Decadent… Sensual… Forbidden…
12 Masters. 12 Desires. 12 Fantasies Come to Life.
Meet the Masters of Blasphemy…
Releasing October 11, 2016, BOUND TO SUBMIT is the first full-length novel in Laura Kaye’s erotic new Blasphemy Series, and today we have a teaser excerpt just for you! Check it out below!
About Bound to Submit:
From the ruins of an abandoned church comes Baltimore’s hottest and most exclusive BDSM club. Twelve Masters. Infinite fantasies. Welcome to Blasphemy…
He thinks he caused her pain, but she knows he’s the only one who can heal her…
Kenna Sloane lost her career and her arm in the Marines, and now she feels like she’s losing herself. Submission is the only thing that ever freed her from pain and made her feel secure, and Kenna needs to serve again. Bad. The only problem is the Dom she wants once refused her submission and broke her heart, but, scarred on the inside and out, she’s not looking for love this time. She’s not even sure she’s capable.
Griffin Hudson is haunted by the mistakes that cost him the only woman he ever loved. Now she’s back at his BDSM club, Blasphemy, and more beautiful than ever, and she’s asking for his help with the pain he knows he caused. Even though he’s scared to hurt her again, he can’t refuse her, because he’d give anything to earn a second chance. And this time, he’ll hold on forever.
Pre-Order Bound to Submit in ebook or paperback, releasing 10/11/16
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From Laura Kaye:
Hey everyone! I’m super excited to share an excerpt from my upcoming Bound to Submit, the first official book in my brand new and super hot Blasphemy series! I’m excited about this one for so many reasons—because writing this series is such a guilty, fun pleasure, because the heroine in this book is a kick-ass veteran amputee, and because I love writing the brotherhood between the Doms at this club. I hope you enjoy Blasphemy, too! So here’s a little taste of the battle of wills coming in Bound to Submit – enjoy!
After five years, Kenna Sloane stood in front of him. Only, something was different about her now. Restrained, even. Griffin studied her for a long moment. She held her position beautifully, as she always had, with her posture perfect and her feet spread and her arms folded behind her back. The blond hair was different. In the year they’d played together, he’d rarely seen it her natural color, and he grew to enjoy the surprise of how she’d change for him, liking a butterfly ever transforming anew.
But that wasn’t what was tripping his internal alarms. He focused on her face. There. The cool distance in her eyes. The careful neutral of the expression. This was a woman who’d fearlessly and sometimes brazenly worn her emotions on her sleeves. A woman whose feelings he’d seen in her revealing eyes long before she’d voiced them all those years ago. But now, only her mouth dropping open revealed some little chink in her carefully crafted armor.
She was still stunningly beautiful, though. Breathtaking.
“It’s good to see you after all this time, Kenna,” he finally said in what amounted to a monumental understatement.
“Master Griffin,” she said, her voice as cool as her expression. When had Kenna ever been so reserved with him? Since you rejected her?
The truth of that launched a sinking feeling in his gut that he kept from being reflected on his face. “Have you moved back to Baltimore or is this just a visit?”
She frowned and her eyes searched his, like the question had surprised her. “Oh, uh, yes. I moved back.”
“I see,” he said, letting his gaze wander. Down the slender column of her throat. Lingering on the beautiful plunging neckline of her bodysuit. Over her long, toned legs. His hands itched for some rope. His mind raced with the patterns he wanted to make on her naked skin. His ears strained to hear the throaty, gasping moans she’d release as he bound her tight and sure and irrevocably to him. The desires made him hard for her. “Then welcome home.”
“Thank you, Sir,” she said quietly.
He wanted to grab her by the arms, shake her, embrace her. Something to elicit some of the old passion. But he’d lost the right to expect that from her, hadn’t he?
So what did she want?
“So, did you want—”
“Master Griffin, can we—”
They both chuckled at speaking at the same time, but the awkwardness was evident in the sound of his laugh and the expression on her face. He hated it, how out of sync they were after once being so well matched that Griffin kicked himself every day for letting her go. He knew how rare that was, and he hated himself for not seeing it then. Not cherishing it, as he should’ve.
“Kenna, are you here to talk or play tonight?”
“Both, Sir,” she whispered.
He tilted his head. “And, were you hoping to do those things with me?” He couldn’t assume, not after everything. But his body was like a rope pulled taut in anticipation of her answer.
She licked her lips, and Griffin felt it everywhere, because the simple action revealed that she wasn’t as unaffected as she was putting on. “Yes, Sir. If you’re available. And, uh—” Her shoulder moved in a tiny nervous shrug. “—interested.”
Relief and heat flooded through his veins. Kenna Sloane was here for him, after all this time. He leaned in and put his face next to hers, his mouth near her ear. “Oh, little Kenna, I’m fucking interested, all right.”
