way I like it, complimenting my hair and flowing New Age dress, asking me the standard getting-to-know-you questions.

I tell him where I was born, where I went to school, where I work, where we live.
“You need to come out,” I tell him. Please please please. “It’s too cold for swimming, but on warm days, the fish still jump. Or we could kayak.” We have two, but a neighbor has several that he rents to campers, fishermen, and the occasional waterfowl hunter looking for a better way to retrieve downed birds.
Nico seconds the notion. “Sure,” he says, lifting his beer in a toast. “Bring your stuff. Spend the weekend. I’ll give you my room, or there’s a couch.” His choice of words reminds J.T. that, so far, we are friends and nothing more. Hopefully that’s about to change.
The warmth in Nico’s eyes makes me wonder if he’d rather share his room–his bed–with J.T. alone. It would let the two men bond before adding me to the mix. Trouble is, I can’t get a handle on J.T. What’s he up for?
I need J.T. to want us. Both of us. I want what I’ve seen. What I’ve dreamed about. The three of us sharing a bed, together, sometimes with me between, sometimes with Nico. When we looked at properties, a master suite large enough for a California king was near the top of our list. So far Nico’s been sleeping there alone, just him and those big, talented hands of his, fisting himself into oblivion.

But I can almost hear J.T.’s doubting Tomas. The man doesn’t trust himself. I sense the same darkness he does, the part of him that makes him afraid he’ll cross a line and hurt someone.
Wounded spirit. And not just in this life. Nothing that simple. Nothing that easy. Not that healing PTSD is ever easy.
Suddenly, I see him, struggling, hurting, lost. Crippled with “soldier’s heart” and shell shock in at least two wars he’s experienced without us. With the vision comes the knowledge of why we are here this time. To help him mend. To help him heal. He’s been trying to dispel the darkness when he needs to embrace it. Harness it. Learn to live with his shadow self.
I can almost feel his collar on my neck and see the ink on Nico’s.
I exhale softly and commit. “Or my room,” I offer, looking up when Nico stiffens. It’s all he can do to remain silent and passive, but he’ll do it because he’s the beta male here. Two alphas and me? We’d end up tearing each other apart.
J.T. locks his gaze on mine and cocks his head, considering. “You sure you’re ready for me?” he asks as he slides his hand beneath my skirt like a heat-seeking missile. He has his answer when he finds my panties soaked. “What about Nico?”
“I…We…” Words vanish when he slides a finger between my pussy’s swollen lips and his thumb finds my clit.
“J.T.” Nico makes sure he has his attention before dropping my bomb. “She hasn’t been with one man, let alone two. Not yet. But it’s what she wants, if you’re interested.”
Wow. He didn’t just say that, did he? My temperature raises two degrees thanks to the fucking full body blush I’ve got going on.
“Seriously?” J.T. stops his finger where it’s at, gripped to the first joint by my exceptional tightness. He looks at me, skeptical, his black eyes revealing nothing but the roiling heat of a man on the edge of conflagration. He lets out the thinning leash he’s struggling to hold onto and pushes into me until he’s knuckle deep. Pulling free, he brings his finger to my lips and inhales sharply when I suck my juices off him, knowing what he wants and giving it to him without one word being spoken.
“Fuck, yeah.” He pulls out his wallet and tosses enough bills on the table to cover the three meals and tip. “Let’s go.”





SOMETHING DIFFERENT (The Three Graces Book Two) is a standalone MFM ménage BDSM rock star erotic romance by Nia Farrell. Starving artist Anna James has sworn off men. Rock gods Jackson and Jacob Thomason just promised her the best sex of her life. Does Anna dare submit to the part-Comanche twins who perform as No Mercy?

Blurb: Singer/songwriter Anna James is getting desperate. Even with a day job, money’s tight, and she’s wound tighter yet, having sworn off sex to reconcile with her mother who’s in chemo and her father who disowned her for her wild, wicked ways. No sooner than her psychic best friend predicts an end to Anna’s self-imposed drought, rock stars Jackson and Jacob Thomason come to town, with the dream of an indie album co-written with local American Indian flutist Nico White and his songwriting partner AJ McPherson.

The triple platinum artists are attracted to Anna, who gives as good as she gets. Learning that Anna’s alter ego AJ puts the “twist” in Nico’s “tribal” music only makes them want her more. The part-Comanche Thomason twins need an album’s worth of songs. That means spending night after night, working closely, getting to know each other, learning how to co-create.

Anna’s never written music with anyone but Nico. Their collaborations are so natural, so organic. They’re comfortable with each other. The Thomason twins, who perform as No Mercy, make her anything but. What’s a fangirl to do, when submitting to her rock star idols means exploring the darker side of passion?





Buy links to SOMETHING DIFFERENT:





Excerpt:

There’s six feet three inches of male heat on my back when I grab one of the reusable glass bottles and close the refrigerator door. He bends down to murmur in my right ear; his nose nudges the row of hoops that rim it as his breath dances over my skin. “I don’t know where you went,” he says, “but I sure as hell hope you go there again–and take us the fuck with you next time.”

I catch myself leaning toward him, like I’m drawn by a goddamn magnet. There’s no denying I want them. I’d just like an idea of how this needs to go down. Before I give myself a chance to chicken out, I flat out ask him, “Do you two do everything together?”

“Yeah. Pretty much.” He lifts his hand–the one that has L O V E tattooed on his fingers–and strokes my arm, leaving gooseflesh in his wake. “If you know our music, you know us. It won’t be gentle, and it won’t be quick, but I can fucking guarantee we’ll give you the best sex of your life….”

SOMETHING MORE (The Three Graces Book 3) by Nia Farrell, a BDSM MFM ménage erotic romance from Dark Hollows Press. Two brothers, a biker and a porn star, are on a mission: to find and fetch the girl they thought was dead. When Rae Simmons aka Rachel Givens comes face to face with her past, the single mother with a special needs child learns just how much more she can handle.




BLURB:
 Loving a biker and his porn star brother came at a terrible price. Taken by a rival gang, beaten beyond recognition and sexually assaulted, Rachel Givens saw a chance to survive by claiming the identity of the other girl who was taken and killed. She spent months recovering from her physical injuries but still struggles with post-rape PTSD. Add her three-year-old autistic daughter to the equation, and Rachel (now Rae Simmons) has her hands more than full as she makes a new life for themselves in a quiet little town.

When her former loves walk into the restaurant where she works, it’s clear that the Colson brothers have come for more than the plate lunch special. Once Rachel gladly submitted to their domination, but she hasn’t been with a man since she was taken. She has triggers and issues and a daughter whose needs come first. Cord and Cam don’t care whether or not Hannah is theirs. As far as they’re concerned, Hannah is Rachel’s and Rachel is theirs – and they’ll do whatever it takes to convince Rachel that they belong together.






Available in paperback as part of The Three Graces Trilogy http://myBook.to/TGr




EXCERPT:

 It’s two hours before I normally pick up Hannah. Two and a half hours before I start getting charged by the minute. Rules are rules, and there are penalties to be paid. As I drive to the motel, I think of all that’s gone on, of what each of us owes the others, and wonder how it’s going to play out. My question is answered when Cord opens the door. The warmth of the room hits me first, then the sight of both men, shirtless and barefoot, dressed in their Dom leather pants.

Cam stands beside the turned-down, king sized bed, dangling handcuffs and holding a deerskin flogger.

“Clothes off,” Cord tells me. “Then kneel.”

They want my submission as much as I need to give it. This is different than being at the mercy of men who have none. Cam and Cord take only the power that I allow them to have. They can restrain me, spank me, flog me, cane me, and I will let them, trusting that, if I tell them to stop anything, at any time, they will. Kink doesn’t preclude sex, but I know they’ll want it. It’s possible that we may have it. But that remains to be seen.

I take off my clothes, freeing myself as I do, revealing the web of white veins etched on a once-gravid belly, the faint marks on my wrists made by zip ties, the scars on my chest and back from knife blades, brass knuckles, and lit cigarettes. The back of one shoulder bears two opposing half-circles, made by one man’s teeth. He was the worst. The thing that he said he wanted to do–

It turned off the others so much, they made him wait. He would have been the last one to use me. He would have maimed me, then killed me.

Monster.

I don’t feel the least bit guilty, hoping he died a horrible death.

Naked, I assume the position they taught me, kneeling on the floor with legs apart and my hands behind my head, breasts thrust out like a naughty forties pinup, wearing only their names in flowery script, inked on the inside of each thigh: Cameron and Cordell. I’d insisted on their real names, not titanic Jamie or biker Cruz but who they always were. Who they always will be. Mine.

Cord strokes my cheek, his callused fingers gently rasping my skin. “Angel,” he murmurs, his voice thick, his eyes suspiciously moist. “I’ve missed you. We both have.”

I don’t want to think of where I was or where he’s been, but a question looms as large as an elephant in the room. “May I speak, Sir?”

Cord lifts his hand, takes it away, and drops it to his side. “Yes.”

The loss of his touch leaves me achingly bereft. I struggle with how I should phrase what needs said. The tests for STDs while I recovered in the hospital and while I was pregnant all came back good, and I haven’t been with anyone since. There’s no way they’ve both been celibate. Maybe Cord.

Maybe.

Even prison life gets lonely.

“I’m not on birth control. If this goes beyond discipline, protection will be worn from the beginning. No putting it on midstream. Not until we’ve been tested and cleared and I’m protected. And no blindfold. I need to see you. Agreed?”

“Agreed.” Moving like a big cat, Cam crosses the room to where I am kneeling. I know from the hitch in his gait when he’s close enough to see my scars.

“Fuck. Fuck.” He closes his eyes and inhales sharply, gathering himself. When he can bring himself to look at me again, tears shimmer in his eyes. “Come here, sweetheart. Let’s get you on the bed.”






SOMETHING SPECIAL (THE THREE GRACES BOOK SIX) by Nia Farrell. In a sequel to SOMETHING ELSE, Grace, J.T., and Nico honeymoon at a special BDSM resort. Grace will finally experience her capture fantasy…except the warrior taking her won’t be Nico.” Heartfelt, sexy, and oh, so hot!” Length 105 5x8 pages, 21,578 words. Released May 5, 2016.

