Book Spotlight: Ropacabana by Isabella Jordan

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Ropacabana by Isabella Jordan

(Viva Los Regalos 2)

A Futuristic Paranormal BDSM Romance

Date Published: October 16, 2026

Publisher: Changeling Press

Welcome to the Ropacabana, the hottest club in Los Regalos! Here you'll find the best BDSM floor show with the most exotically beautiful dancers. For the right price you can have anything in the Ropacabana -- including star of the show, Salome.

One client wants just that but he only likes to watch. He wants Salome to put on a private show for him and he's picked out just the right stud, er, guy for her to play with. Ropacabana bouncer Tony Fontaine.

Tony doesn't like the idea of having to put on a sex show as part of his job, but he loves the idea of learning all of Salome's intimate secrets.

Salome is more than pleased with Tony as her latest assignment, except for his habit of trying to look beyond her exotic dancer persona. Can Salome keep it all professional? Or will she make the biggest mistake someone in her position can make and fall in love with him?

 

Excerpt

Copyright ©2026 Isabella Jordan

Salma Fuentes, known in Los Regalos as Salome, made her way offstage, tossing her crop onto one of the props tables as she went. Jerry, the stagehand, passed her a bottle of water. Ashley waited to help her into her short robe of crimson silk since all she was wearing at the moment were her nipple clips, four-inch stilettos, and diamond studded G-string. The backup dancers trotted along behind her, the applause beyond the curtains ringing out.

So went another night at the Ropacabana.

"Awesome show, Salome." Ashley smiled at her. "You looked so beautiful up there."

"Thanks." Salome nodded to the younger woman, hoping she could make it to the dressing room without being followed.

"Salome?"

Salome didn't stop, knowing Ashley wasn't likely to give up until she pled her case. "Yes?" Might as well get this over with.

"I was hoping to… um… talk to you if I could." The girl's tone revealed her anxiety. "If you have a moment, that is."

No matter how much ambition she could smell on Ashley, she just couldn't bring herself to be rude. She probably should have. Sure, her years in Los Regalos had made her cynical and jaded. Yet Salome wasn't so arrogant that she couldn't sympathize with the amount of courage it took for Ashley to approach her.

She was pretty sure she knew what the other woman wanted. It was always the same thing. Every year it seemed there was a new bright-eyed girl working backstage at the hottest club in Los Regalos wanting to be the new star.

She herself had once been one of those bright-eyed girls.

"I've just got a moment," Salome told her. "I have a meeting with Hamilton upstairs in ten minutes."

Ashley nodded, swallowing visibly in her nervousness. "Well, I was hoping you could give me some advice. I've been working backstage for the last year on all the shows I could get on with as an assistant. I guess I'm interested in doing more now. I'm hoping to become a dancer. You know, like you."

Salome smiled patiently at her, looking her up and down. As far as wereleopards went, Ashley was a fine specimen. A lovely girl with cocoa colored skin, gorgeous dark hair, and a thirty-nine inch inseam unless she missed her guess. Nice slender build but not too skinny. She had large breasts but not too large. They didn't look like they'd pull the rest of her willowy frame over with their weight.

Ashley's best features were big, dark eyes that were very trusting and open. Maybe a little too open. Ashley had always been a friendly girl, like a puppy. If Ashley had been a real bitch, Salome wouldn't worry so much.

She shook her head. Had the girl already been there for a year? In two more years Los Regalos would tear Ashley apart no matter what path her future took.

That or it would make Ashley a cynical asshole like she was.

"Why?" she had to ask the younger woman. "Why would you want to do what I do, Ashley? You're smart, right? You're educated."

Ashley nodded again, wringing her hands in front of her. "Well, I do have a degree from the real world but… there's not a lot I can do with that here."

"Sure there is." Salome sat on the edge of her dressing table for a moment, opening the bottle of water to take a long drink. "You could get an office job and work for one of the admins. You can make as much money there as you could doing this. Someone has to keep the books in this place. And trust me, you'd be a lot happier."

"Happier? Being a paper pusher? Sure, the money might be good but I'd die if I had to do that every day. Locked in an office, away from the shows? I could have done that in the real world. No, I came here to do more."

"You could still see the shows," Salome pointed out. "You could afford to come and see all the shows you wanted."

Turning to the mirror, Salome hurried to put herself together to meet with her supervisor. She didn't have time to change clothes or shower. There was really little point. He probably had a client he wanted her to fuck waiting up there right now. If she looked sweaty and disheveled, it was all for the better.

"You don't think I'd m-make a good dancer?"

Salome took a deep breath. Somehow she knew the girl wouldn't give up that easily. Turning back, she took in the girl's unease as she stood there, her little hands still busy knotting and unknotting.

"Ashley, I don't know if you can dance or not. I do see a woman who could do anything she wanted. I'm just trying to tell you to consider carefully what you choose."

The girl's eyes widened a little at that.

"How old are you?" Salome asked.

"Eighteen."

It figured. "I was your age when I started dancing up here."

"You're still so young and you're the star here."

Salome didn't miss the enthusiasm in the girl's voice. Enthusiasm was a great thing but there was something Ashley didn't quite grasp. "I'm twenty-five. I've been here for eight years and yes, I worked hard to get where I am. But where I am isn't exactly what you might think."

"What's to think about? Everyone knows who Salome is. Everyone comes here to see you dance. You look so gorgeous up there, so sexy. That's what I want. I don't mind dancing nude or suggestively. It's an art, a celebration --"

"There's a price," Salome warned.

 

About the Author

Isabella Jordan is the alter ego of an otherwise stressed out web designer, programmer, and internet junkie. When she's not trying to perfect her own personal caffeine IV drip, she enjoys spending time with her family, doing volunteer work, and writing. She loves creating new stories of all kinds and chatting with readers and friends.

Contact Links

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

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

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Discover Standard Tuning by Andi Tozier

Title: Standard Tuning

Author: Andi Tozier

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 05/12/2026

Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 280

Genre: Historical, Genre/lit, historical, family-drama, bisexual, musician, supergroup, drug addiction, BDSM play, slow burn

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Description

It’s 1988 and solo act Bill Kason is invited to take part in a supergroup. Three generations of talent band together over three long weekends to record an album; talking shop, tweaking tunes, and touring their memories. Behind the music and the rumors that he saw Jesus in a Connecticut bathroom, Bill is barely holding himself together, but he is willing to make the effort for the sake of Martin Henry, one of the best-loved men in the music business and beyond. With Bill always somewhere between suicide and spiritual awakening, Martin is the only one who can make him take a good, hard look at himself, and not be completely repulsed. The question now: is Martin’s friendship and admiration enough to make the difference?

