Genre: Contemporary Romance
Along with romance, love, and erotic pleasures of a more traditional nature, this work includes scenes of sadism, masochism, and sex acts involving multiple and same-sex partners. For mature readers only.
With everything she cared about gone, Dominatrix Macie Fitzgerald has built a new life in service to those seeking pain and submission. She takes pride in her success. When she accepts Jarrod Bancroft’s application to her next training session, she knows he poses a risk to her fragile emotionless world.
Macie fears are confirmed when she discovers that the ten years since he was her high school history student have only made him more magnificent in every way. How long can she resist him? What devastation awaits her if she can’t?
Life has been too easy for Jarrod Bancroft—rich parents, football star, law degree, high powered job, women by the score. Something is missing. He wants whatever Stonybrook Academy can dish out, much as it scares the hell out of him.
Tied to the bed, his body violated in every way, he faces his first night realizing he was right to be afraid. He never imagined this torture and deprivation. And this woman, his sadistic mistress—the voice behind her mask sounds familiar.
Macie faces her biggest challenge as she struggles to fulfill her professional obligation to give Jarrod what he wants, what he needs. But Jarrod soon discovers that Macie is what he wants. What she doesn’t give, he takes—a risky venture when you’re a sub. Defenseless against his potent charm, Macie breaks every rule she’s made for herself. Heartbreak soon follows.
To complicate matters, a legal hammer hangs over Jarrod’s head at Bancroft Investments threatening to ruin his professional future. Sucked into his father’s illegal business mess, Jarrod’s life takes an unexpected and life-threatening turn. Powerless as a nightmare unfolds around him, Jarrod dreams of his queen, the only woman he wants. But there’s nothing Macie can do for him now. </ p>
Told in three parts, the story of Jarrod Bancroft weaves a web of denial and fear, dark family secrets, and wealth at any cost. The lash of a whip is nothing compared to pain like this. When pain feels like love, how does love feel?
Excerpts – Book I, A Gift for Jarrod
Book I, Excerpt 1:
Jarrod had lost track of the changes underway inside his mind and body. He reacted to light strangely, as if it brought the comfort of food or a warm touch even when it was simply the removal of the blindfold. He became accustomed to the loss of control of his body as he was shackled to his bed at night, no longer pissed when he wanted, no longer held his own penis to do so, no longer even shat without someone in attendance. He ate like an animal off the plate they placed on the floor, food that was unrecognizable although flavorful and evidently nourishing.
There were daily parades into rooms where people waited, all of them masked. He stood with other naked submissives as the masked people chatted, drank, nibbled on hors d’oeuvres, occasionally casting their eyes in his direction, occasionally stroking his body and the cock that strained in front of him. After a first few times of shivering humiliation and terror, he took their glances, their touching, as reassurance. His worry that they might know him, recognize, spread gossip about what they had seen, slowly subsided into the greater submissive state of mind that fed his constant arousal.
No longer questioning his decision to come here, his thoughts now focused on the current situation, the moment in which he existed, whether his attention was captured by the lash or the ever larger plug in his anus, or the engorgement that plagued his genitals. The people who serviced him had become objects of his affection—he wanted to kiss Sal who nightly administered to his fracturing body, the woman who slipped her hand over his cock each morning to help him piss.
Everything excited his senses. He’d never felt so alive. Yet for all the arousal, he had not been allowed to have another ejaculation. The need to release had slipped to the background, no less urgent, no less achingly painful, but one of those things he endured like he endured the beatings. He felt like a stringed instrument, increasingly tuned to a finer and more exquisite tension, waiting for the right moment, the right hand, that would turn him into a beautiful song.
Book I, Excerpt 2:
Macie’s fears about the effect of Jarrod’s training had not abated. There was more to be treasured in Jarrod Bancroft than for him to spend the rest of his life a gentle submissive. She sensed this must be a phase, a trial by fire that he sought on his path to greater pursuits. Surely driven by raw instinct, she realized. No one sits down and figures these things out.
Her own instincts guided much of what she did in providing the fierce domination these masochist submissives craved. Yes, she’d read all the books. Gone through the experiences, struggled to accept what she was. The Marquis would be proud, she smiled to herself.
Yet something of Jarrod demanded more. She sat, her eyes feasting on his physical perfection, the stunning face with its rugged features, the athletic fullness of his young male body, the proud bearing of his magnificent cock. Even at this moment, in spite of the training, the beatings, the hours of servitude to the various punishments her staff had bestowed, he held onto a certain regal bearing. That too must be stripped away, she knew, if he was to gain what he most desired.
Excerpts – Book II, Jarrod’s Valentine, Jarrod’s Spring Break
Book II, Excerpt:
Fortunately, Macie’s attempt during those weeks to leave the Academy’s day to day operation to Mark had not succeeded. The man simply couldn’t multi-task. She didn’t know what she’d been thinking anyway. It wasn’t just Chris pointing out her unique qualifications for her role here. Without her hands in Academy business, she had too much time to obsess about Jarrod. To indulge in him, savor him, memorize every inch of his incredible body. To become utterly charmed by his sense of humor and his goddamn quick mind. Christ! She shifted in the chair. The simple memory of some of those moments—hours, days—made her squirm. Her fervent hope, once she came back to her work, was that Jarrod would lose his special place in her attention.
Well, that hadn’t worked out. So now, Dr. Brandon and the torture of psychological analysis.
She stared blindly at the computer screen where an applicant’s form waited her review. If she excelled at anything, it was to pile up projects so deep that she had no fear of running out of things to do. By all rights, Jarrod should occupy less than ten percent of her time. No, he should occupy none of her time. The Academy should be front and center. Enough.