This new age New Adult erotic romance is a standalone sequel to SOMETHING ELSE. Reading the first book isn’t necessary but it is recommended. SOMETHING SPECIAL is an interracial paranormal LGBT story that includes MFM, MMF, and MM relationships between three reincarnated soul mates. Themes include metaphysics, psychic gifts, PTSD, shamanism, unplanned pregnancy, consensual role play, and BDSM activities. It is written for mature audiences only.



Blurb:
Welcome to fictional Posey, Minneota, ménage capital of the USA. Grace Murphy is the local psychic medium who saved herself for her soul mates, bisexual American Indian musician Nico White and Latino veteran J.T. Santiago. Grace is submissive, Nico is a switch, and J.T. is the dominant in their MMF BDSM ménage.

Before they met, J.T. had never been with a man. He’d never been serious enough about a woman to consider marriage. But Grace and Nico came as a package deal, and he’s fallen in love with them both. When morning sickness hits the house, both men bend their knees and plans are made for a very special honeymoon. They’re giving Grace the capture fantasy of her dreams at Replay, a BDSM theme resort where patrons play in the past….




Amazon buy link http://myBook.to/TG6
Paperback buy link http://mybook.to/TG6p
Audiobook buy link http://mybook.to/TG6a
#Free chapter preview @ http://bit.ly/1RTMVnC



Excerpt 1
I swear the clinic is fucking double booked.  There’s standing room only in the waiting room, and half the crowd looks as green as Grace.  We brought her puke pot, just in case, but the one time she heaved, she managed to make it to the restroom, so it’s still pristine.
Finally, an hour after we were told to be there, they take Grace back to a room.  Fucking HIPPA laws won’t let us go with her.  We’re not married, and no one would mistake us for blood relatives, not with her Irish coloring, my caramel Hispanic skin, and Nico’s copper tones.  Anyway, if we tried to pull that shit, they’d arrest us for incest.  There’s nothing sisterly about the way we look at Grace, and the nurse with the cob up her ass can stop playing morality police and keep her damning looks to herself.  Posey might have a population of 1,999, but Grace says there are at least three ménage couples in town, if you count Anna and the Thomason twins.  Hell, given its size, Posey might just have the highest per capita ménage population in the country.
I don’t know who started the trend.  Grace does – only because she intuited it – but they aren’t aware that she’s onto them.  Our girl can keep a secret, for damn certain.
Forty-five minutes later, we’re driving Grace to the hospital in Charleston for lab work.  The clinic faxed over the order so she could get results sooner than if they’d done the draw there in Posey.  It’s more waiting time, getting Grace checked into admitting, taking her down to the lab, sitting in the waiting area while they take her back to stick her.  When she’s done, she’s told to call the doctor’s office in an hour.
Grace throws up on the way home, but the puke pot saves the day.  We get her bundled and tucked into bed, and take turns watching her and the clock.  When time comes, she feels so puny, she asks me to make the call and put it on speakerphone so all of us can hear what they’ve found.
The nurse with the attitude reads the results.  “You’re low on iron,” she clicks off, “but everything else is normal.  The doctor’s ordering prenatal vitamins and something for your morning sickness.  Which pharmacy do you want it faxed to?”
If possible, Grace just got paler, the last remnants of color leaching from her face.
None of us speaks.  We’re all processing what we’ve just heard.
“Hello?”  The disembodied voice is impatient.  Someone doesn’t like having to wait for an answer.
“Culver’s,” I say crisply, alerting Nurse Ratchett to my presence.
“Oh.  Kay.”  She clears her throat.  “Um.  I guess congratulations are in order.”
“Yes, they are.”  I say this, looking at Grace.  My voice matches the look on Nico’s face, as soft and full of meaning as the hand she has pressed to her belly.
“Well, then.”  Just that quickly, the snark comes flying back.  “Let us know if you want a DNA test run when it gets here.”
Goddamn bitch.  You can fucking hear her smirk.  Steaming, Nico ends the call.  Brother looks like he’s ready to slap on paint and hit the warpath.  Grace gnaws on her lip, eyes unfocused, clearly in shock.  Hell, we all are.  She’s been on the pill since she met Nico, six months before me.  Not that she needed them yet.  Our first night together, she was still a virgin.  Not for lack of trying, but Nico made her wait.  She’s the psychic, but he’s a shaman; he had his own visions of the three of us together, long before we met. 
Grace had never been with a man, let alone two.  I thought she might freak when she saw what she’d be trying to handle, my nine inches and Nico’s eight.  Hoping to make her first time easier, I had Nico do the honors.  She’d known him longer.  She trusted him.  They’d only just met me.  I held her while he took her virginity, joined in once they got going, and let myself get lost in that virgin mouth of her.  I claimed her ass before the weekend was through.
We were all clean.  Because she was on the pill, we took her bareback.  We’ve been doing skin to skin ever since.  We thought she was protected.  Then again, this is a woman whose bathwater defies the laws of physics and flows fucking backwards down the drain when she’s done soaking the shit out of her skin.  If anyone is going to be the exception to the rule, it’s Grace.
Raising her gaze, she looks from me to Nico and back again.  “You guys seem pretty calm about this.”
I shrug my shoulders, thinking of what’s inked between them.  My only tattoo is a tribal take on a triskelion, symbolizing our relationship and my commitment to Grace and Nico.  I had it done just days after we met.
We made love that weekend.  It was more than sex.  More than a hookup.  It felt like I’d known them forever.  According to Grace, I have.  She says the three of us come back time and again, stronger when we’re together, missing pieces when we’re apart.  We’ve had good lifetimes, and then there are some I’m still paying on, working off the karmic fucking debt I feel I owe them.  They say I don’t, but if half of what they tell me is true, it’ll take another dozen incarnations spent cherishing them to make up for the hurt I’ve done.
I look at my soul mates, first him, then her.  Nico cracks a smile.  He’s vibrating with so much coiled energy, his excitement is fucking palpable.  Grace looks as fragile as spun sugar.  I can tell, the hold she has on her emotions is tenuous, as stable as a house of cards.   She needs reassurance.  She needs to know that we’re here for her, needs to believe that we’re happy with what’s happened, unplanned or not.
“We love you,” I tell the woman who completes us.  “This baby – our baby – is an expression of our love.  Now that we know what’s going on, we can deal with it.  Right now, a trip to Culver’s is in order, and it’s my turn to run.  I’ll get your meds.  Nico, take care of our girl.”
For Grace’s sake, I focus on my breathing and try to keep my mind quiet until I’m out the door and headed to the next town over.  By the time I’m down the half mile driveway and turning onto the road, the inside of my head’s a maelstrom, swirling with questions, doubts, fears.  Two men love her.  Only one of us can marry her.  More than likely, Nico is the daddy.
Where the hell does that leave me?

DARK MOONS RISING by Nia Farrell
A PNR shifter D/s MFM ménage otherworldly erotic novelette
Unleashed March 10, 2016
99ȼ Amazon myBook.to/DMR
Paperback myBook.to/DMRp
Heat level: Sizzling

Deidra of Ravenhill is a daughter of light, a healer whose energy can be tapped by the one who marks her. Mordred, bastard son of Owain ap Coel, is determined to be that man. He’s captured the castle, killed her family, and forced her to train as a comforter, preparing her for his ultimate possession.

While Mordred is gone, having the brand made to claim her, Deidra manages to escape the castle. She nearly dies in the forest but is saved from falling into a poacher’s pit by Thorne, a dark lord, one of the race of giant shifters that she’s been taught to fear since childhood. 

With dark moons due to rise on the most dangerous night of the year, Thorne must become a centaur for them to escape the monsters that roam with the god of chaos. He carries her to the safety of his brother’s hunting lodge, but is she truly out of danger? From Mordred, perhaps, but there are two dark lords who want her – if she’s willing to share.


Amazon myBook.to/DMR 
Dark Hollows Press http://bit.ly/1QFfByT
Barnes & Noble

Release party 3-15-16 from 5:30 pm – 11:30 pm EDT
https://www.facebook.com/groups/TALL.DOM.and.DIRTY/

Nia Farrell’s Amazon Author Page http://viewauthor.at/NiaFarrell




Excerpt
Mordred wanted her. He would come for her. It was only a matter of time.

She tread lightly, smelling the earthy, fecund scent of ancient growth and rotting, fallen timbers. Instinct made her pause, rattled by the distinct, disturbing feeling that she was being observed. She listened, freezing when she thought she heard the unnatural shift of crisp autumn leaves. When she could breathe again, she threw one more glance behind her and launched herself into full flight, tearing through the deepening forest, dodging low-hanging limbs of the massive oaks as she raced along the deer trail, any thought of stealth abandoned.

Hunter and hunted, predator and prey, the distance between them closed. “Halt!” a voice ordered, low, gruff, decidedly masculine. Fueled by a sudden burst of energy born of desperation, she sped up, flying along the ground…until a massive arm snaked around her waist, plucked her up, and spun her around. Momentum carried them full circle.

“Fool,” he growled in her ear, pointing at the trap that would have claimed her. Sharpened spikes lined the floor of the pit, dug into the forest floor along the path. “Poachers,” he spat. “I removed the cover to reveal it, but we’ve not yet had time to fill it in.”

Deidra shook in the confines of his hold, overcome by emotion. She thought she’d lost everything but she’d still had life, and breath. Her dream of regained freedom lived, too, if only she could talk him into letting her go.

She feared there would be no escaping him. The man was huge, with strength enough in his hair-dusted, muscle-roped arms that he held her as easily as he would a pet fenica weighing six stones. And he was fast – much quicker than the runners that her father had sent to summon aid…only to have their heads returned in a wicker basket with the demand to surrender or die.

“Please,” she whispered. Choking back the tears she’d refused to shed when the walls were breached, she softened the death grip she realized that she had on his arm. “And thank you,” she added, bracing to throw herself on the mercy of a man who might well have none. She turned her head, moving her gaze up her captor’s arm, over muscles that tested the seams of his hunting jerkin, past the whorls of black hair that peaked from the v of his shirt. Above the thick column of neck, his beard-shadowed jaw was strong and square, his chin firm and cleft in the middle. His full, sensuous lips were as perfect as those carved by a master sculptor’s hand. She risked a quick look higher and glimpsed thick black lashes framing eyes as blue as the waters of Saint Illian’s spring. She resisted the urge to see if they were just as deep and mysterious.