Excerpt

Standard Tuning
Andi Tozier © 2026
All Rights Reserved

May 1988

For the record, he said yes. Wasn’t a maybe; wasn’t a let me think about it. Martin asked, and Bill said yes. Ever since he’d been stamped with the Return to Sender labels of difficult, uncooperative, uncollaborative, and downright creative hell, not too many creative colleagues were calling. Not that he gave out his number all that often.

But when Martin asked if Bill was willing to lay down tunes with him and his closest friends, a bit of fun, nothing serious, Bill shoved a toothbrush in his back pocket, packed the rear of his Volkswagen van with some clothes and every relevant and a few irrelevant instruments atop that. And he drove through the Cali valley, where the business-class whores told fortunes and the palm-reading gypsies turned tricks.

Martin didn’t have a studio rented out and he didn’t own a house around town; he’d done the sensible British thing out of a P.G. Wodehouse plot and simply swapped enormous mansions across the pond.

Cutting up the canyon crawl in the impending lurch of traffic, sliding around horse rail fences that kept the cliffside at bay, circling, encircling Dante’s fury. Dust pressed into the tires, rocks rattling. Maybe manual transmission wasn’t the best choice.

Bill idled at the ostiaries of the monetary and materially inclined. Call systems and gates cordoned off the rest of the way, next to bushes and vines that clung to life strangled by temperature and technology.

He cranked the window down and waved his arm toward the buzzer box, but he realized a little later than he’d have liked to that he was going to have to unbuckle his seatbelt and lean halfway out the window just to make contact.

The prolonged dial tone could hold a note better than he could.

“Name and secret password please,” the mechanical mouth spoke in the tones of Martin.

“Aw heck, I made it this far,” Bill moaned at the callbox’s gap-toothed speaker.

The machine cackled through crackling static. “Come on in, Bill.”

The new electronic hum of the gates was too high to catch, and the hinges creaked like screws breaking loose as they juddered open. Bill’s slow push on the gas pedal wasn’t just van versus incline; he wanted a second look at the wrought iron artistry.

Bill had a thing for gates. Their construction, their intention, their being. This one had sweeping calligraphy strokes of iron, hidden flowers in the folds, a little barbed wire edge to it. Made you kind of blue and he didn’t know why.

Halfway up the private road and he was already feeling regret like the blazing desert sun. He had to segment it out into a million little intolerable pieces, starting with the anxiety of figuring out where to park.

With cars already in designated parking areas, he didn’t want to be the one to box anyone in, but he also wanted to have the easiest escape plan, in case the whole thing was strange, or just not his version of strange.

The ever-helpful parking attendant was James, who wasn’t a parking attendant at all, but a rock star in his own right. Piano-heavy starship stuff, trills and electronic tones that normally couldn’t exist outside a studio, but James had a mimic’s knack for making those sounds appear on his glitzy, celestial tours.

He guided Bill’s van in like a flight crewmember partway through an Aldous Huxley trip. Once he was safely between a Jaguar and a Porsche, Bill left the comfortable cave of his van and, with a hesitant breath in, entered back into reality.

James leaned on the side of the van, near the driver’s side door. Considering the shape the vehicle was in, he probably assumed Bill was okay with that kind of contact when really any play for personal space had Bill on the offensive.

James was the cast-off of a Bob Ross hairstylist with the bright disposition of the first breath of spring. But somehow the two of them just could never find the right key to play in together, and it always felt a little off. Uncomfortable pleasantries. But maybe James never caught that.

“Bill, I’m so glad you could make it.” He peered down, aiming for eye contact which Bill was reluctant to match.

James had a voice like a steel drum, whose Englishness was accentuated by his grammatical substitutions of me for my. “You can leave your stuff. We’ll send someone round to nick it.”

“Thanks,” Bill mumbled.

So he wasn’t completely armorless, he stuffed a Marine Band harmonica into his front pocket without a glance as to the key and slung his acoustic over his shoulder, holding it by the neck in a fireman carry.

The front entrance was hidden under an archway, rounded at the top like a hoop skirt, the same wrought iron designs in the glass. There was an old cemetery grounds feel to it. Just as he was about to study it, really tap in and find out what it was all about, what it meant to him, the doors opened and Martin was on the other side.

Bill exhaled sharply, like a broadhead arrow sliced through the air and wedged in his lungs. Martin was radiant; he was made of pure stardust. He operated on different levels but felt so completely you.

Anyone who met him felt without question they’d known him forever and surprised themselves even further when he seemed to seamlessly fit in as a family member. Or…or something else.

“Bill, yes, excellent, wonderful.” Martin clapped him on the shoulder and Bill watched the contact happen more than felt it. “James get you to the right spot? Had to send him out there after Fisher made it to the neighbors by accident. They wouldn’t let him go without three tunes for a singsong.”

This was the face teenyboppers fainted over, that drove them wild—well, this and a few of his other bandmates. Talent that changed the landscape, that made everyone else work to outdo them and fail. An unstoppable force that paused itself, then a few over-publicized tragedies led to the remaining crew seeking solo work.

Martin’s hair was like the mane on a stallion, his eyes bright and true. To Bill, who was once described by a journalist as having the face of a bitter eagle and the personality of unwashed gym socks, it was borderline unfair to have such good-looking, kind friends.

“Come in, come in, come in.” Martin ushered Bill inside. He’d already missed his cue to follow when James had entered, and Martin had probably sensed correctly that Bill was fine with staying detached from the happenings forever.

Martin’s English dialect came straight out of the muck and grime, lifted out just as he was through a fog of disorder. Bill felt the need to say something to block the staccato steps of his boots and Martin’s sneakers across the tile floor.

“Nice curtains,” he tried without a glance for them or making the effort to check that they existed.

“Yeah, I got them in India from this little old lady that weren’t any taller than my knee. Hand dyed and washed in big rocky pits. Thought they’d be a great welcome home gift to Edmund once we trade our houses back. But you don’t want to hear about all that. Now.” Martin stepped out in front of Bill and stretched his hands out on Bill’s face. “Now. Roger’s here, Fisher’s here, you’re here, James is here. Who are we missing? Me? I am here; I am everywhere. Bits of me scuttling about. Do make yourself at home. I’ll come grab you if you’re missing anything. I trust you’ll do the same for me. And if you need anyone to harmonize with…” He sang a brief scale on, “I’m your man.” Then he said, “Cheers,” and took off in some impossible direction in the house.

Bill ran his hand over where Martin had held his face. If he wasn’t careful, acts of simple human affection were liable to disintegrate him.

He took stock of the place. It was hard to see the old-world charm of the estate when masked by all the recording equipment. A drum set stuffed into an alcove. Microphones cabled over stands; creeping vines up walls. Card towers of separately sized speakers.

Bill bit down a smirk as he thought about his own studio, wired to the max where the recorded sound captured all over the damn place and how those he invited over always did that single take recoil, where they reviewed what they had said and what they were going to say. Not that he reviewed their remarks, not that he reviewed them every night.