The goosebumps that sprung up on her face where their skin touched felt like victory. She wasn’t unaffected at all. But he’d let her have this reserve. For now.
He pulled back and nailed her with a stare. “Now, let’s go have that talk.”
“A searingly sexy story with some of the hottest scenes I’ve read in a long, long time. Laura Kaye shows her mastery of the BDSM world. I’m eagerly anticipating more in this bold new series!“
~ Cherise Sinclair, NYT Bestselling Author of the Masters of the Shadowlands Series
“Smoldering and sexy, Laura Kaye’s Blasphemy series is everything I look for in a romance. Haunted heroes and strong heroines populate this one of a kind club and I can’t wait to see the big bad Doms fall one by one.”
~ Lexi Blake, NYT Bestselling Author of the Masters and Mercenaries Series
Meet the Masters of Blasphemy in Hard to Serve, now available
Amazon exclusive until September 2016 in paperback and ebook
About Laura Kaye:
Laura is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of over twenty-five books in contemporary and paranormal romance and romantic suspense, including the Hard Ink and Raven Riders series. Growing up, Laura’s large extended family believed in the supernatural, and family lore involving angels, ghosts, and evil-eye curses cemented in Laura a life-long fascination with storytelling and all things paranormal. She lives in Maryland with her husband, two daughters, and cute-but-bad dog, and appreciates her view of the Chesapeake Bay every day.
Heavy footsteps roused me from my stupor. I don’t know how long exactly I’d been sitting in the bathtub, staring off at nothing, pondering the catastrophe my life had become. Couldn’t have been too long since sunlight still lit the room.
The footsteps came closer and closer. And then they entered the room. Oh, shit. I froze, not even daring to breathe. There was a loud yawn, followed by the cracking of joints. Then a large hand reached in beside the closed shower curtain and turned on the tap. A torrent of ice cold water poured down. It was like a billion itty-bitty knives stabbing at my skin. All of the scratches and raw patches from earlier stung like shit. I gritted my teeth, shoulders hiked up to around my ears as if that would provide any protection.
Yep, I sat there, all huddled up, listening to the man take a leak.
Awesome. Just plain awesome.
Wasn’t like I could jump out and interrupt the man midflow. And say what? I knew this was not a good situation to get caught in.
- I’d basically broken into this guy’s house.
- And had then gone on making myself right at home, having a messy emotional breakdown in his bathtub.
Normal, rational people didn’t do this sort of thing. I didn’t even have a criminal record, had never particularly done anything outlandish or interesting until now. This was all Chris’s fault, the bastard. I’d just have to make the best of it and hope this guy had a sense of humor.
Just as the water began to warm, he flushed the john and freezing cold water drenched me anew. I’d been about to open my mouth and announce my presence, but that put an end to that. Needles of icy cold water pelted down on my skin. I fucking froze. Teeth gritted, I suppressed a squeal of pain and rage.
Then the shower curtain flew back.
“Shit!” The man was very tall, very naked, and very surprised. He stumbled back a step, a hand clutching at the bench behind him, eyes furious and wide. “What the hell?”
I opened my mouth, closed it. Language skills had apparently abandoned me. In total silence, the man and I stared at each other.
Even with no clothing to take cues from, the dude was clearly the epitome of cool. He looked about my age, or maybe a little older. He had longish red-blond hair, dark blue eyes set in an angular face, a lean but muscular torso covered in tattoos, and a rather large cock. Not that I meant to check him out, it’s just kind of hard to ignore a penis and scrotum when they’re dangling right in front of your face. I tilted my head, trying to get some perspective. Every viewpoint, however, was equally shocking. There was dick as far as the eye could see.
And I should stop ogling him. Right.
“Hi.” With a calm I didn’t even vaguely feel, I reached up and turned off the tap. Much better. His monster penis had momentarily derailed me, but I was back on track now. Time to talk myself out of this mess. “Hey.”
“What the fuck are you doing in my house?” he asked flatly.
“Right. Well . . .” I neatly tucked my dripping-wet shoulder-length blond hair back behind my ears. As if that would help. My winged eyeliner and false lashes were probably halfway down my cheeks. “I, um, I . . .”
“I’m Lydia,” I said, the first thing to come to mind.
No reply. His handsome face, however, took on a distinctly pissy expression. Even his strawberry-blond hair seemed a fiery hue. Fine, so we weren’t swapping names and getting cozy. Fair enough. You wouldn’t believe how hard it was, keeping my eyes on his face. The struggle was real. It might have been due to my not seeing one in so long, but his dick seemed almost hypnotic. The thing had magical powers, I swear. It was so big and mobile, subtly swaying every time he moved. My gaze kept darting down despite my best efforts.