The man was huge, at least six and a half feet tall, his long black hair tied with a leather lace that had come loose in their chase. His long bow and a quiver of arrows remained slung firmly across his back. His clothes were clean enough to have been put on fresh this morning. He smelled of the forest – woods and sweat, linen and leather. His skin was either naturally dark or he was well-kissed by the sun goddess, Sola. Laugh lines at the corners of his mouth and eyes bespoke a nature much kinder than Mordred’s.

It could be worse.

“My name is Deidra,” she whispered, forcing herself to keep her gaze lowered, giving the appearance of meekness, at least. “I seek sanctuary. Can you give it?”

He lifted her chin and crooked a smile. “Perhaps. If I can trust you to follow and obey. If not…” The lines of his mouth flattened, underscoring the weight of his words. “We’ll have to spend the night here, at our peril. Which is it to be?”

With dark moons rising, she had no choice. The things that hunted on the night of the full moons were nothing compared to what fed in the blackest hours – especially this time of year, when the veils between the planes were thinnest. “I will do my best to match your stride, if you will lead, my lord.”

“Thorne,” he said, relaxing his hold so that she stood before him, dwarfed by his size. “Keep your eyes on me. Step where I step. If you start to fall behind, let me know at once. Understood?”

“Aye,” she said, refusing to think of anything else but surviving, one step at a time.




PRIDE AND PUNISHMENT – An Erotic Retelling of Jane Austen’s Beloved Classic by Nia Farrell and Jane Austen, released June 1, 2016
Amazon Kindle http://myBook.to/Punish
Amazon Paperback http://myBook.to/Punishp
Amazon Large Print http://myBook.to/Punishlg
Teasers and excerpt: http://bit.ly/26dCeCQ

PRIDE AND PUNISHMENT is an erotic retelling of a Jane Austen classic. Characters that you thought you knew…well, they’re ready to reveal their secret selves. Mr. Darcy is a Dominant. Miss Elizabeth Bennet is submissive. Jane Bennet might be the only “handsome” woman in Meryton, but puppy-like Charles Bingley needs a Mistress. Mr. Darcy doesn’t think Jane has what it takes and separates the couple.

His growing lust leads Mr. Darcy to confess his desire to dominate Miss Elizabeth – a proposition that she mistakes for a proposal. Already accused of less-than-gentlemanlike behavior, Darcy must find a way to win the submissive heart of a woman who abhors him.



Goodreads link http://bit.ly/26d1xon
Wordpress preview http://bit.ly/26dCeCQ
Bloggers-Reviewers sign up http://bit.ly/1SXcZkl

Original material © 2016 Nia Farrell
Length 91,133 words/344 6x9 pages
Createspace Print ISBN-10: 1533228477 / ISBN-13: 978-1533228475

Large Print Edition 91,133 words / 545 6x9 pages
Createspace Lg Print ISBN-10: 1533235244 / ISBN-13: 978-1533235244

Kindle edition ISBN-10: 0-9853145-8-3 / ISBN-13: 978-0-9853145-8-3




Excerpt:
I find myself watching Miss Elizabeth, with her chestnut hair caught up in a style that compliments her face and figure. Neither her countenance nor her form are perfect by modern standards of beauty; however, her throaty laugh, her graceful dancing…her enthusiasm…more than make up for her deficiencies. For the second time in as many minutes, I find myself entranced, watching her with her partner, those striking dark eyes aglow with delight as she perfectly executes the most intricate of steps. I may one day regret that I shall never know how she moves in bed with her ankles around my neck. If asking her to dance would not invite speculation as to my particular tastes and give rise to unreasonable expectations, either towards Miss Bennet or any other female with a half-full dance card, I believe that I could be persuaded to lead her in a contredanse or the Boulanger.

As it is, I am expected to dance with the host’s wife and daughter. Seeing that Mrs. Lucas is engaged, I search the crowd and find Miss Charlotte Lucas speaking with Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Hmm. A quandary. I cannot ask Miss Lucas to dance without extending a second invitation to her friend. Then again, it provides the perfect opportunity to ask Miss Bennet to dance without appearing to single her out.

Squaring my shoulders and softening my face, I approach the two women. Miss Lucas is nearly my contemporary, far past the age when most young women marry. Miss Elizabeth is of that age and, as such, should greet me with a welcoming smile, if not promises of pleasure, yet I sense a satirical lift to her eyebrow, and those midnight eyes of hers – so dark a blue as to be almost black – sparkle with a hint of mischief. I do not have long to learn what she is about.

“Do you not think, Mr. Darcy, that I expressed myself uncommonly well just now, when I was teasing Colonel Forster to give us a ball at Meryton?”

When she was baiting the bull and ignored every red flag that I was throwing? “Yes,” I say a bit tightly. “But then most women wax eloquent on subjects dear to their hearts.” Seizing the opportunity when Miss Lucas is momentarily distracted, I lean and whisper, for her ears only, “You were clever, Miss Bennet, but unwise. Some men should not be teased.”

She stiffens imperceptibly and drops her gaze to her folded fan. “Sir, you are severe on us.”

Sir. One word to fall from those full, expressive lips, and suddenly I want more.

Jesus God. I must be mad. Or desperate. Or both.

Fuck.

Her bosom heaves with a small sigh. I swallow, my mouth gone painfully dry. She has deliciously small breasts, barely large enough to fit my hand, no doubt sensitive, as small-breasted women tend to be. With the layers of clothing, I would only be guessing that her nipples were hard, but the riot of gooseflesh that dimples her skin tells me that she is not unaffected.

Miss Lucas follows the line of my gaze and rushes to rescue her friend from my scrutiny. “It is your turn to be teased, Eliza. I am going to open the instrument, and you know what follows.”

What follows is a performance that will inspire fantasies for nights to come. Miss Elizabeth’s soft white hands and dexterous fingers playing the pianoforte. Her honeyed voice is like liquid gold, a rich contralto, turning the most innocent of tunes into a decadent delight. I cannot help noticing that her white throat and swan’s neck are perfect for wrapping fingers around. And those luscious lips of hers, which are so very, very expressive….

I imagine them parted. Imagine her panting, sweet moans escaping, then vibrating against my length as she swallows me to the root.

Double fuck.




AS WICKED AS YOU WANT (Forever Ours Book 1) by Nia Farrell

A BDSM MMF ménage Victorian erotic romance, set in 1868 Chicago and London
Length 155,467 words / 609 pages
ASIN B01ICAW8LI / ISBN-10 1535361123 / ISBN-13: 978-1535361125
Amazon Kindle http://mybook.to/FO1
Teasers and excerpt http://bit.ly/29r2ncu
Audio sexcerpt, read by the author https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wN-PPTpBM6o




Blurb:
Elena “Lane” Davenport is a struggling artist who’s been living as a man since the Civil War. Suffering from “soldier’s heart” (PTSD), facing arrest for failing to officially muster out, Lane is about to lose everything when an offer of help comes from the most unexpected of places.

Edward Wainwright is a British history professor—and Lane/Elena’s stepbrother. A dominant man with forbidden passions, he comes to America with news of their mother’s death and finds himself twice tempted. There’s instant attraction between Lane and Edward. Reclaiming her true gender to slip past the Pinkertons should make things easier…except Edward wants both Elena and her studio assistant Daniel O'Flaherty. He hopes that Daniel will eventually submit to him, but they’ll need to learn—when it comes to Elena—just how much Daniel is willing to share.

Three soulmates are destined to find each other. Chance brings them together. Will Fate tear them apart?

Written for ages 18+.





Excerpt:
“What was that?” I rasped, my voice an octave lower than normal. I’d been a vocal partner, urging him on, begging him to finish, yelping when he accidentally hit a sore spot, crying his name into the mattress when his curled fingers hit another, sweeter place.

“The French call it la petite morte,” he said. “‘The little death.’”

I arched a brow. “Then they have misnamed it,” I muttered in the same language, earning a smile from the good professor. “Pardon me if I don’t reserve judgment, but there was nothing little about that.”

Edward smiled, indulging me. “You are correct. There was nothing little about that. You were magnificent, my dear. Responsive beyond my expectations.”

I rolled on my side to face him. “Beyond your expectations? You mean to say, it’s not like that every time?”

He arched a curious brow. “Hardly. I take it your other partners have not pleased you equally well.”

“Edward,” I said solemnly, “I’ve had no other partners. Remember, I asked you to teach me?”

He stared at me in disbelief, as if I were some strange creature, never before catalogued, that had wandered into his camp and made myself at home by his fire.
I attempted to lighten the mood. “If you’re going to make free with my body, then I reserve the right to ask questions. It’s only fair.”

He rolled onto his back and buried his face in his hands. “My God. What have I done?”

“Nothing that I did not want, or refuse to stop,” I told him. “I wanted to know what pleased you, and it was my choice to submit. Come, I’m not a child. Disregarding when your fingers fucked me senseless, of course, my eyes have been wide open.”

“That’s no excuse,” he grated. “You…you’re a virgin. You couldn’t know.”

“Edward. Edward. May I remind you that I had a brother with friends until the war divided them? And that I served three years in the company of men who loved to brag of their conquests and adventures? Admittedly, I can still be shocked—I mean, what the New Moneys want still boggles my imagination—but surely by now you’ve realized that I am no fragile Miss. Granted, I shall strive to be proper in company, but when it’s the two of us alone, in private, behind closed doors, well, eventually I hope to be as wicked as you want.”

He remained silent, processing, digesting what I’d said.  He reached and brushed a finger against my cheek.  “I promise you, I shall only take what you are willing to give.”

“And I shall strive to do the same,” I told him.

He tapped my chin and chuckled.  “You shall, shall you?”

I knew, if lines were drawn, I would be compelled to try and cross them, but it was my intention to reciprocate.  “Mmm, yes, indeed.  Hard though it may be.  You see, I’ve much catching up to do.”

“So you say.”  Drawing a line down my throat, he kept going until he’d reached the top of my breast.  I’d bound them, of course, when I was playing the man.  Although there was little to be said for the comfort of corsetry (save for the ease it could bring to one’s aching back), I was pleased by the swell of my bosom, laced-up or not.