He zeroed in on a collection of guitars; electric and acoustics on stands with a few spare stands beside them.

Abandoning his armor for want of completing the set, Bill dropped his guitar next to a Rickenbacker and had a bit of insight as to whose guitars were whose. It was like examining sneakers in a closet; you knew the style and the wear. He caught a glimpse of the roadies known as household help carrying his belongings up a set of stairs ending surely in whatever was to be his room. So long as it had a bed, Bill could manage. And even then, he’d done without when he had to.

He wandered into the kitchen where Ty Fisher was cracking a bottle of beer open with the help of the edge of the countertop.

Fisher had a Dick Cavett sort of smallness to him. He was still sporting some Sissy Spacek hairstyle, hair that confused men in public when they caught Fisher at his most feminine angles. The times Fisher sported a beard a few shades darker from his hair only served to further confuse people. He would have been some sideshow Venus on the half shell.

Bill liked him. There wasn’t a person in the house he didn’t like—hell, you couldn’t not like James—but Fisher had a gentle ‘ribbons in a schoolgirl’s hair’ sorta kindness with a rocker’s edge. Sweet, funny, with strong opinions on art, music, life’s poetry, as all of them did.

Still young, still striving. Aiming for the purest rock and roll he and his redneck crew could create. While devilishly handsome under stadium lights, up close a casual observer might catch that he had a history of hitting some substance or some man of no substance hitting him.

“Hey, Bill.” Fisher gave him a wide beacon of a smile. “I saw you last…last year August.”

Bill screwed up his face in thought. “What for?”

“We were on tour together.”

“Oh right.” Bill considered it a bit longer. “How’d we do?”

Fisher took a long sip. “Good, very good, some just okay, and then one shit show which I won’t rehash for both our sakes. I mean, really, I couldn’t even tell you what went wrong, but I know they were happiest when we left.”

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Andi Tozier grew up in Florida and found their way to the Midwest. They hold an MFA in Fiction Writing from Columbia College Chicago and have credits in anthologies and small publications. Their love of music and writing is vast and varied, and they’re happy to share this work with NineStar Press

 and all their readers. 

New Release Spotlight: The Commitment by Shayla Black & Jenna Jacob

 

The Commitment

Series: Unbroken: Heavenly Rising Book 4

Contemporary MFM Menage BDSM Erotic Romance

Series Page

Buy Link HERE

The wait is over!

After years of tension, sacrifice, and impossible choices, Beck, Heavenly, and Seth finally reach the moment everything has been building toward. This is their hard-won, emotionally loaded, no-pulling-punches happily-ever-after—and it does not arrive quietly.

This is a read-in-order saga built on:
 high-stakes drama
 scorching heat
 kink with heart
 messy, emotional bonds that refuse to play nice

If you’re caught up, this is the payoff you’ve been waiting for.

If you’re not… now is the time.

It’s the momentous day we've all been waiting for—The Commitment finally releases, delivering the long-awaited, scorching conclusion to Beck, Heavenly, and Seth's unforgettable journey!

Get ready for the ultimate payoff in love, trust, and passion—start with this exclusive excerpt below.

At the bottom of the stairs, Heavenly and Seth stopped short at the sight of Beck leaning against the granite counter, talking to Pike, of all people. He looked thoroughly disreputable and out of place in their pristine kitchen, dressed in head-to-toe black.

“Cooper,” Pike said stiffly as he turned toward them, maintaining a careful distance from Seth. Then he nodded her way. “Heavenly.”

“Pike,” Seth returned with equal coolness, squeezing her hand protectively.

“Morning, Cullen.” She tried to lighten the mood. “Coffee?”

“He was just leaving.” Beck clapped Pike on the shoulder and hustled him to the foyer. “Good to see you, man. Thanks for stopping by.”

Then, with a slam of the door, he was gone.

“What was that about?” Seth demanded the moment Beck returned.

“Club business. Pike watches everyone at Shadows, making sure they’re playing safely—”

“And putting a lot of scenes in his spank bank,” Seth quipped.

Heavenly swatted his shoulder. “Don’t put that visual in my head. Please.”

They all laughed before Beck went on. “And since Pike was here, I picked his brain for something…special.”

Seth raised a brow. “Ideas from Pike? Since that man’s idea of ‘special’ involves livestock and bodily fluids, no thanks.”

“I used his extraordinarily bent thoughts for good this time,” Beck assured, turning back to finish cooking breakfast. “I think you’ll like this. I’ll explain while we eat. Come here, little girl.”

Heavenly smiled and crossed the floor to kiss Beck’s cheek. He caught her around the waist, and the quick peck she intended became something raw and passionate that made her knees go weak.

“I need caffeine and food before any of that, mister.” She wriggled free with a grin.

They all laughed, but as they sat with their plates, Seth’s nervousness ticked up.

Beck’s sharp gaze missed nothing. He slammed his coffee mug on the table with a clatter. “Whatever’s up with you, man, spit it out.”

Seth set down his fork and heaved a long sigh. “I know this is the worst timing ever, but…” He recounted the call he’d received from his mother and her horror at finding the twins sharing a woman. “She wants me to fly back there and, um…talk some sense into those ‘deviants.’ Yes, the ridiculousness of her request isn’t lost on me.”

It wasn’t funny…but it kind of was. It was also deeply concerning. If Grace thought Jack and Connor were deviants for sharing the same girl, what would the woman think of her? Heavenly couldn’t help but fear Grace Cooper would see her as the harlot who had corrupted her son. Would the woman ever accept Seth’s relationship with her and Beck?

“So let me get this straight,” Beck drawled with characteristic snark. “Your saintly Catholic mother wants you—the poster boy for debauchery—to preach about one-man-one-woman wholesomeness? Should I start the slow clap now or wait for the encore?”

“Like I said, it’s peak irony. And completely futile. Those leopards aren’t changing their spots. I tried.”

“Of course they’re not. You gave them that speech when you caught them over the summer. It failed spectacularly.”

Seth winced. “She doesn’t know that, and I can’t tell her. She’d freak that I didn’t come clean.”

“Because if you had…the twins would rat you out about us.” Beck winced. “Gotta love it. So you’re supposed to fly to New York to tell them to ‘Just say no?’”

“This isn’t you running away again, is it?” Heavenly had to ask.

Seth’s stare snapped to hers. Hurt flashed across his features before he shook his head. “I’m not, angel. Since my mom called, I’ve been wondering how I could turn this situation to our advantage. I have an idea.”

Beck glanced her way, then raised a brow at Seth. “We’re listening.”

“If I can get Mom to admit she’d never care about her sons any less for being with whoever they love, that any grandchildren would be welcome no matter the circumstances… Maybe I can lay the groundwork for her to accept us.”

