What You Crave
Genre: BDSM Erotic Contemporary
Blurb: Sigmund Bermudez has spent the last year out of the BDSM scene. Lauren Elser has heard about kinky escapades from one of her more challenging patients, and never taken in part in one.
When both of them sign up for a 1NS, courtesy of Madame Eve, they’re not prepared for the bonds formed over a little rope play. It’s time to confront their fears or faced getting burned.
Excerpt (Rated: R):
With her limbs tied, her chest wrapped in blue nylon… the sight of those ropes did something to her insides, and she bucked upward. “Yes. Now your hands.”
She wanted his tanned skin against her pale white. Those fingers and palms back on the pearls he’d complimented moments before.
Her limited verbal plea worked because his palms brushed over both peaks. A moan escaped her and she cried, “Please.”
His head came low then, the visual blocked by his hair, but she felt everything. Hot mouth replacing skin, teeth grazing. The seconds dragged on with the administered torture and pleasure to not one, but both of her nipples. Then he whispered, “Do you want me to touch other places?”
She nodded, and a feral smile replaced his neutral expression.
Hot, callused skin connected with hers, sliding down her stomach, past her waist, and heading for the juncture between her thighs. More adventures led her to waxing earlier in the day, and she had a perfect landing strip, trimmed for this occasion. Not that she’d planned on this, but she’d hoped.
“I don’t normally do this.” One hand slipped between lace and flesh.
She shivered. “Then I’m the lucky one.”
A single digit glided over her clitoris and flicked the nub. Panting became her natural state like a dog, and she didn’t dare move for fear he’d stop. Another finger joined the fray, tracing the outside of her labia minora— holy hell! She’d reverted to high school biology terms. The slow movements, the careful exploration, made her crazy. The urge to scream, to cry out for penetration sat so close to the surface and the best way to stow the impulse involved reviewing what he did to her, how he did it.
Finally, he plunged both fingers inside at once and she let out a cry, some insane mewling noise. Her orgasm grew closer. Closer than she expected, but John had been right— delayed gratification increased the satisfaction.
He moved quickly, pumping in and out while tweaking her nipples. The pressure rose, a coiling sensation in her lower back and abdomen preceding the coming eruption, like a balloon ready to explode. She tugged at her bindings, straining against them and loving the burn, the pain they left while the peak rose higher.
As she crested, she called out “John!”
“No,” he said, his voice guttural and rough. “Call me Sig.”
Before she could ask what the hell? her release rushed forth, her legs jolting against the ties and moisture coating the fingers inside her. Eyesight blurred momentarily, the force stronger than ever before but all too soon reality came seeping back in. The name in her mind, the name she’d called, wasn’t real? “Who’s Sig?”
“I am.” He stared her straight in the eyes. The words were true and she felt exposed, manipulated, and embarrassed.
Author Bio: Landra Graf has been crafting stories since the tender age of too-young-to-watch-rated-R. When she finally got old enough for adult material, she believed adult meant anything besides the smexy. Then she discovered erotic romance and all things kinky. Since then it’s been a journey down a rabbit hole. Landra writes BDSM erotic romance and historical erotic romance, among other less smexy offerings.