So was Edward.  He asked no permission beyond the look he flicked my way, from breast, to face, and back again, signaling his intention as clearly as if he’d spoken it.  Fingers spread, he cupped, then grasped my breast, pressing his palm against the dark rose of my nipple.  The feel of his hand and the sound that came from his throat made my breath catch, escaping as a whimper.

“Ooh.  Yes.  Oh.  Yeeessss.”  I hissed, arching into his grasp.

“Do you like that, pet?” he murmured, fingers kneading my mound of flesh.  “What about this?”

He ducked his head and opened his mouth to take me in, suckling me.  I felt the cord connected to my womb, charged with sexual energy that electrified my core and made me tremble in his embrace.  He sucked harder, lathing me with his tongue, catching the tip between his teeth and biting me—an erotic mix of pleasure and pain that made me acutely aware of the emptiness between my legs.

“Oh, Edward!”

When I reached for his nearly-dry hair, intending to thread my fingers in his curls, he caught my wrist and pinned it to the mattress.  “Leave it,” he ordered, “or I shall tie you up.”

The thought of being bound, helpless, at his mercy…well, what else could I do?  I thrust ten fingers in his hair.

“Want to play, do you?”  Growling, he grabbed my hands and brought my arms over my head, holding my smaller wrists in one large hand.

“I want you,” I said, grinding my hips against him.  “Please, Edward.”

“No.”  A sibilant whisper, followed by torment.  He pinched my nipple and twisted it cruelly.  Tears sprung in my eyes but he did not stop, not even when I begged him for mercy.

“No.”  He brushed his lips against my cheeks and tasted tears.  He bathed my face with his tongue, swallowing my cry when he squeezed my breast hard enough to bruise.  He kissed me, then, claiming my mouth, every part of it, with lips and teeth and tangled tongues.

I whimpered in his mouth.  It echoed, returning on a moan dredged up from the depths of his being.  “Please, I beg you!”

“You beg me, hmm.  For what?” he asked, knowing full well what I wanted.

“Your cock,” I gasped.  “I want your cock.”

He released one of my hands and brought it down to his front, pressed my palm against his erection, and wrapped my fingers as far as they could reach around his girth.

“There,” he said, thrusting against my hand.  “Happy?”

“No, Edward.  Please!  I want your cock inside me.”

He smiled darkly, his turquoise gaze fastened on my lips.

“Careful what you wish for, pet.”








REPLAY BOOK 1: VIKING RAID by Nia Farrell
Replay Book 1: Viking Raid is only 99ȼ! Best Book Nominee, Summer Indie Book Awards (Erotica).

Make Replay your new fantasy vacation destination...
Length 20,279 words / 99 5x8 pages
Amazon e-book http://mybook.to/RB1
Amazon paperback http://mybook.to/RB1p
Amazon UK https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01H5RDUCA/
Teasers and Excerpt: http://bit.ly/2a10Fgm

Blurb: 
Gunnar Falk portrays a Viking leader at Replay, a BDSM theme resort where patrons role play in the past. He’s the Dom everyone wants but no one has had…until the resort’s musical director Breanna Campbell makes him an offer he can’t refuse.

Gunnar isn’t looking for a permanent sub, but he’ll take what Breanna is offering—only because he can’t stand the thought of another Dom claiming the beautiful blonde harpist. Her music enchants him. Her innocence beckons him. She’s agreed to give him everything, but will one night be enough?

Written for ages 18+.




Excerpt:

Breanna watched the Dom’s smile disappear. His incredible blue eyes studied her with an intensity that was unnerving.

Exhaling softly, he brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers and put his hand on her shoulder. She inhaled sharply, feeling its weight and warmth and trying not to think of where she wished he would touch her.

He angled his head, considering. “I need you to tell me something. What is it,” he said, “that you truly want? What do you hope to see? To experience? You understand that your soft list is pretty limited?”

“Yes.” Breanna refused to sound apologetic. She’d been too busy getting an education to have time for more than an occasional, casual date. Now that she’d decided to lose her virginity, she was willing to allow this man to be her first, to give her one night to experience more than some women did in a lifetime.

She thought of the contract they’d signed, the compact they had made, listing the liberties she would allow him to take with her body. Thinking of the Viking raid she’d seen, how he had stroked himself while the scene went on around him, she remembered the sheer size of him and wondered how it would feel, invading her, claiming her.

“Breanna,” he said when she trembled beneath his touch. Breanna. Not wench or girl or pet. He’d said her name, as if he knew she wanted to be more than just one more nameless woman among the many that she was certain he’d had. She wanted to be his, if only for the night.

“You’re about to portray a nun, a religieuse. Before you bare your body, I would have you bare your soul. Come, little one,” he murmured. “Let me hear your confession. Tell me something. Tell me everything.”

Embarrassment pinked her face. Rather than speak, she caught her bottom lip between her teeth and stepped back, breaking the contact between them and feeling a sense of loss when he chose to let her go.

She placed a hand on one of the narrow tables and skimmed her fingers along the distressed surface, imagining herself there, at his mercy when he might well have none, depending on how the scene played out. She slanted a glance up at him and just as quickly looked away from his curious half smile and penetrating gaze.

He wanted to know everything. How could she begin to tell him that she dreamed of him? He was the stuff of fantasies. Telling him would require baring her soul—something she wasn’t quite prepared to do. Not yet.

Gunnar might have the patience of Job, but Breanna better than to test it. Unable to tell him what she really wanted, she settled for the next best thing. “I want,” she said, clearing her throat. “I want to keep it true to the times, as far as it goes.”

“True to the times?” he scoffed, as if she had no idea what could happen. But she did. She did. And so did the Dom.

He stepped close enough that she smelled musk and heat and man as he towered over her, displeasure radiating from him in waves. If he was training her as his sub, she’d be bent over his knee right now, or down on all fours or on her stomach or her back, taking her punishment for hiding the truth from him.

She steeled herself and turned towards him. Lifting her face, she searched his hard blue eyes. His jaw clenched, revealing his growing impatience.

She swallowed hard and whispered her confession. “The truth is, I can’t stop dreaming about it. I want you to make it real.”

A second later, Gunnar ripped the coif from her head, freeing her thick waist-length tresses to tumble down her back. He shoved his fingers in her hair, gripped her scalp, and made her look at him. For the first time, she felt a frisson of fear down her spine, and she shivered, unable to help herself.

His narrowed eyes had the look of a falcon studying its prey. “Real?” he grated. “You can’t imagine, if I stormed your nunnery, that I wouldn’t take you by the hair and spread you out on this table like a banquet, hmm? Your limits, wench, won’t let me.”

She swallowed hard and forced the words, stammering. “We can’t, not with the wigs. They’re short, like a boy’s. We’re playing nuns,” she reminded him, her breath catching in her throat when she saw the heat flare in his blue eyes.

“Hair pins,” he gritted. “Done right, I could drag you across the floor.”

She thought for a moment that he might just do it. Instead, Gunnar fisted her hair, holding it but not quite pulling. She had thought wearing a wig would be a good idea. Now it was a source of his displeasure. Why, oh why hadn’t she thought of pins?

He put his other hand on her breast, testing the soft, firm swell of flesh. When her nipple pebbled beneath his palm, one side of his mouth curved in a half smile, like a predator toying with his next meal, as if he knew that he could have her right here, right now, if he wanted. Her body threatened to go boneless beneath his touch, and she bit her lip to keep from moaning.

Was she really ready for this?

Breanna thought of their agreement, lines of soft limits flowing like mantras in her mind. She had the power, but power was an illusion when beneath it, her will was quickly eroding. She was tempted – oh, so tempted – to yield to the Dom’s greater strength. She was beginning to fear that she just might surrender, if she didn’t find a way to break the hold he had on her.

“The contract,” she whispered. “Gunnar, it’s—”

He raised a brow and pinched her nipple as punishment.

Breanna gasped as pain bloomed into pleasure. “Milord, I beg you,” she whispered. “Please, it’s too soon.”

She was stalling. Gunnar recognized her ploy and nearly smiled. Why had she thought the paper wall she’d thrown up in self-defense would stop him, let alone slow him down?

“Tell me,” he coaxed her, his ruthless hold on her hair at odds with his touch, now gently stroking, fondling, making her body sing. “Your dream,” he said. “What happens in it? What do you see us doing here?”

She felt a sudden burst of moisture between her legs and clamped her thighs together.
“Rowena, uh, my sister Rowena will be a flagellate. I’ll be doing aftercare on her over there.” Unable to move her head, she used her eyes, looking from him toward the far table, built sturdy enough for the most vigorous use. “When you find us, she’ll be disrobed. I’ll shrink back while the others, uh, surround her, and you and I…I think…here. We might be here.”

Breanna felt the hand on her breast move, sliding down her rib cage, her stomach. Long, strong fingers reached the juncture of her thighs and, diving deep, found moisture enough to soak her smock.

“You’re wet,” he said roughly. She couldn’t tell if it was accusation or admiration. “What are you thinking?”

“The scene,” she whispered, closing her eyes, afraid of what he would see in them. “What you’ll do. How you’ll do it.”

She remembered the other raid, how he’d ripped the clothes from his captive, binding her hands, forcing her onto her knees until her body was draped over a bench. Then he wielded the lash, striking her flesh, raising pink stripes with each measured stroke. When he’d finally turned her over to his men, there was no hiding his massive erection. He’d watched the scene play out and had stroked himself in time with the thrust of hips, above and below.

Another reason she’d asked for him. He was the man everyone wanted but nobody had. She didn’t know of any scene he’d done at Replay in the six months they’d been open where he’d had sex with the participants. He either gratified himself or denied what he so easily could have. She had hoped, with what she was offering Gunnar, that she would prove the exception to his rule, and she’d been right.

Be careful what you wish for.