Relief swirled with hope in Heavenly’s chest. Not that she wanted Seth to leave or for the twins to be out of their mom’s good graces, but he was onto something. “That might actually work. Appeal to her heart.”

Seth’s voice carried conviction now. “Exactly. It won’t be easy, and her attitude won’t change overnight. But Mom asking me to come fix this situation could be a blessing in disguise.”

Beck pondered Seth for a protracted moment. “All right. But you come home to us. No matter what happens back there.”

“I will. I told her I’d fly out on Tuesday, but I have to be back by the weekend.” Seth lifted her hand and pressed his lips to her palm.

Heavenly felt a flutter of relief in her belly. His words melted away some of her lingering concerns.

“Good thinking,” Beck said, pushing back from the table. “My thoughts were on a similar path. That’s another reason I called Pike this morning and asked him to stop by. I wanted to arrange something special for us tonight. A celebration. Well, a spicy one.”

Heavenly’s pulse quickened. “What are you up to?”

With a wicked grin, he reached under the table. “All the ways I’m going to make you beg later, but I digress. This is an adventure. Can you two get free this evening? We need to leave about an hour before dusk.”

Maybe Heavenly shouldn’t be, but she was excited. “I just have to study some and finish a paper, but it won’t take all day.”

Seth shrugged. “I’m going to do my laundry for the trip and touch base with River, let him know I’m jetting out. Other than that, I’m good. So…you going to tell us what you have in mind?”

“Nah. But I think you’ll really enjoy it. We all will.” Beck’s eyes glittered with mischief as he looked at Heavenly. “I suggest you rest up today. Oh, and I hope you can run.”

New Release Spotlight: Guarded Obsession by Brenda Murphy today!

Title: Guarded Obsession

Series: University Row, Book Two

Author: Brenda Murphy

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 01/20/2026

Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 308

Genre: Contemporary suspense, Romance, contemporary, crime/thriller, lesbian, BDSM, university professor, bodyguard, forced proximity

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Description

Celeste Choi swore she’d never take another protection job, especially not after the betrayal that almost destroyed her. But when her best friend begs for help, she can’t say no. Lou Chavez is on the run from her vengeful ex—a woman who’ll stop at nothing to get what she wants. Hiding out in a remote cabin, Celeste and Lou find themselves locked in a fight for survival and for each other. Lou doesn’t believe she’s worth saving, but Celeste refuses to let her die on her watch. As their enemies close in and an old rival resurfaces with her own deadly agenda, their undeniable attraction ignites into something dark, intimate, and dangerous. To survive, Celeste and Lou must stand together, risk everything, and decide if the love they’ve found is worth the ultimate price.

Excerpt

Guarded Obsession
Brenda Murphy © 2026
All Rights Reserved

The gleaming steel elevator doors opened. Celeste waited a beat, sweeping her gaze over the interior of the car. Satisfied with her safety, she stepped inside. She swiped her key card and pressed the combination of buttons that led to Demure’s subbasement. As she descended, she smoothed her hands over the front of her skirt, checked the fit of her jacket, tugged her sleeves in place, and made sure her weapon didn’t ruin the line of her suit. Her black heels gleamed in the soft glow of the elevator lights.

The doors chimed open. As before, she paused a moment before exiting to assess the situation. Her gaze landed on Bridget, lead sub of Demure. She’d been a professional rugby player, and her thick shoulders tested the limits of her suit jacket. She sank to her knees as Celeste stepped out of the elevator. Celeste indulged herself studying Bridget’s angular profile and dark eyes shining in the fluorescent lights of the hallway before Bridget lowered her gaze.

“Welcome, Mistress Choi. Mistress Yvonne is waiting for you in her office. We’ve moved it since your last time here.” She lifted her hand toward the right hall off the elevator lobby. “It’s two doors down on the left.”

“Thank you, Bridget.” Celeste took a step forward and rested her hand on Bridget’s head. She swept her hand over her crewcut, teasing her finger over the crisp edges. A vision of their last session rose along with Celeste’s desire. “It has been a minute. Did you miss me?”

“More than I dare say, Mistress,” Bridget husked out.

Celeste took advantage of her position to study the rise and fall of Bridget’s chest. She tugged Bridget’s earlobe before pinching it hard. “Are you working all night?”

A visible shiver shook Bridget’s body. “I’m scheduled until eleven, Mistress.”

“Meet me in the blue room after your shift.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Celeste released Bridget’s ear, stepped past her, and took the right hallway. The wide steel door of Yvonne Li’s office was painted black. In the center of the door, the emblem of the club shone red and silver. She rapped on the door. It slid open to reveal a bookcase-lined office and Yvonne behind her desk.

“You didn’t ask who it was,” Celeste chided.

“I’ve watched your spectacular ass from the time you entered.” Yvonne gestured to the wall of video monitors behind her. “And Bridget would never allow anyone not scheduled to disturb me in my office.

Celeste studied the bank of monitors. “Adequate. But every system has blind spots.”

“That’s why I have Lindsey and Bridget and their crew.”

Celeste shifted her gaze back to Yvonne. “You didn’t ask me here to critique your club’s security. And from the absence of subs, nor for a playdate. Why am I here, Yvonne?”

“I need a favor.”

Celeste opened her suit coat before she eased herself into the leather chair across from Yvonne’s desk. “Favor?”

“I need your personal protection services.”

Celeste moved to the edge of her chair. “Didn’t you just tell me how much you trust Lindsey and Bridget and the others with your safety?”

“Not for me. Anyone who came after me would have to go through them. I trust them with my life and with the lives of my family. I need your services for someone else.”

Celeste leaned back in her chair. “No. Not no, but fuck no. I’m out of the business. Let me call one of my former associates for you.” A chill chased down Celeste’s spine. “What the hell, Yvonne?” She shoved away her annoyance with both hands. She studied the dark circles under her friend’s eyes. “Is someone after Mai?”

Yvonne shook her head. “No. A dear friend.”

“Friend?”

“Sub.”

“Is she one of yours? Why can’t Lindsey handle it?”

“Because it’s beyond her expertise. I need someone with international experience.”

Celeste raised her gaze to the ceiling before bringing it back to Yvonne. “I’ll get you some names.”

“Damn it, Celeste, I don’t need names. I need you.” Yvonne’s eyes blazed fire. “She’s in danger. Has no idea how much. She is delulu and thinks I’m overreacting.”

Celeste huffed out a breath and rubbed the back of her neck. “I know you and Sally have an agreement, but you seem very invested in this woman.”

“What Sally and I have is none of your business. Yes, I am invested in her survival. Look, are you going to help me or not?” Yvonne pushed her hair back with her hand. “I’m not going to beg but you’re the only person for this job. Please. I am asking as your friend and as one Mistress to another.”

