I participate on a blog with Mari, Eliza Gayle, and Samantha Kane. I have slowly been getting to know Mari and she’s one of the most down to earth, beautiful people inside and out that you could ever hope to be friends with or blogmates with.
The cover of her book, Sin on Skin alone… Well, just look at it! It’s HOTTTTTT! Sin on Skin is Book Six in a series at Ellora’s Cave called, Cougar Challenge. You should go check it out! It has some very amazing authors that have participated!
Genre: Contemporary, Older Woman/Younger Man
Available Now from Ellora’s Cave: http://www.jasminejade.com/ps-7843-298-sin-on-skin.aspx
Author Website: www.MariFreeman.com
“So, what is it Stevie needs?”
She wasn’t sure what to say. Wasn’t sure how to verbalize it. She tried to think back to the characters in the stories and what had most appealed to her from their experiences. What had made her so hot?
“Honesty will get you exactly what you want. Maybe not exactly how you thought you wanted it, but the truth will help you.”
His voice made her want a lot of things. But how did she say what she wanted without sounding like a slut? She took another drink
“I want to be completely sexual, with no hangs-up, no fears.” She looked at the floor. “No accountability for the success of the experience. I want to be the object of the experience. I want sex to feel like something other than a chore.”
“You want to be a slut?” He walked past her, not looking her over yet, no judgment in his voice. “You want your body to be the instrument of pleasure for others? Is it that simple? We can start there.”
She looked down. He was right, of course. It wasn’t that simple, but he’d given her something to play with.
“Say it for me, Stevie. Tell me what you want.”
She took a deep breath. Yes. That was exactly what she wanted to be. “I want to be a slut.”
In no particular hurry, he turned to her. A wily smile came across his face. His eyes moved hungrily up her body, stopping at her chest. She held the glass in both hands so her arms were covering her breasts His glance darted to her eyes and he expectantly raised his eyebrows. It was an unspoken order. Stevie dropped her hands to her side.
“That’s my girl.”
The praise was for more than simply anticipating his demand, it was for her appearance. His eyes were heated and his jaw tense. This young, hot man was not looking at her as if she were old or skinny. It was clear Errol liked what he saw.
“Through the next door is the playroom. We’ll start with a little intro to submission for you, my executive slut. That’s what you want? To be played with and used and have no need to moralize or worry about internal inhibitions? For me to take the responsibility for you being a dirty girl?”
He pushed open the door to her right. She walked past him into the next room and he pointed to a small bench at the far end. “Walk to the bench. Bend over it and put your hands by the cuffs.”
Stevie was surprised at her lack of fear. The fact that he was fully clothed and standing there watching her as she walked away almost naked was so sexy. It made her feel sexy. She couldn’t remember ever feeling particularly sexy when she was naked.
The room was dim and larger than she’d anticipated. The walls were dark, with near life-sized photos of nude, highly tattooed men and women every six feet or so. A couple of long racks with lots of hooks holding the tools of Errol’s nighttime trade graced the walls on opposite sides of the room. Light flickered from artificial candles in sconces on the walls. The sensual lighting made her skin look warm and inviting.
She strutted without looking back, glancing at the unusual furnishings placed around the room. Some she recognized from her favorite erotic stories. There were three different benches for various spanking positions. In the far corner was a large St. Andrews Cross. She passed a tall metal cage and a swing that hung from the ceiling, and every piece of equipment had plenty of space around it. There were beanbag chairs and large wedge-shaped cushions scattered everywhere. She figured when this place was full, it could accommodate close to fifty people.
She stopped at the bench Errol had indicated. It was almost waist high and at least three feet in depth—to support her upper body, she guessed—with a kneeling platform at the base. Like most of the equipment, soft black leather covered both the bench and the platform. Supple green-leather cuffs were attached to chains fastened to the edge of the bench farthest from her. Stevie bent forward. Her naked stomach shivered from the cold of the leather as she lowered to rest her head on the bench. Her arms reached out in front of her and her hands hung over the far side of the bench, next to the cuffs. Her legs had naturally spread to avoid the kneeling platform, her feet firmly planted on either side. Her ass was open and exposed and so was her pussy.
Music started playing in the background, but she still heard Errol’s approach from behind. “Now, tomorrow night,” he said as he moved in front of her and knelt so they would be eye to eye, “there’ll be a party here.”
He’d removed his shirt. Stevie looked over his muscled chest and could now see the entire tribal design. It covered his left shoulder and snaked across his chest, appearing alive and moving in the low lighting. She caught the smell of fresh soap. “This room will be full of players and voyeurs.” He buckled the first cuff on her small wrist and looked her over with hungry eyes. As he spoke, he ran his fingers down her free arm. The gentleness of his touch made her wonder if the books about all this had been correct.
He got the second buckle latched and tested the chains with a little tug. “How are you, Stevie?” He looked her in the eye. The lengths of chain allowed her to reach far enough forward to touch the design on his shoulder as he knelt in front of her.
“I’m okay,” she said as she traced one of the designs. Okay was an understatement. She felt the leather of the cuffs on her wrists and it was as if, by fastening those simple restraints, Errol had set her free of all her hangs-ups. She didn’t care if her boobs were too small or if she was over forty. Laugh lines didn’t matter here. She didn’t care about budgeting initiatives or maintaining quality testing standards. She wanted his hands on her now.