REPLAY BOOK 2: TRIPLE PLAY by Nia Farrell
Length 20,232 words / 100 pages
Amazon e-book http://mybook.to/RB2
Amazon paperback http://mybook.to/RB2p
Teasers and Excerpt http://bit.ly/2b08nqY
ASIN B01KGUPRCY
ISBN 10: 1536939528 / ISBN 13: 978-1536939521


BLURB
Rowena Campbell has always been the naughty twin. After the Viking Raid and her worst walk of shame ever, she recognized that she was misusing sex. In therapy for her sexual addiction, three months celibate, Rowena is better than fine, with a successful erotic blog and book deal by her alter ego, ginger-wigged Regina Wright. When Scottish billionaire Micheil MacDonald wants Regina at his brother’s birthday party, she agrees to attend three scenes as an observer only. A triple play in Imperial Rome, Prohibition Chicago, and Lewis Carroll’s Wonderland, no kink, no sex – and no lies, per his terms, with half a million dollars riding on the line. Surely she can manage that?
Micheil MacDonald is a widower with a child recovering from the fatal accident that claimed his wife. He sweeps into Rowena’s life like a force of nature, brushing aside her protests, determined to be the exception to her rules. But Rowena has scars that no one can see. Secrets that have never been shared – not even with her twin. Telling the truth was never supposed to be this hard.

This story touches on the subject of child abuse and may contain triggers. It is written for ages 18+.








EXCERPT:
“Why me?”
One corner of his mouth curved upwards. “Yer book,” he said. “I wanted tae meet ye and was willing tae pay for the privilege.”
“Um. Thank you. I think.” She wondered if he had a sub who’d benefitted from the experiences and research that she shared online. She had let her followers know that a book was coming, had kept them updated on her progress. The manuscript was done, but only her publisher had seen it.
Micheil dipped his head at the Replay owner, who was ordering punishment for a slave girl. “St. Leger told me that ye command a hefty appearance fee. My offer was purely a guess. Since ye agreed tae the terms, I take it that the contract met yer expectations.”
“Yes,” she said simply, following his gaze when it failed to return. The slave was stripped and bound to a column. Tiberius Piers snapped his fingers and a tray of floggers appeared. He picked one of softest leather and introduced her to it, stroking her sides, rubbing her back, tracing her cheek, then stepping back and laying on the first set of stripes.
Rowena clamped her thighs together, cursing her traitorous body, feeling the creamy moisture between her legs.
He must have heard her breath catch. “Ye like it.”
“Yes.”
“Do ye wish it for yerself?”
“Yes,” she breathed. “And no.”
His blue eyes considered her, a lambency in their depths that she could not fail to recognize. “Explain.”
“I wish it were me,” she admitted, “but not with Piers.”
Don’t make me say it. Don’t.
He stepped closer, not touching except for the breath that fanned her hair and bathed her in his heat. “If not St. Leger, lass, with whom?”
“You, Sir.” Her voice was the barest whisper. “But we can’t. I can’t.”
The Dom came out, full force, and he was not happy. “Why not?” he rumbled, his voice rolling like thunder while his eyes sparked St. Elmo’s fire.
“The contract?” She lowered her gaze, fighting the urge to drop to her knees in a submissive’s pose.
He blew out harshly. “And if I said, damn the contract. Tear it up and I’ll give ye half a million anyway?”
Her chin came up as she threw her head back far enough to meet his gaze. Humorless. Not even a hint of irony.
“You’d do that?” she asked. “Seriously? For one night of play without sex? Remember, my rule is one time. You punish me tonight, and you won’t touch me for the rest of the weekend.” Why was that so hard to say? Damn him. Damn her body, begging her to reconsider.
He smiled darkly. “Make an exception,” he said. “Ye tried tae top me in the bookstore. Ye knew exactly what ye’d done and pretended ye did nae understand. For that alone, ye need a spanking. Two spankings. I should be the one tae give them. It’s only fair.”
If she wore panties, they’d be sopping wet. The Vestal Virgin was yearning for the path to ruination.
“It would be fair,” she agreed, “but it can also wait. I gave my word. Three nights. No kink. No sex. I’m not a liar. Don’t try to make me one.”
“Exceptions tae the rule,” he reminded her. “Ye said ye’d observe the scenes. Nothing was said aboot wha’ happens outside them. When the play winds down and they shuffle us out in the wee hours of the morning, what happens next is up tae us, aye?”
Tempting. My god, he was so tempting.
And he was right. Outside Replay, anything goes. Except…
“Then we’re back to one time. Once. No repeats. Is that what you want?”
She thought she sounded unshakeable. He smiled as if she’d just agreed to his terms. “I want tae feel that fine arse of yers under my hand. Forget yer rules. Do what’s right.”
His voice had dropped to a rumble that pushed every button she had. She whimpered, as if she could already feel herself bent over his lap, panties around her knees, his large hand exploring the landscape of her posterior as he familiarized himself with the terrain, deciding how he wanted to change it for his pleasure.
“I could tie ye up. Ye’d be beautiful, bound tae my bed. I might just have tae keep ye there.”
“Once,” she said weakly.
“Lass,” he murmured, his Scottish burr thickening. “Ye ken ye owe me times three. Once for trying tae top me. Once for playing innocent aboot it. Once for nae letting me ken who ye were. We have three nights of scenes tae get through. I’ll give ye time tae consider yer sins against me. At the end of each night, ye will present yerself tae me. Ye will submit. Ye will suffer, but I’ll give ye what you need. Three punishments and aftercare. I promise ye, I am verra good at both.”




Replay Book 3: HONOUR BOUND by Nia Farrell
Length 19,946 words / 97 5x8 pages
Release Date November 1, 2016
Amazon e-book http://mybook.to/RB3
Teaser and Excerpt http://bit.ly/2e3hRTJ
ASIN B01MA0QKMY/ ISBN-10: 1539424316 / ISBN-13: 978-1539424314



BLURB
 Replay owner Piers St. Leger isn’t looking for a sub. When psychologist Eleanor Benoit comes into his office, beautiful, curious, eager and willing to learn, suddenly all he can think of is what he can show her. What he can teach her. What they can do together. What they can be….
Intrigued by the psychology of BDSM, Elly has agreed to attend a scene at Replay as an observer, portraying the White Queen in Wonderland, with Sir Piers as the White King. He’s incredibly handsome, dangerously charismatic, and a master of kinbaku, erotic Japanese rope bondage. Can this vetted psychologist remain an observer, or will she yield to temptation and play?




Excerpt:
For a moment, Elly imagined lying naked in Piers St. Leger’s arms, still in a state of bliss after a session of kinky play.
The Dom Heathcliff angled his dark head, his blue steel gaze assessing. With his dimpled chin, he looked like Timothy Dalton’s love child. “You stated that you do yoga,” he said, the deep rumbling baritone resonating in her core, traveling down to converge upon a single, needy point. “I have seen devotees who practice advanced meditation achieve subspace very quickly, even though they are new to BDSM.”
The timbre of his voice birthed a flash of kinky fantasy. She envisioned Sir Piers with a soft, suede flogger, administering lashes that raised her to the point of ecstasy and rendered her nearly unconscious, releasing her bonds and holding her against him, ear pressed against the carved width of his chest, soothed by his heartbeat, safe in the circle of his arms.
The thought made her mouth dry and her panties even wetter.
The Dom behind the desk inhaled slowly, deeply, as if he could smell her arousal.
She crossed her legs and told what was between them to behave. She was here to watch, to take notes, she reminded herself. Purely clinical. When she saw those chiseled lips start to slide into a knowing smile, she knew it was time to make things perfectly clear.
She squared her shoulders and leveled her gaze at him. “Mr. St. Leger,” she said crisply, noting his displeasure when she failed to address him as Sir. “I confess, my past partners – with the exception of one – were about as vanilla as they get. But I am also a psychologist. I’m not coming to Replay to – ”
Thankfully, she caught the get corrupted before it tumbled off her tongue.
“To immerse myself in the lifestyle and personally experience whatever it is that you do here. I am coming, at a friend’s request, to support her. But while I am here, I plan to observe. The better I understand the benefits and pitfalls of BDSM, the more I can help clients who are interested in the lifestyle. Believe me when I say that, despite the White Queen costume, I’ll be studying the scene as intently as if I were wearing a lab coat.”
The look that he gave her made goose flesh cascade down her arms and alarm bells sound in her head.
“Vanilla.” He tasted the word but refused to swallow it. Why would he, when there were so many other flavors that he could choose from?
Elly felt as if she’d been judged and found wanting. Oddly enough, that stung more deeply than it should.
“Should you ever wish to expand your horizons…” He tapped the contract. “We have several Dominants here who train submissives – collared, claimed, and unclaimed. Compatibility, trust, mutual goals…there are any number of factors used to determine the best pairing, one that will protect and nurture a submissive’s growth. As a bottom, you may view this document as… ephemeral, but I can assure you, I shall view it no differently than if you had come to me for training. What we do here, I take very seriously. Very seriously, indeed.”
“As am I, Sir,” she insisted. “It’s just…it’s one night.”
“Yes. One night. And how many research projects have you completed in that time, hmm?” His lips angled in a knowing half smile, like the great and powerful man behind the curtain enlightening the girl who’d landed in a strange and foreign place. “If you wish to observe and ask questions, to learn and begin to understand…well, it will very likely take more than an evening in Wonderland. In fact, I can almost guarantee that you’ll be left wanting.”
In more ways than one, she suspected. If Piers St. Leger seated at a desk was enough to make her wet, how the hell was she going to survive an evening by his side, watching God knows what and depending on him to dissect it all in a play-by-play that might have her praying for overtime?
It wasn’t often that Elly was wrong, but she’d misjudged Piers St. Leger. He might not like the idea of vanilla her, but there was no mistaking that he wanted a taste of it. She knew it the minute that she signed the contract, leaning on his desk, close enough to smell him. Clean male and subtle musk, with a nuance of patchouli on his clothes and wintergreen mint on his breath. She’d initialed all the pages, adding her signature to the last. Catching her bottom lip between her teeth, she’d risked a glance up at him and was stunned by the sudden heat that flared in his eyes – eyes that seemed alive with possibilities.
“Sir Josef will take you to your wardrobe appointment,” he said, keeping his gaze on her, a dark promise in his eyes, in his voice, that made her shiver. “I shall see you soon, princess.”