In addition to overseeing the construction roaring along outside, she was working through applications for the August class, a promising array of men and women eager to learn more about this hidden world. The current class was up for graduation in another week. They’d been a relatively routine group, twenty students pursuing the finer points of submission. Aside from pushing trainees through the harsh realities of their chosen fetish, beginner classes heavily stressed the “do no harm” axiom that served as the bedrock of any legitimate training course. So at least, however they might muddle through their future efforts, she felt reasonably confident no one would get hurt.
That was her job. Students paid for her experience, her attention. Instead, they were getting fragments of her while her attention kept disappearing into daydreams about Jarrod. Things had been a hell of a lot simpler before he ever appeared on the Academy roster. What the hell was she going to do?
Jarrod slipped in her office door silently and placed the mug of steaming coffee at its exact spot on her desk, then stepped back and waited. Her gaze raked over his form, the youthful flush on his skin, the lean, perfectly developed muscle across his chest, shoulders, and arms, the sinewy hands that had pleasured her so many times. She stifled a sigh as her body responded instantly to his presence.
His silent request didn’t go unnoticed. He knew better than to push too far, but he was pushing. She could feel him. Well, she would definitely not reward him this morning.
Her stare slid down the rippled abs, tracking the narrowing line of dark hair that trailed down from his belly button. She let her glance linger on the purplish hue of his cockhead and licked her lips, instantly aware of a hitch in his breath. He knew what a temptation he presented and didn’t fail to take advantage. Not for the first time, her glance at his compelling face found a disciplined submissive with only the tiniest curl at the corner of his provocative mouth revealing the insolent rebel lurking inside.
It was more than she could stand.
“Come around,” she motioned impatiently, pointing to the side of her chair. Great. Break your rules as fast as you make them.</ i> She was helpless around him. And hopeless. Ridiculous.
He moved immediately to position and she knew without looking that the curl at the corner of his mouth had grown slightly larger. Ignoring the need to discipline his attitude, she yielded to her desire and reached the tip of her tongue to the hot skin of his swollen glans. His familiar musky scent swarmed through her nose as she licked the tight surface.
Gooseflesh erupted down her arms and her energy clicked up a couple of notches. His body heat radiated against her
forehead. Nothing beat the taste of cock in the morning.
Excerpts – Book III, Day in Paradise, Homecoming
Book III -- Excerpt:
As the trainees lined up in small groups at each of the tables, Macie turned to walk away. Her gaze landed squarely on Jarrod who stood rigid in the doorway, his eyes snapping fire. Her breath caught in her throat. She surveyed his lean frame, no longer thin, not haggard, his muscled body instantly familiar in jeans and a white dress shirt with thin blue stripes. The sleeves were rolled halfway up his forearms. For a second, it felt like nothing had changed and they would go home and tear off each other’s clothes.
Damn, how could she forget the impact of his heart-stopping good looks, his cocky stare? Her nipples bunched. A bolt of electricity spiked down her belly. If he had given the slightest inclination, she would have followed him to the nearest bed. Truly, she didn’t trust herself to speak. Instead, she stood paralyzed, hoping yet dreading what he had to say.
“A word,” he said brusquely, cocking his head toward the hallway.
She followed him, already positive that whatever he came for, it wasn’t to reunite. On top of his natural predatory grace, his body emanated an elevated level of tension. He didn’t wait for her or make any effort to walk alongside her, and she followed nervously as he marched along three steps ahead. They walked to the outside patio that opened from her office, the entire distance a nightmare of worry, anticipation, and blind hunger.
He stopped in the middle of the patio and turned. His intense blue stare quickly surveyed their surroundings. Construction noise echoed across the open field. In the distance, the tree line hummed with summer insects and birdsong. Above, a few white clouds hung in a deep azure sky.
His short black hair glistened in the sun and a whiff of his scent penetrated her nostrils. Dear God, she didn’t know how she lived without him. She wanted to press her lips against his, trail her kisses down his neck, down his chest. Thread her fingers through his thick hair. Her hands longed to hold his wide shoulders, caress his strong arms, pull his hips against hers. The need for him strained like a tight cord between them so that she had to steer herself to one of the chairs and sit with her hands gripping the armrests in order to keep from touching him.
He made no effort to touch her.
He turned and sat across from her, leaning forward with a dark expression. “Are you aware you’re under watch by the F.B.I.?” he asked without prelude.
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Until recently, sex scenes in most books erupted behind closed doors. I hated that fade-to-black point in a story. Why has it been acceptable to describe the details of violence, hate, fear, anger, and greed, but not the up-close-and-personal descriptions of touch, desire, and love?
I feel fortunate that modern sensibilities in publishing mean sex scenes now keep the bedroom door open. For those of us interested, stories can show readers the tingle of flesh and follow through to the heavy breathing and sweaty finish. It's about damn time.
I like to show a process in my stories where discovery or acknowledgment of sexual pleasure or desire is key to character development. Just like in real life. I believe sex can be a truly transformative experience.
Reading has been a passion in my life. My bachelor's degree as well as some graduate work focused on writing. Marriage, children, and a career limited my writing time for many years, but I'm back to life on my own terms now. So look out--more sexy stories on the way!
Find Lizzie at the following places:
Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorLizzieAshworth</ a>
Goodreads: https:// www.goodreads.com/author/show/7171772.Lizzie_Ashworth?from_search=true
Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/Lizzie-Ashworth/e/B00DJWDJHC/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_4? qid=1397236426&sr=8-4