Kick off the festive season with this red-hot celebration of holiday love. An aging author of kinky romance surrenders to the charm of her rock star neighbor. A selfish, cynical stock broker finds himself rescued by a spunky homeless girl. On her Dom husband’s orders, a devoted submissive provides Christmas service to his best friend. A gay grad student moonlighting at a sex shop discovers it’s definitely worthwhile to stay open on Christmas Eve.
Let Lisabet warm you up with a generous portion of comfort, joy and sensual pleasure.
Amazon US – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08P2CM6KL
Amazon UK – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B08P2CM6KL
Add on Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/56030561-comfort-joy
X-rated Excerpt (from “A Contract for Christmas”)
Stripping off his shirt with typical economy and ease, he folded it on the vanity stool. His jeans followed. Before he set them down, he extracted his belt from the waist. “I’m going to want this,” he said, laying it alongside my outstretched body so I could smell the leather. “And these, of course.” He dropped five or six condoms onto the bed table.
I couldn’t help laughing. “How many times do you plan to fuck me, James?”
He kneeled between my legs, his engorged cock bobbing as he moved. “As many times as you can handle, woman.” He picked up the belt, running it over his palm. “Then I’ll fuck you some more.”
He loomed over me, fierce and unsmiling. A burst of fear tingled through me.
“But first, I’ll beat you. Do you agree?”
I closed my eyes, momentarily overwhelmed. No one but Greg had ever inflicted the sort of pain I knew the belt would produce. Even in our three-way scenes, my husband had always taken the lead when it came to punishment. I was scared. What if James couldn’t read my signals? Would he know, the way Greg always did, when I’d had too much?
He sensed my uncertainty, at least. His voice was gentle when he spoke again.
“What’s your safe word, Bella?”
“Artichoke. But with Greg I never…”
“Use it if you need to. I think I know you well enough walk that fine line between not enough and too much, but don’t be afraid to stop me if I’m wrong.”
“And if you really don’t want me to whip you,” he added with a grin, “just say so. I have lots of alternative ideas.”
“No, no—I want it—I want your belt—it’s just that you—you…”
“I’m not Greg,” he answered. “I know. But I am your master, at least for tonight. You’ll know that soon.”
Without warning, he brought the belt down just above my right knee. A line of fire stitched its way up my thigh, then jumped to ignite my sex.
“Oh, God—James!—oh—” I bit back my words, afraid he’d misunderstand, that he’d stop. Instead, he lashed at my other thigh, a strong, pure blow that only fanned the conflagration.
I’m not a pain slut like some subs. Mostly I endure the hurt in order to please my master. This beating, though, was different. The leather played across my skin, cutting, bruising, heating me to a fever that was like nothing I’d never felt before. Pain, but somehow not pain—not when I watched the flow of muscle under James’s skin, the graceful arc of the strap as he prepared another stroke, the dark energy dancing in his eyes.
He had perfect control over his instrument. Every lash landed exactly where he intended. For the most part he concentrated on my thighs, but occasionally he’d flick the leather across my nipples. I screamed, thrashed, strained at my bonds, driven higher each time the belt connected with my flesh.
James whipped me into a frenzy. Between my legs the ache built and built, and built some more. I needed to come, more than I needed air. Yet still he whipped me, and I let him. I understood that was what he needed—what only I could give him.
The belt edged closer to my cunt. Dazed and drunk with lust, still I guessed how this would end. Yet his final stroke took me by surprise—the one that kissed my clit and sent me spinning into climax.
Pleasure poured through me in a flood that cleansed me of the pain. It left me stranded. I lay on the bed, limp in my bonds, gasping and shuddering as though I’d just escaped drowning.
“Are you all right, Bella?” James peered down at me, looking concerned.
“Oh, yes,” I sighed. “Wonderful. Thank you, sir.”
This time, that felt right.
My new master broke into a grin. “Don’t mention it.” He reached across my body to retrieve a condom from the table. His cock grazed my belly, smearing me with pre-cum.
“But you haven’t come yet.”
“I plan to remedy that shortly.” I watched his deft movements as he rolled the latex down his shaft. I wanted nothing more than to feel that hardness inside me.
“By the way, when you’re with me, you don’t need permission to come. Come as many times as want. As you can. Starting now.”
He drove his cock into my drenched cunt. That one stroke was enough to kick me back into a screaming release.
Lisabet Sarai became addicted to words at an early age. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since then, she has written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance – over one hundred titles, and counting, in nearly every sub-genre—paranormal, scifi, ménage, BDSM, GLBT, and more. Regardless of the genre, every one of her stories illustrates her motto: Imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac.
You’ll find information and excerpts from all Lisabet’s books on her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com/books.html), along with more than fifty free stories and lots more. At her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com), she shares her philosophy and her news and hosts lots of other great authors. She’s also on Goodreads, Pinterest, and Twitter. Join her VIP email list here: https://btn.ymlp.com/xgjjhmhugmgh