Replay Book 4: Hooked by Nia Farrell
Length 21,950 words / 121 pages
Release Date January 1, 2017
Amazon e-book http://mybook.to/RB4
Teasers and Excerpts https://niafarrell.wordpress.com/2016/12/06/replay-book-4-hooked/
Goodreads https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/33382768-replay-book-4
ASIN B01MTXNUEB / ISBN-10: 154110384X / ISBN-13: 978-1541103849



Blurb: 
Ex-Navy SEAL Marcus Vos is a man with dark passions but enough of a conscience, he’s stayed away from the woman he wants…until she’s given a weekend at Replay, the local BDSM theme resort where patrons play in the past. The last time they were there as guests, he sent Gini home alone. But Gini’s returning—solo—for a pirate weekend over the Fourth of July, with plans to explore her own sexuality. She hopes to learn what she likes and why she’s drawn to some aspects of BDSM.

She doesn’t know that Marcus will be her guide.

Playing Captain Hook will be easy for this amputee. He plans to keep his PTSD service dog close by. He’s told Gini the truth about his sexual addiction, but she’s about to learn that he’s a Dominant, too. One who requires a service dog’s help to wake up from flashbacks and nightmares, episodes that occur up to six times a night.

What happens when the man you want is a haunted hero with wounds that you’re helpless to heal?



Excerpt:
The Captain came in.

Gini stood, blinded and mute, unwilling to break D/s protocol by speaking without permission. Even if she didn’t know this Dom, she trusted Sir Josef, and he trusted the Captain. She wanted to trust him, too.

“Kneel,” he rumbled, commanding, demanding, the low notes in his voice resonating within her.

She dropped to her knees.

For a long, telling moment, all she could hear was the sound of her heartbeat, the anxious measure of her breath, and the lap of water against the side of the ship as it gently rocked to and fro.

The Captain circled her, boot heels marking his passage. He smelled like the sun, earth, sea, and leather. Naturally clean. Decidedly masculine.

He stopped behind her and leaned down to murmur in her ear. “You,” he growled, “will call me ‘Master.’ Now, wench. What am I to do with you?”

Captain Hook straightened and came to stand in front of her, close enough that she could feel the heat of his body and smell the musk of his sex. “I know what you wanted. I know what you’ve said. No penetration. I can respect that. There are many other avenues to explore, if you will let me lead you. This is your chance, to stay or go. But if you stay,” he said firmly, “the clothes come off.”

Gini bit her lip and nodded. Part of her resisted, but she knew that they would be in his way, making some things hard and other things impossible to experience.

“Words,” he growled. “I need to hear you say it.”

She inhaled sharply. Swallowed hard. “Yes, Master.”

“Good girl.”

His rumbling voice was like a velvet glove, stroking her—a sharp contrast to the metal hook that skimmed the side of her neck and followed the top edge of her chemise from right to left and back again.

“Corset,” he said.

She felt for the center opening and began to unhook it from the waist up, freeing herself from its constraints as she went. Beneath her chemise, her breasts sighed in sweet relief. As much as she admired the mounds they’d made bulging from the top of her stays, she was used to wearing a bra only when needed. At home, she generally went without.

What she lacked in size, she more than made up for in sensitivity. She could nearly bring herself to orgasm just by playing with her nipples.

Captain Hook hummed his approval. “Now the chemise.”

She found the cord that gathered her neckline and pulled one end free of the bow. Loosening the lace, she felt for the hem, crossed her arms, and pulled it up and over, careful not to dislodge her blindfold.

“Fuck.”

A single word, bursting with masculine appreciation, despite her small breasts. Her body was toned from running and denuded thanks to her first wax job. The pink had almost faded from her now-hairless genitals.

He circled her again. She held her breath and remained motionless. Still on her knees, she could only imagine how he saw her. She wasn’t just built like a gymnast, she’d competed when she was younger until a shoulder injury had ended her dreams of glory. Forced to sit on the sidelines while she recovered, she’d started reading. Falling in love with the written word had forever changed her world.

He traced the scar from her surgery with his finger. “I want to tie you up,” he said. “Will this be a problem?”

“No, Master,” she managed. “As long as I’m lying down, or standing, not hanging with my weight pulling on it.”

He stood silent for a moment. “You’re to tell me immediately if you have any problems, understood? Good girl. Keep the stockings.”

She waited, breathless, a small gasp escaping when she felt the metal hook slip beneath one breast, lifting it for his consideration. Her nipples tightened, almost painfully, into hard-as-diamond points.

“Do you need to void before we get started?” he asked.

Gini’s face flooded with color. She’d been so nervous, she hadn’t eaten or drunk much of anything today. “I’m good, Master.”

“From what the ship’s surgeon tells me, you’ve been bad. Very bad. Hiding this from your friend.” He leaned over and smacked her ass. “What were you thinking, hmm?”

Another spank.

“That’s for starters. I’m going to sit, and you are going to crawl to me, following the sound of my voice. When you reach me, you’re going to stand between my legs, with your right side facing out. I’m going to turn you over my left knee, and I’m not going to stop until that bottom of yours is cherry red.”



Replay Book 5: Night Music by Nia Farrell
Length 19,438 words / 104 pages
Release Date March 1, 2017
ARC and Blog Tour Sign Up https://goo.gl/forms/faVW72xkF2NSIzlO2
Amazon e-book http://mybook.to/RB5 or https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01N3D4EZE
Paperback coming soon
Teasers and Excerpts https://niafarrell.wordpress.com/2017/02/09/replay-book-5-night-music/ or http://bit.ly/2kTBm6V
Goodreads https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/34210311-replay-book-5
ASIN B01N3D4EZE / ISBN-10: 1543066933 / ISBN-13: 978-1543066937

Blurb: 
Dr. Josef Brandt is the Austrian-born staff psychiatrist and a bisexual Dominant at Replay BDSM theme resort where patrons play in the past. He’s something of a loner, but not by choice. He’s been waiting to find his perfect complement—or complements, whoever he, she, or they might be.

When Hollywood comes to Replay’s Versailles Room, Sir Josef is cast as the father of young Mozart, portrayed by Aubrey Wolfe, a twenty-four-year-old musical savant. Luc Vashon is Aubrey’s teacher and serves as an aide to the petite, legally blind pianist. Recognizing that Luc’s feelings run much deeper, Josef decides to play Cyrano de Bergerac and advance Luc’s suit with Aubrey.

He never expected to fall for them both.

This book is an interracial MMF ménage BDSM erotic romance, written for ages 18+.




Excerpt:

Luc poured a glass of wine for Aubrey and opened two beers for the men. The three drinks turned to six, then eight. Feeling the effects, Josef knew he’d either need to spend the night in his office or have Geoffrey drive him home.

When Luc started to gather the empties, one bottle dropped on the floor and spun wildly at Aubrey’s feet before slowing to a stop. She reached to pick it up and felt its neck, pointing at Luc. “If this was a game, you’d have to do something,” she teased. She’d had enough wine to be mellow but she was not drunk. “You’d have to…you’d have to kiss Sir Josef!”

Of course she would say that. She believed that Luc was gay.

“Well?” she said. “What are you waiting for? Kiss him!”

Luc looked up from where he knelt but stayed where he was, with his gaze focused on Josef’s mouth and a new, lambent light in his eyes.

“No.” The Dominant spoke, his voice demanding attention. “Luc, you will kiss Aubrey. Make her moan, and I shall reward you, using anything here that is your pleasure.”

Robbed of air, Luc forced himself to inhale deeply, exhale slowly. Heat sparked in his hazel eyes, the flames of awareness fanned by each breath. Shifting his full attention to Aubrey, he crawled to her with deliberation and sat on the floor by her feet.

Luc ran two fingers along the inside of her calf, beneath the hem of her skirt, and curled his hand around her knee. “So fucking sexy,” he murmured. “I want to kiss you here, behind your knee. Or here.” His hand moved higher. “And mark the inside of your thigh with my teeth.” His other hand traced the neckline of her dress, then slid up her chest to curl around the slender column of her neck. “I am going to kiss you, ma belle, but I will let you choose where.”

Her blue topaz gaze drifted to his lips, soft and full for a man’s. She moaned, even before their mouths met.

Pulling her down to him, he brushed his lips across her wide, expressive mouth, teasing her, coaxing a response. She put her hands on his chest and clutched at the fabric of his shirt, seeking purchase. After years of self-denial, restraints were shattered with one tremulous breath. Lips parted. Tongues parried, locked in a desperate struggle. He thrust ten fingers into her hair and gripped her head between his hands to control the kiss, commanding her, demanding her submission.

She moaned again, into Luc’s mouth, the sweetest music to a Dominant’s ear.

“Good boy,” Josef crooned. “That’s enough. You have earned a reward. Tell me, what shall it be?”

Luc pulled back, ending their kiss but keeping his forehead pressed to hers when he revealed his darker passions. “It’s been a while since my last play session. The cross,” he said softly. “And the flogger.”

Josef nodded approvingly. “The cross and the flogger it shall be, but not tonight. Replay has stringent rules for the protection of all who come here. You must be vetted, have medical clearance, and pass a psychological evaluation before we go any further. Eleanor St. Leger must be the one to give it, if you wish my hand to wield the whip. Sir Piers can arrange anything else you may need.”

Slipping his cell phone from his jacket, he asked Luc for his number and called it. When Luc’s phone vibrated, Josef ended the call. “You have my number. I’m only a text or call away. For now, though, I shall bid you good night. As much as I would enjoy spending it together, with the three of us sharing a bed, it is best if the two of you…talk.”

Aubrey looked at him, so innocent, her blue topaz eyes widening when she understood where this was headed. He wanted them. Both of them. Beautiful Luc, with his milk chocolate skin and luscious French Canadian accent. Sweet, brilliant Aubrey, who glowed with her own inner light.

Leaving them was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do.
REPLAY SET 1 – Viking Raid, Triple Play, and Honour Bound by Nia Farrell
Released December 27, 2016. Buy the set and save!
Amazon e-book buy link http://mybook.to/RSet1

VIKING RAID: Gunnar Falk portrays a Viking leader at Replay, a BDSM theme resort where patrons role play in the past. He’s the Dom everyone wants but no one has had…until the resort’s musical director Breanna Campbell makes him an offer he can’t refuse.

Gunnar isn’t looking for a permanent sub, but he’ll take what Breanna is offering—only because he can’t stand the thought of another Dom claiming the beautiful blonde harpist. Her music enchants him. Her innocence beckons him. She’s agreed to give him everything, but will one night be enough?