Finally he put me out of my misery, grabbing a towel off a nearby rack and wrapping it around his waist. It made for quite the hot-looking miniskirt. Not just any man could have pulled off such a look.
But back to my explanations.
“Ah, firstly, I’d just like to say sorry about this.” I waved a hand at him and his bathroom and, well everything, really. “For any inconvenience I might have caused here in your bathroom.”
The guy stood tall, looming over me with his hands on hips. Tattoos covered his arms to his wrists. Still, he had a whole lot of sinew on show. Definitely not the kind of man you’d want to mess with. Dude could probably snap me in half in a second. I bet he was a tattoo model, or a biker, or a pirate, or something. Something a lot hot and more than a little scary.
Shit. I really should have chosen another house.
“I don’t normally break into people’s places and hide out in their tub,” I babbled, on the verge of incoherency. “So I’m really sorry. Seriously. So very sorry. But you’ve got a lovely home.”
“Not that, I mean, that’s not why I’m here. I just . . .” Fucking hell, my mind was a disaster. I took a deep breath, letting it out nice and slow, before trying again. “I love the old Arts and Crafts bungalows, don’t you? They have such soul.”
His brows drew tight. “Are you high? What the fuck are you on?”
“You haven’t been popping any pills or snorting something?”
“No, I swear.”
“Nothing to drink?”
“I haven’t had anything,” I said, but the suspicion and anger still lined his face. Paired with the stubble on his chin and the shadows beneath his eyes, my unwilling host was one tired, cranky man. Couldn’t really blame him.
“So you’re completely sober,” he said.
“You’re thinking I’m bat-shit crazy now, aren’t you?” I asked, despite the answer sitting plain as day on his pretty face.
“Pretty much, yeah.”
Oh, god. “I’m not. I’m sane.”
“You sure about that?” He looked down the long line of his nose at me, distinctly unimpressed. “Seen a lot of weird shit in my years. Stuff like you wouldn’t believe. But I got to tell you, right now, this . . . you, are taking the cake.”
“Great.” And I was so definitely probably going to jail. Someone ought to give me a cookie. My ability to take a bad situation and make it worse today was amazing.
“You touch any of my stuff?” he asked. “Take anything?”
“Yes, your sofa is cunningly hidden down the front of my dress. You won’t believe where I fit the TV.”
Again, his eyes narrowed dangerously. “Between you and me, probably not the time to be funny, babe.”
Crap. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. You have every right to be mad.”
“Damn right, I do.”
I nodded, contrite. “I haven’t touched any of your things.”
The dude just stood there, staring. Lots going on behind his eyes. None of which I could read.
A stray tear trickled down my face. It must have saved itself up just for the occasion. Gah. How pathetic. I sniffled, brushing it off hurriedly with the back of my hand.
“Fuck’s sake,” he muttered.
“I really am sorry about this. The truth is, I just needed somewhere to hide for a little while. I didn’t mean to freak you out.”
He sighed. It wasn’t a happy sound. “Lydia?”
“Yes?” Despite my best efforts, my voice trembled slightly.
“Look at me.”
I did so. He still looked cranky and crazy cool while I remained a hot mess.
“I’m Vaughan,” he said.
He tipped his chin and silence fell between us once more.
With the tip of his tongue rubbing at his upper lip, he looked at the wide open window, and then back at me. Yep, that’s how I’d gotten in. Houdini had nothing on my mad skills.
“What are you doing in my house, Lydia? The truth.”
“It’s kind of a long story, actually.” Along with being excruciatingly embarrassing. But then, what wasn’t about this day?
Vaughan crossed his arms over his wide chest and waited me out while I fussed with my ruined skirts and tried to come up with a way to spin the story to not make me look a complete fool. Christ, the holes in my stockings were huge. On one side, my entire foot stuck out. So screwed.
Vaughan crouched by the side of the tub, resting his arms on the side. Up close the shadows under his eyes seemed even bigger and darker against his pale skin. And there were bags big enough to use as carry-ons. Despite the strong lines of his lean face, the man looked done-in. Ready to sleep for a hundred years.
I knew that feeling.
“Looks like a wedding dress,” he said quietly.
“Yes, it is. I was going to get married today.” I took a deep breath, wiping my face with my hands. Just as expected, my palms came away smeared with black eye makeup. “Ah, boy. I must look a wreck.”
Without comment, Vaughan reached out and grabbed a towel, handing it to me. It was sort of threadbare, old. Dated like the rest of the house. I hadn’t seen more than one room, but real estate agents got a feel for these sort of things. Minimal upkeep for the past five or so years would have been my guess. Perhaps it’d even been left empty. Bushes out front hid the house from view, so I’d never gotten a good look at it before.