Celeste lifted a shoulder. “Look, you got me out of more than one jam. But my credentials are not up to-date. I let it all go after that mess with the Burlingtons. I’m not—”

“This is off the books.” Yvonne drew her fingers over a dark-blue file folder on the desk.

Celeste squinted. “Protection off the books? Who did she kill?”

“No one. But some people have spent and will spend a large portion of their lives behind bars because of her.”

“Drugs? I don’t fuck with drug cartels.” Celeste smoothed her fingers over the hem of her short skirt.

“You mean you don’t anymore.” Yvonne held her gaze.

“Water under the bridge. So, what is it?”

“Art.”

“Art?”

She was a key witness in an international art fraud case.”

“And?”

“And in the last nine months, six members of the prosecutor’s office and investigative team involved with the case have died under suspicious circumstances. Car accidents, falls from high places, or simply vanished. On the surface it seems like a series of coincidences.” Yvonne leaned back in her wheelchair.

“So let the feds handle it.” Celeste shifted in her seat.

Yvonne lifted a perfectly shaped brow. “Are you high? Did you hear what I said? Might as well put a target on her back if the feds get involved.”

Celeste squirmed under Yvonne’s withering gaze. “It’s not— I don’t think—”

“Forget it. Get out.” Yvonne spun her wheelchair around, showing Celeste her back. Icy waves of anger radiated from her. Celeste studied the set of her shoulders. Yvonne had remained her friend when others had walked away, helped her when no one else would. Yvonne stood up to a powerful family on Celeste’s behalf and won. She owed her a debt she never expected to be able to repay.

Celeste stood and rounded the desk. “Hey. Look at me.”

“I don’t want to see your face. I believed you when you said you would do anything for me. For eight years I haven’t asked you for a damn thing.”

Guilt pricked Celeste’s skin. She shoved aside her fear. “I’ll do it.”

Yvonne kept her head turned from Celeste’s face. “No. I don’t need your pity. Nor resigned agreement. Get out. Leave me to think.”

“No. I’m not leaving. You said no one else can do this job. Let me do this. Sorry, I said no. You know why.”

“I do. And I’ll tell you now what I did then. None of it was your fault. Your client lied to you. Deliberately disobeyed your instructions. Her death was her own doing. I wouldn’t ask for your help if I didn’t think you are the one person who might be able to keep Lou safe.”

“Lou? Fuck boi Lou?” Celeste stepped back and away from Yvonne.

Yvonne spun her chair to face Celeste. “Don’t slut-shame. Yes, Lou. She is a flirt. As you have witnessed, no doubt. But she is the least promiscuous person I know.”

Celeste rested her hands on her hips. “She’s a trust fund baby. She could afford all the protection she needs. Why is this your responsibility?” She cocked her head. “Is she yours?”

“As much as she is anyone’s.” Yvonne rubbed her hands together. “She started coming here as a fresh-faced twenty-three-year-old, a fine arts graduate student, green as hell.”

“You trained her? Were you her first Mistress?” Celeste squinted, trying to imagine Yvonne with a butch sub.

“No. Not my type. But I arranged for others to teach her protocol, safety, and consent. She’s evolved into a sub who makes every Mistress she ever scened with hungry for more. She’s skilled in all the right ways, and she knows it. She has used it to get whatever and whoever she wants.” Yvonne pursed her lips. “She’s cocky as hell and dares you take her down. A top from the bottom ass, but her submission is tantalizing and addictive. She could have her pick of Mistresses.”

“So why isn’t she someone’s? No one strong enough for her?”

“No. She came close once. It ended badly.”

“How badly?”

“Stalking. Restraining order for the Mistress. I blame myself I didn’t see the signs.”

Celeste crossed to the chair opposite Yvonne’s desk. She shed her suit coat before she sat. “Give me her file.”

Yvonne laid her hand on top of it. “No going back once you see this.”

Celeste tilted her head and met Yvonne’s gaze. “When have I ever backed down?”

Yvonne shoved the file toward Celeste. “I won’t remind you of you closing your business and ghosting the world for the last eight years.”

“Don’t. And I wasn’t ghosting anyone. I want a quiet life.”

“Quiet lives are overrated.” Yvonne lifted her chin. “What can I get you to drink while you’re reading?”

“A nonalcoholic ginger beer.”

Yvonne’s mouth lifted in a crooked grin. “Ahh yes, you’re seeing Bridget later. She’s missed you. What do you have planned for her?”

“What are you—a lip reader? Or do you have the place wired for sound as well as video?”

“Wired for both.”

Celeste shifted her gaze from Yvonne’s eager expression to the clock. “I’m not telling you anything. Tune in later if you’re curious.” She opened the thick folder.

Yvonne called in their drink order while Celeste scanned the first page of Lou’s file. The passport photo clipped to the first page didn’t do Lou justice, but then how could an image capture the essence of a sexy bold butch unafraid to be herself?

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Brenda Murphy (she/her) writes erotic romance. Her most recent novel, Double Six, is the 2020 Golden Crown Literary Society winner for Erotic Novels, and Knotted Legacy, the third book in the Rowan House series, made the 2018 The Lesbian Review’s Top 100 Vacation Reads list. You can catch her musings on writing, books, and living with wicked ADHD on her blog Writing While Distracted. She loves sideshows and tattoos and yes, those are her monkeys. When she is not loitering at her local library, she wrangles twins, one dog, and an unrepentant parrot 

I hope you enjoy reading this book as much as I enjoyed writing it. For a free short story, information on book signings, appearances, work in progress snippets, previews and sneak-peeks, sign up for my email list at:

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Discover Incubus by Jonathan Wright

Title: Incubus

Author: Jonathan Wright

Cover Art: Bryan Keller

Genres: Action Adventure, BDSM, Dark Fantasy, Mystery & Suspense, New Releases, Paranormal, Romance

Themes: Age Gap (Older Man), Capture Fantasy, Dark Romance, LGBTQ+ /Bisexual, Nonbinary, Transgender, Magic, Sorcery, and Witchcraft, Military, Veterans, and First Responders, Multicultural & Interracial, Voyeurism and Exhibitionism

Series: Joseph Horn (#6)

Book Length: Novella

Page Count: 30

Synopsis

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

Life -- and love -- with a man who fights nightmares is bound to be… different.

Smart, capable, and lethal, Sarah Fenton never needed rescuing -- until she met Joe Horn and his horrifying nemesis, the muck-drippy-thing. Together they defeated that nightmare, and for the first time in decades Joe could stop running.

In the process, Sarah discovered her weakness -- Joe. The hard-as-nails woman becomes Joe’s willing sub -- his slave girl. Joe is a perfect Dom, but Sarah has even darker fantasies -- lurid, sensual and totally submissive. Sometimes, they even come to life.

Now one of them is stalking her, and she feels the awful temptation of nightmarish pleasure. The darker the fantasy, the more intense the pleasure. Pleasure stronger than any drug. Pleasure that threatens to drown her. The pleasure of surrender… to an Incubus.