TRIPLE PLAY Rowena Campbell has always been the naughty twin. After the Viking Raid and her worst walk of shame ever, she recognized that she was misusing sex. In therapy for her sexual addiction, three months celibate, Rowena is better than fine, with a successful erotic blog and book deal by her alter ego, ginger-wigged Regina Wright. When Scottish billionaire Micheil MacDonald wants Regina at his brother’s birthday party, she agrees to attend three scenes as an observer only. A triple play in Imperial Rome, Prohibition Chicago, and Lewis Carroll’s Wonderland, no kink, no sex – and no lies, per his terms, with half a million dollars riding on the line. Surely she can manage that?
Micheil MacDonald is a widower with a child recovering from the fatal accident that claimed his wife. He sweeps into Rowena’s life like a force of nature, brushing aside her protests, determined to be the exception to her rules. But Rowena has scars that no one can see. Secrets that have never been shared – not even with her twin. Telling the truth was never supposed to be this hard.

HONOUR BOUND Replay owner Piers St. Leger isn’t looking for a sub when psychologist Eleanor Benoit comes into his office, beautiful, curious, eager and willing to learn. Suddenly all he can think of is what he can show her. What he can teach her. What they can do together. What they can be.
Intrigued by the psychology of BDSM, Elly has agreed to attend a scene at Replay as an observer, portraying the White Queen in Wonderland, with Sir Piers as the White King. He’s incredibly handsome, dangerously charismatic, and a master of kinbaku, erotic Japanese rope bondage. Can this vetted psychologist remain an observer, or will she yield to temptation and play?

“It's BDSM, rope play, a Dom and a sub and all kinds of sexy!!”

“Piers and Eleanor, what a love story. I loved this story of a damaged lady and the dominant Piers that helped her to heal and give into love and submission…Nia Farrell is a fantastic writer. I’m a lifetime fan.”





Replay Set 1 – Viking Raid, Triple Play, Honour Bound $3.99 mybook.to/RSet1

Replay Book 1: Viking Raid 99¢ mybook.to/RB1
Replay Book 2: Triple Play $1.99 mybook.to/RB2
Replay Book 3: Honour Bound $2.99 mybook.to/RB3
Replay Book 4: Hooked $2.99 mybook.to/RB4
Replay Book 5: Night Music $2.99 mybook.to/RB5

Make Replay your new fantasy vacation destination...


Touch the Wind by Nia Farrell writing as Erinn Ellender Quinn
Swashbuckling Historical Romance
Length 91,357 words
Release date December 1, 2016
Amazon e-book http://mybook.to/TW1
ASIN B01MSLMO37

Touch the Wind by Erinn Ellender Quinn is a swashbuckling historical set in 1727 Caribbean. Justin Vallé is a wanted man who demands the truth, and Christiana Delacorte has lived most of her life in deceit. But her father's former friend is her best hope to save him. His price? Her willing presence in his bed. Forbidden desires. Deadly secrets. A race against time, and a journey into dangerous waters. What happens if the man they hope to rescue is being used as bait?
#historicalromance #intrigue #swashbucklingpirates #oldermanyoungerwoman #decidedlydecadent
mybook.to/TW1 #MRBRTG
Blurb:
Christiana Delacorte’s father is languishing in prison. Accused of desertion and piracy, he’s being held without trial while the British and French fight over who will hang him. Determined to rescue him, Christiana approaches the one man she knows who might help: her father’s old friend Justin Vallé, the object of her adolescent fantasies, her first, most terrible unrequited love, when he was a prize for any woman and she sailed disguised as a boy. She can only pray that the French privateer doesn’t recognize her as the child who marked his face for life.

Mistaking her for a prostitute, Vallé fulfills her heart’s desire but shatters the mood by offering payment, forcing her to reveal her identity as well as her purpose. Vallé agrees to break her father out of prison, but his price is the gold she’s brought and her willing presence in his bed.

Justin has suffered a woman’s betrayal, and Christiana has lived most of her life in deceit. But there are forces at play beyond their reckoning, unseen enemies, and time is running out. The success of their mission—and any chance of a future—depends on whether they can learn to trust each other…before it’s too late….




Excerpt:

“Parlez-vous français?”

The resonance of Vallé’s baritone voice was unbelievably enticing, unbearably seductive, a whisper of velvet on Christiana’s skin that made her pulse leap, her every instinct come fully alive. She felt Vallé’s beckoning eyes on her but dared not meet them, lest he see the power he wielded over her with mere words.

“Oui, capitaine,” she murmured. “Je parle un peu français.” Actually, she spoke more than a little French, plus English, Gaelic, and a smattering of Dutch, Spanish, and German, but she hesitated to reveal too much of herself, not when so much depended on the outcome of this meeting.

Vallé blew out softly. “Bien.” Hearing the pleasure in his voice, she cleared her throat, intending to discuss O’Malley’s rescue, but at that moment a raucous shout rang out below. A chorus of laughter drifted up the stairs, accompanying the announcement that filtered in the door, burning her ears and warming her cheeks.

The swallow-cock had surpassed her old record and was still going strong.

Flustered, Christiana tore her eyes from the door—and immediately wished she hadn’t when she saw Vallé’s intense blue gaze focused on her own mouth. He lifted one hand. Long, strong fingers, as elegant as a magician’s, motioned her to come closer. She remained rooted, torn, knowing she should speak, should tell him what she’d come here for but frozen by hesitation. Vallé tilted his head and smiled a little. The curve of his mouth was both sensual and tender; the beckoning warmth in his eyes melted her resistance. He’d always possessed infinite patience; now he exercised it, clearly wanting her but waiting for her to come to him.

As if she had a choice. After all these years of wanting him, it seemed a shattering miracle that he should want her, too.



RIDE THE WIND by Nia Farrell writing as Erinn Ellender Quinn
Paranormal historical romance
Length 70,059 words / 244 pages
Release date October 1, 2016
ASIN B01LX6ZVBS / ISBN 10: 1537491148/ ISBN 13: 978-1537491141
Teasers and Excerpt http://wp.me/p7qrGY-8F

BLURB:

Captain Ian O’Manion is a man with three names and a perilous past….

As Ian O’Malley, he’s wanted by the English. He’s wanted by the French as Jean Delacorte. When he wins The Oaks, a Maryland horse farm, he takes a new name for his new life…until the past catches up to him, with a vengeance.

Ian returns to The Oaks with a festering gunshot wound, fractured bones, and a broken spirit. Haunted by abuses suffered in a Jamaican prison, devoid of hope after his botched escape, he believes that he’s come home to die.

Elsbeth Gordon is an indentured servant with dangerous secrets of her own ….

A young woman of power, Beth talks to trees, communicates with animals, and practices magick alone. When healing the Captain means sharing her secrets, Beth has no choice but to risk being burned as a witch. The psychically gifted beekeeper sees the promise of their future in his eyes…if they can survive an old enemy and an ancient evil that threaten to destroy them both.

A paranormal historical romance, written for ages 18+.




EXCERPT 1:
Ian frowned to think that she was still reading his mind. Jaysus, Joseph and Mary, would he never have any privacy with her? he wondered. The idea was damned disconcerting.

“I expect we’ll be able tae move ye tae the big house in a day or two,” she promised, scooting off the counterpane and letting the insect netting close behind her. “It’s just tha’ here, ye’re closer at hand.”

“Wouldn’t want to inconvenience you,” he mumbled. He knew it was rather childlike but he was unable to help it. Months of torture and a botched prison escape had a way of making a man not quite himself, but he couldn’t tell her that, any more than he could tell her his real name, not until it was cleared.

“Please, call me Beth,” she offered, tossing another bone. “And ‘tis a matter of degrees,” she said. “Ye’re gang tae be a bother, regardless. I thought tae make it easy on me mam. She’s no’ getting any younger, ye ken.”

Thrilled to realize that his fevered brain could actually follow her reasoning despite the brogue, Ian waved his hand, bestowing absolution. The Widow Gordon was, what, in her mid-fifties? Staid, steady, and still able to tend the plantation’s medicinal herb garden when she wasn’t busy birthing babies or ministering to the sick. She had a passion for fishing and he wondered if she used the quiet time it afforded to pray the rosary for her heathen daughter or her late husband, whom he’d brought over to manage his stables. All three had been indentured for seven years. Fever had carried off the one, but the two females were left, his fisher midwife and his busy, busy beekeeper, together with a small village of other indentures who tilled the soil and reaped the harvest and mucked stalls and sheared sheep and spun and wove, while a pair of hired brothers bred his horses, whose lines had been vastly improved by the blood of Spanish Barbs and Narragansett Pacers.

Even before the late Philip Rhys Davies had raced off on and toppled with the promising Zeus, the prize of The Oaks plantation was a stallion named Zephyr, fifteen-and-a-half hands high and black as midnight, save for a brilliant white blaze that flashed like lightning on the track. Zephyr was a racer that sired other racers, but the pretty pacers he had thus fathered would be in demand with the fox hunting and pleasure riding denizens of the surrounding counties, once word spread. Right now his men were working to recover from the loss of Zeus, and Philip. They managed the breeding, kept Zephyr busy mounting brood mares, and cared for those expecting the next go-round. They evaluated the one-year-olds and trained the two- and three-year-olds deemed worth the investment, breaking and selling the rest as opportunities arose.

One of the hired brothers, the farrier Thomas, had let it slip that Elsbeth—Beth—Gordon had the real talent for culling goats from sheep.

Beth Gordon, who slept with foxes and talked to bees and communed with horses. Who worked magick at midnight and refused to let him die whilst she was doing it. Who’d fought with him and for him and climbed into bed with him when the only way to keep him here was the promise of soft pink lips and delicious pomegranate breasts and those pretty, pretty feet. Whose naked body could have been his for the taking, except…except…

Dear God.

Nothing. Nothing. Jaysus, don’t tell me it’s come to this.

In prison, he’d had time for reflection between the day’s beatings and the night’s violations, and during one of his bargaining sessions with God, should He deem him worth saving, Ian had offered to leave his sailing and smuggling days behind him and retire to The Oaks as just another gentleman farmer, above reproach of the law. His daughter’s marriage had started him thinking, had turned his thoughts to the future and whether it might hold someone to share it with.

