New Book!

I have a new book on the way. On January 10, Threshing the Grain releases from Phaze. Threshing the Grain is the third in the Seasons of Sorania Cycle from Phaze, fantasy romances rich in magic and kinky sex. This one features both a demon and satyrs!

Watch this space, because I'll do a giveaway as soon as I have copies!


Blurb:


Service. Honor. Sacrifice. Being a Soranian Lord or Lady means putting the needs of the land and its inhabitants before your own and performing the magic necessary to ensure good harvests and good health. Adimir, son of the Lord and Lady of Thelana, was raised to serve his estate and people and his physician-wife Miryea supports him—especially in the parts involving sex-magic and spanking.



But when portents suggest Adimir must give his life to destroy a demon, Miryea fights back with powers of her own, powers she’s still learning to use. An ancient, wise satyr from the hills of Thelana holds the secret to defeating the demon, but it’s trapped in his memory by magic. To release it, Miryea needs to take a leap of faith into the satyr’s arms and work sex magic and healing magic in ways she never knew she could.



She finds her answer, but it demands yet another shocking price. Can submissive Miryea find the courage to hurt and humble the man she loves in order to save him and the people of Thelana?



Excerpt:

[Miryea's] first vision--and so far their only shared vision--had followed the ritual spanking on the spring equinox.

“Should I…” he asked, and in answer, she shifted so she presented her ass to him.

“Make it hard,” she begged, although she didn’t know if that was the gods offering inspiration or her own instinct wanting the sharp, physical pain to offset the pain in her soul.

And he complied.

He used more force than he usually would, and the first few blows simply hurt. Tears filled her eyes and she bit into the bedclothes to keep from crying out in a way that would panic the servants.

She would endure. She owed it to Adimir.

More than endure, she would enjoy. She must enjoy, because she’d gain no visions if she felt no bliss.

As he continued, the throbbing pain began to transmute to reluctant pleasure, but her mind was distracted and her body wasn’t cooperating and the tears still threatened to come. She bit her lip to keep them back, although she felt like she was cutting off her desire as well.

Pleasure was there, just out of reach, but fear and despair blocked her. She squirmed, struggled, trying to get away from the pain--and, paradoxically, from the ecstasy that threatened to follow it, because what kind of woman would have orgasms when her husband’s life was in jeopardy?

“Let me try something,” Adimir took up her abandoned sash. “Put your hands behind your back,” he said, in a way that brooked no argument, a way that, despite everything, went straight to her clit.

She complied, and shuddered as he wrapped the embroidered red silk around her wrists, binding them together. She could still move, could still squirm away almost as easily as before, but safe in the silken bonds, she lost her will to do so. The simple binding made her his prisoner, removed her choice--

Let her open herself.

Off balance now, unable to hold herself up, she had no choice but to press herself forward, face among the bed-linens, ass in the air.

“Lovely,” he said, and sounded like he meant it.

A few more thwacks and she filled her mouth with wool and linen, trying not to weep, trying not to cry out from the tangled pain and pleasure and love and fear. Adimir pressed his free hand on the back of her neck, and the gentleness and strength behind that touch, the love and the authority, let her break down. Tears flowed as if she’d been holding them back for months rather than days. And as she cried, he stopped spanking her, cupped between her legs. His fingers found her clit, worked their magic as they always did.

It shouldn’t have been enough--enough to give her pleasure, certainly, but not enough to send her into the spirit world. But this time as the world started to shatter into bright shards of ecstasy, Miryea remembered something of her lessons in magic and sent a little of herself between those shards deliberately, for the first time ever.

The room blurred and spun. She closed her eyes and saw the harvest moon and the stars heavy above Thermanae, and felt a cool breeze scented with wild thyme and goat dung and smoke from an olive-wood fire, although it was still warm and humid in Arlind.

And when she opened them again, the harvest moon hung huge and red in the star-studded night sky, staining the harsh beauty of the hills not with blood, but wine. Never mind the full moon was still over a fortnight away, past the time of the Harvest Festival this year, and the hills of Thermanae were a day’s ride, and she was in the satrap’s palace in Arlind with her shutters closed and her face pressed into her bed-linens.