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Out
Now! Buried Pleasures (Medusa’s Consortium series book 3) by K D Grace
(@kd_grace) #newrelease #urbanfantasy #uf
Blurb:
When
Samantha Black shares her sandwich with a dog, his owner, Jon—a homeless man
living in the Las Vegas storm tunnels—gives her a poker chip worth a fortune
from the exclusive casino, Buried Pleasures. All Sam has to do is cash it in.
Sam is in Vegas for one reason only—to get her friend, Evie Holt, away from
sinister magician, Darian Fox, who holds her prisoner in an effort to force Sam
to perform at his club, Illusions. A neon circus tent of strange and mystical
acts, Illusions is one of the biggest draws in Vegas, and he’s hell-bent on
including Sam in his disturbing plans.
The
shadowy Magda Gardener will do anything to keep Sam from cashing in that chip.
She knows that Buried Pleasures is the gate to Hades and cashing in the chip is
a one-way ticket across the River Styx, which runs beneath the storm tunnels of
Vegas. Jon is really Jack Graves, owner of Buried Pleasures, and Graves is
really the god of death, himself, and if things aren’t already confusing
enough, he and Magda know what Sam doesn’t. Sam is the last siren. That her
song can kill is only the beginning of her story. Jon wants her safe on his
side of the River, protected from Fox’s hideous magic. But even Death fears
Magda Gardener, who is none other than Medusa, and the gorgon has her own agenda.
If Sam is to understand her heritage and win the battle against Darian Fox, not
only will she have to trust her heart to Death, but they’ll both have to work
for the gorgon, whose connection with Sam runs deeper than any of them could
imagine.
Buy
links:
Amazon
(universal link): http://mybook.to/buriedpleasures
Barnes
& Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/buried-pleasures-k-d-grace/1127222027?ean=2940154583531
Add
to Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/36401609-buried-pleasures
*****
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Rated
R
Excerpt:
So much more than La Petit Mort
With
a soft clink, Fox dropped the key in a small ceramic bowl on the dresser, not
bothering to lock the door behind him. There was no need now.
He
heard the rustle of bedding and a soft female moan before his eyes fully
adjusted to the gloom. Then he saw the shape of her, duvet thrown back in spite
of the chill, the pale silk of the negligee rising and falling with her anxious
breathing. He always asked that they be clothed in white silk. Occasionally
there was blood, and the red of blood against white silk made the experience
more formal somehow, and it always felt like such an occasion should be formal.
As
he became used to the gloom, he could see that she had been well-groomed for
the occasion, fully made-up and hair freshly coifed, just as he had requested.
It was a condition that wasn’t strictly necessary, but made the whole
experience seem a little more ceremonial, a little more festive. After all,
presentation was a key ingredient in every good restaurant, wasn’t it? Why
should his situation be any different?
“Gabriella,
you look exquisite tonight, my darling. I can’t tell you how much I’ve
anticipated being with you, having you here in my bed.” He removed his jacket
and hung it carefully over a cedar hanger on the back of the door. “Did I not
promise you that the time would come when I would invite you into my own home,
into my own bed?”
Of
course it wasn’t his own bed. He never took them to his bed. He had several
other rooms in several other places where he took from them what he needed,
though this one was special. This one was for feasting. He carefully undressed
by the side of the bed where she would be able to admire his every move. She
moaned softly and writhed, not taking her eyes off him, needing him almost as
much as he needed her. Almost.
At
his leisure, he took in the curves that were still luscious enough to be
tempting—the rise of nipples, the dilation of pupils, the rhythmic shifting of
hips, all of which he could now make out. Ripe fruit, he thought. She was ripe
fruit. The experience was always most ecstatic, always most satisfying, when
his chosen had not yet passed her peak, when he had not used her so much that
her looks had suffered, nor her hunger for him weakened. He needed her hunger
as much as he needed her beauty. The two always went hand in hand. He needed
her hunger to be her driving force, driving her to him over and over again,
until all strength was gone. Most often he controlled his hunger, careful not
to allow himself more than what was necessary to survive and thrive.
Tonight,
however, he was drained and starving from effort and exhaustion, but from
excitement as well, from the knowing that Samantha Black was capable of so much
more than even he had anticipated. Tonight he would take deeply from the ripest
fruit, take as though it were the first and the last fullness of summer, and
Gabriella was just at that point of fullness.
“I’m
going to make love to you, darling.” He didn’t even try to disguise his hunger.
Anxious anticipation was as much a part of the ritual as savoring the moment,
and he wanted her to know how much he hungered for her, how much he needed her.