Good luck with that, when Beth Gordon in her birthday suit couldn’t get a rise out of him.

Maybe it was the laudanum.

God, let it be the laudanum.




REAP THE WIND (TOUCH THE WIND BOOK 3) by Erinn Ellender Quinn
Release Date February 1, 2017
Length 67,087 words
Amazon e-book link http://mybook.to/TW3
Teasers and Excerpt https://niafarrell.wordpress.com/2017/01/14/reap-the-wind/ or http://bit.ly/2kR8IDC
ASIN B01N33V0AJ

Kidnapped, rescued, framed for murder, Michal Bethany Lovett is torn from her old life and must now make another. When an Irish sea captain and the son of a Spanish spy both offer her a future, she must choose between a gentle giant and a man who sleeps with a dagger beneath his pillow and a loaded pistol by his bed. But only one of them has the magic of Spain in his blood….

Blurb:
Michal Bethany Lovett has led a rather quiet life. As the vicar’s firstborn child, she is expected to care for her eleven younger siblings and help meet the needs of her father’s congregation. While sitting with a widower’s six children, Michal is mistaken for his wife and is kidnapped. Her abductors encounter a group of escaped prisoners and offer her up as a distraction that allows them get away. The arrival of a third group sees her rescued before her virtue is lost, but they take her back to their ship, where she lands half-naked in an Irish giant’s arms.

Tristan O’Dea sails for Justin Vallé and commands the Yseult. His orders are to eventually see the young woman home, after deeming it safe to return, or take her wherever she wishes to go. But first, they need to know why she was in the home of the prison guard who’d been bribed to allow the escape. Remembering the feel of her in his arms, not trusting himself around her, he leaves the questioning to Vallé’s lieutenant, Rafe Quintanal.

Rafael Antonio Santiago Quintanal is the bastard son of Spain’s greatest female spy. He was born. Trained. Instructed in weapons and martial arts. Taught to obey without question and do his duty without fail. To safely return the vicar’s daughter means learning who she is, but she is a distraction he does not need. An inconvenience at the least. A liability if he lets her be one.

He’s never before let a woman that close—another thing he can place at his madre’s door. He doesn’t intend to start now.

Rafe watches her from a distance, curious as to what makes her tick. Like the workings of a clock, what gear engages her hands to shape a subservient pose, clasped primly at her waist, head slightly bowed, even when one corner of her mouth is curved with secret humor? What wisdom makes her fair skin seek the shade, and what lures her out, to lift her face to the sun before retreating to the safety found in the shadows? What kind of woman is she, to be associated with a beast like Lewis Simon, the night guard at Port Royal prison who enjoys making men cry? Is she so innocent, to know nothing of the man’s nature?

Who is she?

And why does he care?

Return proves impossible when O’Dea and Quintanal learn that Michal is wanted for murder. When both men offer her a chance at a future, the vicar’s unconventional daughter must choose between a gentle giant and a man who sleeps with a dagger under his pillow and a pistol by his bed.

This book is written as a standalone but continues the timeline that starts in TOUCH THE WIND (TOUCH THE WIND BOOK 1). Written for ages 18+.






EXCERPT 1:
Rafe could feel the Anglo’s eyes on him. He tried his best to ignore it, tried not to think of how she’d been described by the men, who had seen her twin jewels when she’d been taken, and again, when she’d been brought aboard the Bold Avenger. Capitán O’Dea had actually blushed beneath his beard.

She was a distraction he did not need. He’d been trained since childhood to analyze, to fight, to survive. Right now his instincts were telling him to stay as far from the Anglo as he could, without being discourteous. It was not her fault that she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The only reason he would have to speak to her was for information. They needed to know how much she knew of the prison break and Bryce Vallé’s betrayal, and the extent of her involvement. He needed to learn who she was before he could determine the best way to be shed of her.

Rafe knew Vallé. Nothing as simple as marooning her would do, or foisting her off on another crew headed for Jamaica. No, someone would have to take her back.

Chances were, that someone was him.

Rafe Quintanal tested the weight and balance of the sword in his hand. Pity, there was no one to really engage with. None here came close to being his equal. Instead, he trained the others. Only a few had begun to grasp the nuances of the different lineages. One of his instructors was a purist. Libro de las Grandezas de la Espada had been his Bible. His deepest regret was that Rafe, being base-born, would never be allowed into the Order of Santiago.

Through the years, his other instructors were students of the French, German, Italian and Spanish schools of the sword. And in a class by himself, Sir William Hope, the renowned Scottish fencer and swordsman who died from dancing, having overheated himself at an assembly.

Rafe had learned many disciplines, including the long and short sword, the longer rapier and the smaller espadin, sword and capa, sword and knife—alternately wielding the navaja, the long Spanish knife, or a finely balanced Italian dagger. The circumstances of his birth that made him Spanish but precluded him from the Order of Santiago had not blinded him to the richness of diversity. It appalled his mother that he was so fond of the Italian school, favoring it over the Académies du Roy.

Calmness, vigor, judgment. He lived and breathed them, from years of discipline, practice, and training. Between sets, he allowed his gaze to wander to the yellow-haired waif in absurd, borrowed clothes. The only things plainly hers were her stockings and the spectacles perched on her nose.

In an odd way, she reminded him of his mother. Most young women would not be flattered by the comparison, but then, they did not know his madre, whose skills with a dagger nearly matched his own. No, it was the serenity that came with acceptance, like water forced to flow one way, seemingly unresisting but effecting change nonetheless. Given time and persistence, water carved rock. Her presence changed everything.

Interview With Nia Farrell:
  1. Can you tell us a little about your books?
I write contemporary and historical erotic romance, standalone series and single titles, in several subgenres, including BDSM, ménage, LGBT, interracial, paranormal, and New Adult. I have four releases from Dark Hollows Press, including my 2016 Golden Flogger Finalist Something More (The Three Graces Book 3). Since going indie in May 2016, I’ve garnered nine nominations in the 2016 Summer Indie Book Awards and had Pride and Punishment – An Erotic Retelling of Jane Austen’s Beloved Classic voted Best Historical Romance in the 2017 Ménage Romances Readers Favorites. My BDSM MMF historical erotic romance As Wicked as You Want (Forever Ours Book 1) was voted #1 Erotica and #10 overall in The 50 Best Indie Books of 2016. I also write historical romance as Erinn Ellender Quinn.
I don’t shy away from tough subjects when I write. Even in my novellas, I’ve touched on PTSD, post-rape PTSD, autism, veteran amputees, visual impairment, childhood sexual abuse, and sexual addiction. My last book had a PTSD service dog written into the relationship. My next release Replay Book 5: Night Music is a MMF menage with a heroine who is legally blind.

  1.  When did you know you wanted to write a book?
I’ve been writing since grade school. I wrote my first time travel in junior high. I discovered the romance genre as an adult and began writing them at my husband’s suggestion. My sister introduced me to erotic romance, and suddenly, I found my niche.
  1.  Do you have a favorite food or drink you must have nearby when writing?
I keep spring water close at hand. I try to avoid bringing snacks into my studio, but I work crazy hours sometimes. If I come back from the kitchen with anything, it’s likely to be fresh fruit, raw nuts, or raw vegetables, with an occasionally chunk of cheddar cheese.
  1. If you ever experience a case of writer’s block, how do you cure it?
I’ve never had a typical case of writer’s block. I once had a character stop talking to me because I didn’t know what she smelled like. Once I figured it out, she started talking again. That’s only happened once, and I had other projects to work on.
  1.  When you write do you write the first draft on a computer or paper and pen?
Both. Computer at home, spiral-bound notebook and pen on the road.
  1.  What is a usual writing day like for you?  How is it structured?
I work pretty much 24/7. I’m blessed to work from home, and our children are grown and gone, allowing me the luxury of pulling all-nighters and napping when I need to. Most days I’m either getting up or going to bed at 4 AM.
  1. For a reader who hasn't read your books yet, which book do you suggest they start with?
If you want the best of both worlds, contemporary and historical, my Replay Series has become a favorite with some of my readers. The standalone, mostly MF stories take place at Replay, a BDSM theme resort where patrons play in the past. Think historic cosplay with kink. (The resort was introduced in my Three Graces Series.) If you like paranormal, Dark Moons Rising is a sword-and-sorcery ménage with centaur shifters. For Austen fans, Pride and Punishment – An Erotic Retelling of Jane Austen’s Beloved Classic is fabulously naughty. My Three Graces series are BDSM New Age New Adult ménages with psychic abilities, metaphysics, karma, and reincarnated soul mates. Grace, Nico, and J.T from Something Else (The Three Graces Book 1) and Something Special (The Three Graces Book 6) revisit their past lives in my Forever Ours Series of historical ménages.
  1.  If your fairy godmother waved her wand and whisked you away to the location of your choice, which place would you choose, and why?
The Louvre, to immerse myself in centuries of art, touchstones with our past and pure genius given form.
  1. What are writing projects are you currently working on?
I’m readying my March 1 release, Replay Book 5: Night Music, the first ménage (MMF) of the series. After that, I’ll be working on my next audiobook and writing a movie treatment to pitch to a film commission, then it’s back to my Touch the Wind Series (Dare the Wind – Book 4, written as Erinn Ellender Quinn) and Replay Book 6: Highland Fling.
Where to find Nia Farrell:

Nia Farrell’s blog page ➔ http://niafarrell.wordpress.com
Farrell’s Foxes, Nia Farrell’s Street Team page ➔ https://www.facebook.com/farrellsfoxes
Nia Farrell’s Dark Hollows Press author page ➔ http://www.darkhollowspress.com/#!nia-farrell/c1mop
Nia Farrell’s Amazon author page ➔ http://viewauthor.at/NiaFarrell
Follow Author Nia Farrell on Tumblr ➔ http://authorniafarrell.tumblr.com/ Follow Author Nia Farrell on Twitter ➔ https://twitter.com/AuthrNiaFarrell
Follow Author Nia Farrell on Pinterest ➔ https://www.pinterest.com/authrniafarrell/
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1 comment:

  1. Nia FarrellFebruary 27, 2017 at 1:53 PM

    You guys are amazing! Thanks for the feature today! I'm sharing the heck out of it on social media.

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