Out Now! Buried Pleasures (Medusa’s Consortium series book 3) by K D Grace (@kd_grace) #newrelease #urbanfantasy #uf
Buried Pleasures by K D Grace
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.
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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.”
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:
Release blitz organized by Writer Marketing Services.
Northstar Security Series Book #1
Caitlin Malone believes screw-ups don’t get second chances. When she returns to Oregon after failing her first Northstar Security assignment and stumbles across a plot to steal deadly pathogens, she sees a chance at redemption.
For USDA Forest Ranger, John ‘Mac’ MacAlistair, having Caitlin home again brings up feelings that are better left buried.
When Caitlin is trapped by the wildfire, started by the terrorists, her only hope of rescue is pinned on Mac, the man she’s tried two years to forget.
Byron O’Neal, Northstar Security Firm’s director didn’t always run an elite private investigation firm. His early CIA years were spent chasing Soviet spies. Now his past is catching up, and Kellee, Bryon’s daughter is caught in the middle of a game of Russian Roulette. Northstar agent and former Navy SEAL, Egan Maddox, is tasked to save Kellee from the Russian mafia before it’s too late, a task that puts not only his life, but his heart on the line.
Amazon | The Wild Rose Press
About the Book:
When Northstar Security Firm investigates the blackmail of a U.S. Senator, agents Riley O’Neal and Mary “Chip” Anderson don the unwelcome cover of newlyweds to find two kidnapped women and stop the blackmail – and posing as newlyweds to avert a national security crisis is a lot harder than it seems.
Amazon | The Wild Rose Press
Northstar Security Series Book #4
Cyber-terrorism brings even the most powerful companies to their knees. When Northstar Security Firm discovers a breach inside their computer firewall, agent Sloan Cartland will do anything to help the firm’s brilliant computer tech, Allison Richards, find the culprit—even after he learns that all evidence of the hack points back to Allison.
Northstar Security Series Book #5
When Northstar Security agent Justine Shelby is assigned to protect world-famous author Rosalee Kane, the last thing she wants is help from the author’s nephew, prickly but attractive FBI Special Agent Nelson Kane. Shelby is used to depending on herself and is content to work alone, but Rosalee and Kane make Shelby wish for something more. Of course, he may never forgive her if the assignment isn’t successful, and the threats are escalating.
Kane doesn’t trust Northstar Security, blaming them for his close brush with death. His first encounter with the deceptively innocuous agent doesn’t improve his attitude, but circumstances compel them to join forces. As things turn deadly and their every move is countered, Kane comes to depend on Shelby in a race against the clock to keep Rosalee alive. Shelby and Kane must uncover the deadly betrayal without dying first.
Amazon | The Wild Rose PressExcerpt:Taking the opportunity to inspect her, Kane realized she wasn’t an old lady at all. The full skirt of her black cocktail dress draped over her knees and gave the illusion of being demure. But with her hands pulled behind her back, the outline of small breasts jutted temptingly forward, and the deeply scooped neckline rising from a high waistline revealed an expanse of ivory skin. Toned shoulders peeked through the sheer fluttery sleeves that barely reached her elbows. Her eyes seemed too large in the unlined smoothness of her heart-shaped face. He tried to put her appearance in context with his first impression. The silvery-white hair had thrown him off. There was no way she was the age her hair color proclaimed.Her mouth formed a tight line as she glared at him.He leaned closer and gave a red-hot stare of his own. Street-hardened criminals had broken under his interrogation scrutiny. For this barely-hundred-pounds-soaking-wet snowbird, it was only a matter of time before she withered. Seconds ticked by. Even the dog stopped its incessant yapping, riveted by the tension in the room.“Nelson, that’s enough.” Aunt Rosalee stepped between them. “Shelby was protecting me.”He turned his fiery gaze on his aunt. “I wasn’t attacking you.”“Of course not! We just have to keep all visitors out of the office.”
“I’m not a damn visitor. I’m your nephew.”
“How was I supposed to know that?” The woman protested.
Kane glared at her. “By giving me a chance to identify myself before ripping my arm off and choking me to death.” Even though his anger was barely under control, he felt a grudging respect for her abilities. It wasn’t often he’d been on the receiving end of such an immediate and complete takedown.
“Oh, Nelson, don’t exaggerate.” Aunt Rosalee reached for his hand. “You were the one sneaking around up here.”
Kane felt the warmth of his aunt’s touch, and remembered his original intent to look out for her. “I was worried about you.” He looked around for the folder he’d taken off her desk and saw it laying on the carpet next to the cell phone the woman had dropped when he cuffed her. “I came into the office to check out the letter you received today.” Somehow, he knew the folder didn’t contain the letter. “Where is it?”
“It’s on the way to Northstar, to be processed with the other copies.” Rosalee patted his arm. “And as you can see, I’m fine.” She stepped back and pointed to the seated woman. “Now take the handcuffs off Shelby.”
“What?” the woman shouted.
“Why not?” his aunt asked.
“Assaulting an FBI agent is a federal offense. She’s going to jail.”
“You’re not serious!” his aunt exclaimed.
“That’s silly.” Aunt Rosalee tsked. “Isn’t there anything I can do to change your mind?”
Kane snorted. “I suppose you could be a character witness at her trial.”
“You can’t arrest me. I’m here to protect your aunt.” The woman paled as she struggled against the cuffs. “I work for Northstar Security Firm.”
About the Author:
It’s confession time.
An author friend posted the question why do you write? on one of our author loops. As I pondered how to answer, I realized it’s so embedded in our own personal story that I couldn’t give a short answer.
Our readers know we are baby boomers. If they’re anywhere close to our age, they also know that midlife can bring a host of challenges in the bedroom. For us, that was complicated by health issues: A heart attack (in his forties!) for him, abdominal repair issues for me. Add onto that the fact I have three stepchildren. From the moment we married until our own son turned 20, I always had at least one teenager in the house. Time for sex? Interest in it? Not so much, for longer than I’d like to confess.
But neither of us was willing to give up. Our parents, it turns out, lived very long lives. Who, at midlife, wants to look forward to three or four more decades with no sex? We started looking for resources and found some great ones. We started watching videos – yes, Those Kinds of videos, in the bedroom, as a prelude to our own activities.
After a while we started saying things like “I’d like that story better if…” and “what would really turn me on is if she…” As you might guess, we started setting down stories that better met our needs. Gradually we didn’t use the videos so much – we read out loud from our own material.
So why do we write? We want to save the world from boring sex.