“I’m going to make you come as you have never come before, my sweetheart.” He
slid onto the bed next to her, his left hand stroking her soft, dark hair, his
right cupping himself, making himself ready. “Would you like that, Gabriella? I
know you would, I know how impatient you’ve been.”
There
was a soft whimper, and the woman shifted her hips and threw back her head with
a little gasp as he slid a thumb across her heavy bottom lip. He was hard,
always hard when he hungered. It was a part of the ritual, a part of the
consuming, a part of fulfilling his need.
Carefully
he slipped down the straps of the negligee so that he could admire the fullness
of her breasts. Yes, presentation was so important -- ripe cherry nipples
against silken white fabric, so succulent, so ready. Her skin was the color of
expensive mocha, and for a moment, he took in the feast for the eyes waiting
for him. Then he cupped her sex, and she arched up, her eyelids fluttering
beneath lush, dark lashes so perfectly made up, so perfectly prepared to meet
her lover.
“La
petite mort,” he said. “It’s what we all long for, isn’t it, my sweetheart,
over and over and over again, we long for it. It’s what we dream about in the
darkest hours of the night. It’s what we wake up longing for, goose fleshed,
slick and heavy with need from those elusive dreams of perfect love, perfect
union, perfect dissolving of the self into the other. Oh, my beauty,” he slid a
hand between her thighs, and her tongue flicked over her lip in concentration,
in anticipation, “I’ve kept you waiting too long. I do apologize. La petite
mort is a small gift for a long wait. So tonight, my dearest girl, I shall give
you something far grander than the little death. And our joining, our perfect
dissolving into one another, will be beyond anything you could ever imagine.”
He
positioned himself above her and she opened to him, rising up to meet him in
gasps and groans and whimpers that neared desperation. Oh yes, he would give
her so much more than la petite mort, and then, in the instant when her body
dissolved in pleasure, he would take it all back, all of it and so much more.
There
was breath and then there was blood, and there was the life force coursing
through the beautiful Gabriella. That life force entered his body through sex,
through making love. And truly he did make love, for the gift that the lovely
creature writhing beneath him, no longer strong enough to keep her legs grasped
around his waist, was giving him was worthy of lovemaking. The taking of the
life force in such a way was sex raised above and beyond ecstasy. He seldom
partook to the end. He usually made it last for months, sometimes even years,
depending on how powerful the life force was.
But
Gabriella had no particular power, nothing but her exquisite beauty to linger
on. He saw such as her as fast food, really, a needed energy boost in desperate
times, and this was one of those times. Her sacrifice would ensure that he was
focused and ready for whatever obstacles Graves could throw in his way where
Samantha Black was concerned, because he would have her. He had to have her.
The
woman beneath him shuddered with release, and he took her mouth more fully,
swallowing back the harshness of her breath to blend with his own, teasing him
to join in her ecstasy. She would climax over and over, and that would be her
final memory. She would come to her death in rapturous pleasure, and she would
not even feel that moment when all of her breath, all of her life force, all of
her power, passed to him, and the darkness took her.
Her
eyelids fluttered again and again, for now she truly had not the energy left
for more than the flutter of eyelids above huge, dark eyes. Even the quiver low
in her loins had transferred itself to him, and he felt her orgasms as though
they were his own, as though through the breath, through the coupling, he had
become her and she him. He had taken her into himself as she had him into her,
so open, so inviting, so willing.
“You
see,” he whispered against the seashell hollow of her unhearing ear, “I have
given you so much more than la petite mort, just as I promised, darling. So
much more for both of us.”
*****
Author
Bio:
Voted
ETO Best Erotic Author of 2014, K D Grace believes Freud was right. It really
IS all about sex—sex and love—and that is an absolute writer’s playground.
When
she’s not writing, K D is veg gardening or walking. Her creativity is directly
proportional to how quickly she wears out a pair of walking boots. She loves
mythology, which inspires many of her stories. She enjoys time in the gym,
where she’s having a mad affair with a pair of kettle bells. Her first love is
writing, but she loves reading and watching birds. She adores anything that
gets her outdoors.
K
D’s novels and other works are published by Totally Bound, SourceBooks, Accent
Press, Harper Collins Mischief Books, Mammoth, Cleis Press, Black Lace, and
others. She also writes romance under the name Grace Marshall.
Find
K D Here:
Websites:
http://kdgrace.co.uk/
Facebook:
http://www.facebook.com/KDGraceAuthor
Twitter:
https://twitter.com/KD_Grace
Newsletter: http://www.subscribepage.com/kdnewsletter
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