Excerpt

Incubus (Joseph Horn 6)
Jonathan Wright
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2025 Jonathan Wright

Jongo infested her fantasies, dark, muscular, commanding. Sarah masturbated three or four times a day thinking of him coming to take her, dragging her by her hair, stumbling naked from the house, immune to his kicks and punches, honed by years of training that would kill an ordinary man.

Not ordinary, Jongo. Not him. No. Her struggles only fed his burning hunger. And hers. As now. As naked as she was, his huge cock throbbing and bouncing as he walked, his grip was casual, yet inhumanly strong.

Stronger even than Joe, whom she had called Master more often than not. But this wasn’t really about Joe…

* * *

Exhausted, struggling to keep her feet as she stumbled, Sarah gave up, then was dragged, then followed him limply, his grip in her thick hair making her walk head down, like a slave, cursing, then crying, then sobbing… please, please, please.

Please, what? The demon’s strength, already huge, increased as he stepped out of the trees onto the beach. As his foot touched the water, he dragged her upright until she stood with her head tilted back, staring up at him. He pushed her away, his hooded eyes nearly invisible in the shadows of the moon. “Kneel.” He grinned as he stroked his cock with his free hand.

Sarah stumbled and fell into knee-deep water. Rising, sputtering as water streamed down her body, defiance failed her; words choked her. She breathed heavily, staring at his cock.

“Recall how I took you before, so easily, wrapping you in my vines, my seaweed, stroking your hungry body until you begged me to take you. How I made you scream my name.”

Her legs quivered. She wanted to curse him, scream for help, for Joe to… rescue…

Sarah had never in her life needed rescuing. Except for one time…

* * *

The wind sucked her along the dirty cement floor, into the waiting maw of that THING, the muck-drippy-thing, as she steadied the pistol and emptied the fourteen-round clip into its indescribable excuse for a face as the spindly spider arms reached for her…

Then Joe was there, grabbing her by the collar and pulling her back. Stronger than any man she had ever known. Pulling her back from the edge. Saving her.

* * *

Sarah hadn’t felt weak. Not then. Not like she felt now.

Weak. So weak. Why do I feel this way? Jongo is a monster, a creature from the icy black depths of the harshest place on earth. Why do I feel so fucking hot?

She stroked her clit with one hand as she slowly sank to her knees in the warm, swirling water. She spread the fingers of her other hand and teased her nipples, shivering as she imagined being held against her will in the depths of his lair.

“You are helpless,” Jongo told her. “Helpless.” A ritual. A spell.

Yes. Helpless! Helpless! I am helpless! Her mouth fell open. She arched her back, presenting her full tits.

I have to stop. I have to be strong! “No!” she gasped in a purposely seductive parody of defiance. Wait. Purposely? Like I want this?

Jongo grinned and said nothing, continued stroking his cock. His huge, erect cock. She couldn’t stop looking at it. At him. I love cock. I love it. Joe says I’m a cock-hungry slut. I get wet when he whispers that to me.

Helpless… His voice faded, still there, still commanding. She came with a short, harsh cry as the orgasm claimed her.

Jongo laughed. “You have already surrendered. Do as I command! Keep stroking yourself!”

She did. I can’t stop. I can’t disobey him. It feels so good to obey. I want more!

“Think how my hard cock will feel in your hot, wet cunt. You will beg for it. Beg for it, woman! Beg for my cock! For when you do, when I plunge into you, you will be mine. My slave. Forever!”

Sarah came again, moaning this time, closing her eyes and thrusting hard, pushing her fingers deep into her soft tits. “Yes! Jongo, fuck me! Yes! Make me your slave! Make me your slave!”

She dropped back into the water as he fell on her, forcing her legs apart, driving his cock into her, driving her will deep down into the chill, black depths of his domain where it dissolved like tendrils of ink. She wrapped her legs around him and thrust mindlessly, screaming as she came and came and…

* * *

Sarah lay on the table on the veranda, sweating, her tits heaving, her knees spread, hips moving rhythmically up and down in time with her frantic thrusts as she came for the fifth time. “Ah, fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” She rammed the dildo into her cunt one final time before slowly drawing it out. Her whole body quivered, drenched in sweat, as she lowered her legs and stretched, groaning.

“Well, I think you must clean off that table before you use it for anything else.”

Sarah gasped in shock, but without shame or embarrassment.

Belle stood not three feet away, a gorgeous Jamaican woman of medium height and surpassing curves, dressed in paint spattered clothes and carrying various implements of artistic creation. “You missing your man Joe? He’s only been gone a day.” Belle arched one elegant brow for emphasis.

Sarah dropped the dildo and draped one arm over her sweaty face. “You have no idea…” Joe liked to watch her fuck herself like that. Imagining him doing so made it hotter for her.

Belle chuckled and began setting up an easel. “So hot for your Dom, you maybe forget we had an appointment to paint those luscious curves?”

Purchase at Changeling Press

Meet the Author

Jonathan Wright retired to the northeast, where he is surrounded by family and trees in about equal numbers. In his free time he enjoys thinking up erotically terrifying situations for his characters, who insist they don’t like that sort of thing. When he isn’t writing about slavering fangs in the dark he does weird-ass paintings.

He has a daughter who will admit to the relationship under duress. He puts up with her because she makes great cookies.

We don't know why she puts up with him.

 

Book Spotlight/Giveaway: Holiday Fatigue

Title: Holiday Fatigue

Author: Emily Carrington

Publisher: Changeling Press

Cover Art: Angela Knight

Genres: Action Adventure, BDSM, Contemporary, Mystery & Suspense, New Releases, Romance

Themes: 2nd Chance Romance, Christmas, LGBTQ+ /Gay, Medical Romance, Multicultural & Interracial

Series: Marisburg Chronicles (#7)

Multiverse: Sticks & Stones (#3)

Book Length: Novella

Page Count: 74

Synopsis

For husbands Peter and Abe, Christmas is a time for miracles -- and unexpected party crashers.

Peter is all set to make this Christmas season the best for his husband. That is, until a cat is all but thrown into his lap and an unexpected and unwanted man crashes at their house for the holidays. Worse than the lack of privacy is the curtailing of their light BDSM play.

Abe can’t say no when an old flame begs for a place to stay. Temporarily. This man has fallen on hard times and needs a little kindness. However, there’s something more he wants than a roof over his head. As Abe struggles against seasonal depression, a couple of cats come to enliven the home he shares with Peter.

Between grief, jealousy, and a prying houseguest, can Abe and Peter kindle their spirits toward lovemaking and the holidays?

WARNING: Holiday Fatigue includes references to cutting behavior and thoughts of suicide that may be triggers for some readers, as well as mention of animal cruelty.