“Thank you.” I patted myself dry with the towel as best I could. What remained of my beautiful dress was a sopping wet ruin. “I’m sorry I broke into your house, Vaughan. I swear I don’t normally do this sort of thing.”
“No,” he said, his voice deep. “Figured as much. Where’d you come from?”
“The big house at the back.”
His brow wrinkled. “You climbed over the fence?”
Tired, red-tinged eyes appraised me anew. “That’s a tall fence. Must have been one hell of an emergency.”
“It was a disaster.”
For a long moment he studied me, deep in thought. Then he sighed yet again, climbing to his feet.
“Are you going to call the cops on me?” I asked, my throat tight with tension. “I know you have every right to, I’m not disputing that. I’d just, I’d like to know. Mental preparation and all that.”
“No. I’m not.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.” My whole body sagged in relief.
Then he clapped his hands together, startling the crap out of me. “Okay, Lydia. Here’s what we’re going to do.”
“I arrived late this morning, have only had a few hours sleep. If I don’t get some coffee soon, things are going to get ugly. And you probably need to get dried off.” With no fuss, he held out his hand. “Let’s get shit sorted out. Then we can sit down and you can tell me the long story of how the hell you ended up in my house. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” I said, voice lightening.
He pulled me up. Then, with strong hands on my waist, lifted me out of the tub. Immediately water started dripping off of my saturated dress, pooling on the scuffed wooden flooring at my feet. Chris would have been distinctly unimpressed. Chris didn’t like messes. But as Vaughan didn’t seem to care, neither did I.
“You’re really not going to call the police?” I asked.
“No. Hold still,” he said, carefully plucking a fake eyelash from my cheek.
“Your dress is kind of fucked.” He looked me over from top to toe.
“I know,” I said sadly.
“I’ll leave you to get changed.”
“Wait. Please. I can’t get out of it on my own.”
“It’s vintage,” I explained with a grim face. “There’s no zip, just a line of little buttons up the back.”
“’Course there is.” Without another word, he turned me around and got started in on said buttons. As he worked, he hummed beneath his breath, the song vaguely familiar.
“Aren’t you still mad?” I asked, perplexed.
“But I broke into your house.”
“Window was open.”
“I still trespassed.”
Busy fingers kept working on undoing the dress. “You sat in the tub and cried because some dickhead fucked you over.”
That shut me up.
“Or that’s what I’m assuming, given the dress and all. I take it he’s the one that gave you that shiner on your cheek?”
“No. No one hit me. And yes, you assumed right about the being fucked over.” I tried to look back at him, but I couldn’t see a thing beyond my wild-ass hair. Impressive how it’d survived the shower. The stylist clearly knew her shit.
“You sure no one hit you?” He did not sound convinced.
“Yes. I lost my grip and hit the floor when I was climbing in the window. My home invasion skills need work.”
“I’d suggest you try a different career.” He finished with the buttons and took a step back, scratching his head. “You okay with the dress now?”
“Yes, thank you,” I told his reflection in the mirror. “For everything, I mean.”
“Sure.” He almost smiled and gave a small shake of the head as if he couldn’t quite believe what was going on. Or maybe it was disbelief that he wasn’t kicking me straight back out the window through whence I’d come.
Lord knows, it’d shocked the shit out of me.
He turned toward the door. “See you out there.”
Are you ready to get Dirty?
Dirty is Book One in Kylie Scott’s Dive Bar Series.
Meet Vaughn & Lydia on April 19th!
Pre-order your copy of DIRTY here:
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1Q7LCyb
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1OYc53N
Barnes & Noble: http://bit.ly/1MetF1F
The last thing Vaughan Hewson expects to find when he returns to his childhood home is a broken hearted bride in his shower, let alone the drama and chaos that comes with her.
Lydia Green doesn’t know whether to burn down the church or sit and
cry in a corner. Discovering the love of your life is having an affair on your wedding day is bad enough. Finding out it’s with his best man is another thing all together. She narrowly escapes tying the knot and meets Vaughan only hours later.
Vaughan is the exact opposite of the picture perfect, respected businessman she thought she’d marry. This former musician-turned-bartender is rough around the edges and unsettled. But she already tried Mr. Right and discovered he’s all wrong-maybe it’s time to give Mr. Right Now a chance.
After all, what’s wrong with getting dirty?
Kylie is a long time fan of erotic love stories and B-grade horror films. She demands a happy ending and if blood and carnage occur along the way then all the better. Based in Queensland, Australia with her two children and one delightful husband, she reads, writes and never dithers around on the internet.
Kylie is represented by Amy Tannenbaum at the Jane Rotrosen Agency, New York.