Excerpt

Holiday Fatigue (Marisburg Chronicles 7)
Emily Carrington
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2025 Emily Carrington

Peter didn’t love the end of the semester, no matter that it meant a day off from teaching. He would much rather be filling his students’ heads with math facts than plugging in grades. Of course, if he hadn’t left so many assignments till the last minute, having graded them but not bothered to put them in the computer… He threw up his hands in exasperation and then signed, to no one in particular, “Why do I always do this to myself?”

He glanced around, seeing he was still alone in the classroom he shared with another co-teacher. He would normally not worry about others seeing him sign. Most people were hearing folks and didn’t know more than the alphabet, if they even knew that much, in ASL. He worked, though, at a school for the deaf, and the chances of someone knowing he was frustrated were high.

Probably some of the other teachers were in the same boat, having pushed off putting grades in the computer until this, the last day of the quarter before winter break. That was of no comfort when his co-teacher, Laura, was done with her grades and was hanging out somewhere in the building until three o’clock.

He darted a glance at his watch, saw he only had an hour and a half to finish inputting grades, and signed a little F-bomb.

An hour later found him sweating and swearing in his head, trying to work so fast that his fingers kept tripping over each other.

Someone touched his shoulder. He jumped a foot. Turning in his chair, he saw Laura gazing at him with a look of concern on her face. Then that expression passed and she wrinkled her nose at him before signing, “Are you still working?”

He nodded, wanting to return to his work but not wanting to put his back to her. That was rude.

“Give me your login and the list of remaining grades. We’ll divide and conquer.”

He hesitated, but only for an instant. Laura wasn’t the type to make offers like this every day. “Thank you,” he signed. “Why are you --”

“Consider it the gift from your Secret Santa.” She smirked. “You forgot we were exchanging gifts in the teacher’s lounge at 2:30, didn’t you?”

“Guilty,” he responded.

“Give me your login and I’ll help. Then you need to give your gift before your person leaves.”

“Too late,” Peter signed back before handing her a stack of graded papers. Hands free again, he signed, “Brent’s already left for the day. His kid got an ear infection on the last day of school.”

“Sucks,” she signed, her face sympathetic.

He jotted down his computer info and walked it over to her as she booted up her machine. “Thank you, Laura. Really.”

“I forgot to get you a gift,” she admitted.

“This is better than some ten-dollar token,” he assured her.

At exactly 2:58, he shut down his computer. Laura, who was a faster typist than he was, had finished her stack about five minutes earlier.

“Go home,” she signed. “Just don’t count on me saving your ass in the spring.”

He got out as soon as he could, his thoughts turning from gratitude to dreams of his husband. Abe, named for the poet and playwright Kobo Abe, wasn’t a fan of this particular holiday. Peter had been slowly changing that for his lover over the years, but each year it was a struggle to find out what would help Abe forget his pain.

He waved at another teacher as he headed for the main doors. This was a relatively new guy and for a moment, Peter couldn’t remember his name.

“Hi, Peter,” the unnamed man signed. “Have a good break.”

Peter frowned, realized he probably looked like the proverbial grouch, and held up a hand for the new teacher to stop. “What’s your name?” he signed.

“Estaban.” He grinned. “Spanish as the day is long and a gift from my immigrant parents that I don’t always appreciate.”

Yes, Peter remembered now. He hadn’t interacted with the new Spanish teacher since he’d arrived here two months ago because he was on another floor and that might as well be in another kingdom. “Sorry,” he apologized. “My brain is…” He shrugged.

“Already on break?” Estaban suggested.

Well, in a way, Peter thought as he excused himself and went outside. He walked to the sidewalk that paralleled the street. He could order a shared ride from the front of the school, but he felt restless. It was two hours before Abe would even be thinking about coming home. All day, Peter had been thinking, not of the grades or his lackadaisical way of letting them pile up, but of his husband and Christmas. Now, as he turned down Forrest Street in Colton, which was the college town closest to their home in Marisburg, he considered his unusual agitation. Abe had been acting steady as the day was long for a while now. There was no reason to expect he’d sink into depression. Even if he did, it wasn’t as if depression was his choice.

Peter looked up when he saw a flash of color out of the corner of his eye and had to smile. Every single tree had lights in their branches. Most of the lights were the beautiful, if common, white ones. The tree he was currently looking at had been decorated in tiny, colorful orbs. He smiled up at the tree that stood out. He touched the bark of the tree and grinned in appreciation. He would bring Abe down to see this tree. They’d call it the “Christmas Pride” tree.

Having a plan for this Thursday night at last, even if it was only to view a tree that stood out among its fellows, Peter took out his phone to order his shared ride. Before he could drop his gaze to the screen, he was caught off guard by another swash of color, this time moving fast. Self-preservation made him look up as a car, slowing abruptly, seemed to coast in front of him. With the colorfully decorated tree in the way, he couldn’t see everything clearly, but something was hurled out of the passenger window before the car sped off again.

People were such slobs. He wasn’t a trash collector by nature, but something about the white and black thing thrown out of the car’s window caught his attention. It was the right size to be any number of things, but the way it had twisted in midair… He went to the snowdrift where the careless people had aimed… and when he peered into the hole made by the object, he saw yellowish eyes looking back at him.

He gaped even as he tore off his winter coat and stooped to scoop up the little animal. It was a kitten, he realized, or a very small cat if it was full-grown. Mostly white with black splotches, it hissed at him as he bundled it into his coat.

The little critter wriggled hard and managed to get a paw free. The cat lashed out with razor-sharp claws and if not for Peter’s gloves, he would have taken quite the injury. As it was, one tiny cat nail caught in the leather of his right glove and the cat opened its mouth wide, surely making quite a fuss.

Peter carefully freed the little demon’s claw and reworked the bundling so the cat wouldn’t hurt him. If he’d been tossed out of a moving car, he’d be pissed too.

As he trekked back to the school, thinking of having the nurse check out the little feline monster before he took them home, the cat’s name flashed in his mind, and he grinned even as he cautioned himself that surely he and Abe couldn’t keep this little fighter. He’d try to impress upon whoever ended up with the cat that his or her name was Catankerous.

As he walked, goose bumps popped out on his arms, which were covered only by a short-sleeved polo because the school tended to run hot. He thought about nuzzling Catankerous, but the wicked gleam in their eyes made him reconsider. He wished he could speak to them, let them know help was coming.

Maybe two dozen steps from the front doors of the school, the cat settled down and quit struggling. Then, through the coat where he’d pressed it against his chest, Peter felt the attack cat begin to purr.

Purchase at Changeling Press

Meet the Author

Emily Carrington is a multipublished author of male/male and transgender women’s speculative fiction. Seeking a world made of equality, she created SearchLight to live out her dreams. But even SearchLight has its problems, and Emily is looking forward to working all of these out with a host of characters from dragons and genies to psychic vampires. And in the contemporary world she’s named “Sticks & Stones,” Emily has vowed to create small towns where prejudice is challenged by a passionate quest for equality. Find her on Facebook at Shapeshifter Central or on her website.

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Shapeshifter Central

   

Book Tour Stop/Giveaway: The Boss by Gale Stanley

   

Title:  The Boss

Author: Gale Stanley

Publisher: Changeling Press LLC

Release Date: August 29. 2023

Cover Art: Bryan Keller

Genres: BDSM, Contemporary, New Releases, Romance

Themes: Age Gap (Older Man), LGBTQ+ /Gay, Second Edition

Series: Roosters (#8)

Multiverse: Roosters (#1)

Book Length: Novella

Page Count: 49

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

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

Excerpt

The Boss (Roosters)
Second Edition
Gale Stanley
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2025 Gale Stanley

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have a seat, Mr. Marshall.”

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

Purchase at Changeling Press LLC

Meet the Author

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

Some things never change.

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Giveaway

One lucky winner will receive a $10.00 Changeling Press Gift Code! 

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Book Spotlight/Giveaway: Kitten's Bunny

Title: Kitten's Bunny

Author: Wanda Violet O.

Cover Art: Marteeka Karland

Genres: BDSM, Contemporary, New Releases, Razor's Edge Erotica, Romance

Themes: Age Gap (Older Man), LGBTQ+ /Bisexual, Nonbinary, Transgender, Mafia & Organized Crime, Multiple Partners /Polyamory, Voyeurism and Exhibitionism

Series: Billionaire Daddy Doms -- Bunny (#3)

Multiverse: Billionaire Daddy Doms (#1)

Book Length: Novella

Page Count: 34

Synopsis

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

I’ve never been happier in my life than I am since I’ve come to live with Max. Then I meet Kitten and my world changes again. She’s kind and sweet and, oh, so sensual. 

I’m about to find out what it’s like to be Kitten’s Bunny.

Excerpt

Kitten's Bunny (Billionaire Daddy Doms -- Bunny 3)

Wanda Violet O.

All rights reserved.

Copyright ©2025 Wanda Violet O.

“There you are, Bunny!”

I had been enjoying the warm spring air wafting through the open window and seating a bunny tail butt plug into my ass when the door to the bedroom I shared with Max burst open. I was bent over at the waist adjusting the end of the tail while looking back in a three-way mirror set up specifically for this purpose. The plug had a curved silicone extension that fit between my cheeks so that the puffy tail sat at the base of my spine.

I grinned over my shoulder at the small woman. She had on a headband with cat ears and a long, furry cat tail that swished with the sway of her hips as she moved. Normally. Right now, the tail was trailing along behind her as she bounded toward me in her excitement. Like me, the ears and tail were all she was wearing. I barely got turned around before she threw herself at me. Kitten was very affectionate, once she got to know you.

I wasn’t too proud to admit the feel of Kitten’s lithe body pressed against mine was a bit of a turn on. Though I appreciated a beautiful body, whether man or woman, I’d never been particularly attracted to a woman before. But Kitten was special, and I was certainly susceptible to her charms. Probably because, since I’d been with Max, he’d kept me in a heightened state of arousal almost continually. And I enjoyed every fucking second of our play.

I returned her hug with a tight, happy hug of my own. “I’m almost ready. Do you know what’s going on?”

Kitten nipped my ear playfully. “Yep. Come on.”

I laughed at her lightheartedness. Kitten loved to play. Right now, she had what looked like a case of the zoomies. She’d most certainly been aptly named. We’d been fast friends almost from the moment we met. Had that been five months ago? Daddy Jacob had insisted on waiting to introduce me to Kitten until he was sure I wasn’t going to hurt her by leaving abruptly. He’d been right. Kitten loved with her whole heart, and I was honored to have found a place in her life. “Wait! I need my ears!”

Kitten huffed out a mock exasperated breath, but I saw her lips twitch. “So high maintenance. It’s a good thing you have me.” We giggled as she helped me with my bunny ears and gave my hair one last fluff. “Max will be so proud of you.” Practically bouncing on her toes, she gave me a huge smile as she moved around the room looking for… something. Another accessory for my hair? Different bunny ears? I was partial to the pink ones. In the end she didn’t change anything, only fussed over me. With every excited squeal, Kitten’s breasts jiggled enticingly. I knew she had a child, and maybe there were a few stretch marks on her tummy, but her body was tight and toned, her breasts small but firm and perfectly formed.

“Are we ready? I think we’re ready!” The smile on Kitten’s face was so beautiful she nearly took my breath. She was flushed with excitement, which fueled my own anticipation. Whatever was about to happen was something she was looking forward to in the extreme.

It wasn’t unusual for us to help each other get ready when one of our men decided to share us. Kitten often helped me pick out different tails and ears when my turn came to be the entertainment after one of Daddy Jacob’s meetings. We always had great fun.

We hurried down the long hall together, both of us giggling. I was hand in hand with Kitten as she took us to the grand staircase. Naked. Fun times! We skipped playfully down the stairs, laughing the whole way. I was becoming more and more aroused the longer I was in Kitten’s company. The woman simply oozed sex appeal, and I was not immune. I didn’t know the protocol for this kind of situation, so I’d feel much better once I was with Max again. Or at least had him give me the OK to do whatever.

Enzo stood at the bottom of the stairs, greeting us with a warm smile. He was not only in charge of security for all of us, but also Daddy Jacob’s oldest and most trusted friend. Kitten launched herself at Enzo with a squeal, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist in delight.

Enzo’s warm chuckle filled the massive formal entry hall. “Ah, little Kitten. You’re full of energy this evening, aren’t you?”

“I am, Enzo. Are you joining us later?” Kitten smiled up at him. Enzo’s affection for Kitten was obvious. Same as Kitten’s affection for Enzo was plain to see.

The big man gave her one hard squeeze before gently setting her on her feet. “Afraid not. I’m sure I’ll see you both soon though.” He gave me a wink as he bent to kiss Kitten on the lips. She giggled and wrapped her arms back around him so he could deepen the kiss, sweeping his tongue into her mouth until Kitten was purring like, well, a Kitten.

“Enzo.” Daddy Jacob stepped out of his study and leaned against the doorframe, shaking his head. If I’d thought Daddy Jacob would be angry or jealous another man was kissing his wife, I’d have been wrong. Daddy Jacob grinned and shook his head as if Kitten’s antics amused him. “Would you be so kind as to allow me the use of my wife this evening?”

Enzo smiled down at Kitten with affection and not a small amount of lust. “Only if you let me have the privilege of her company later in the week when I’m not on duty.”

“You’re always on duty,” Daddy Jacob shot back, but his lips spread wider and his eyes were merry. “But I think we can work something out.”

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

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