Sierra writes HOT HOT HOT contemporary BDSM. She’s a bit of a mystery, but once you read one of her books, you’ll be drawn back to her time and time again.
Genre: BDSM, Multicultural
Length: Novel
Available Now from Loose Id: http://www.loose-id.com/Hawkeye-Two-Bend-Me-Over.aspx
Author Website: www.SierraCartwright.com
Blurb:
Tall, dark, handsome, and oh-so dangerous.
That’s Trace Romero, Aimee’s new bodyguard. Aimee has no desire to share her home with anyone, especially a Hawkeye operative who invades her space and thoroughly dominates her.
If it were up to him, Trace would be in a South American jungle, mixing it up with bad guys instead of playing bodyguard to the uptight college professor who makes him anything but welcome. But when he finds a stash of her BDSM novels, protecting the professor’s body suddenly gets more interesting.
Aimee would send him on his way, if her sister weren’t so concerned about the break in at her house, and if she hadn’t threatened protective custody. But protective custody might have been slightly less overwhelming than Trace demanding her complete capitulation, mind and body, and more — her total trust. But that trust may be the only thing standing between her and a madman determined to kill her.
Publisher’s Note: This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable: Anal play/intercourse, BDSM theme and content, violence.
Excerpt:
“Offer yourself to me,” he reminded her. “Beg me.”
She noticed the bulge at his crotch. He was as turned on as she was. That knowledge was heady and all she needed. Rather than succumbing to embarrassment like she ordinarily would, she kept her gaze focused below his belt and as she cupped her breasts in her palms. Quietly she said, “I want you to suck on my nipples.”
“Look at me.”
The words, in the silence, were a whiplash.
She looked up and kept her gaze focused on his face. Drawing a steadying breath, she softly said, “Please, Trace, suck on my nipples. I need…”
He waited in that patient, maddening way of his.
“I need your touch. I want to feel your hands on me. I want your mouth on my breasts, your tongue on my nipples.” She lifted her breasts a bit. “Please, Trace.” And she did want it, need it, need him.
His motions deliberate, he unfolded his arms. Her legs felt weak as nerve suddenly deserted her. Then he was there, his arms around her, supporting her, one palm pressed against the palm of her back, the other cradling her nape.
He lowered his head to capture a nipple between his tongue and top teeth. Then he sucked, hard.
Her knees buckled.
He caught her, sweeping her from the ground and carrying her down the hallway to her bedroom.
“Please,” she whispered.
“I haven’t even started with you yet,” he promised.
He placed her on the bed while he put his pistol on the nightstand. She was so caught up with what he was doing that she didn’t even protest the gun being in her bedroom. Her arms fell to her sides as she surrendered to him. He sucked her right nipple while he pinched the other between his thumb and forefinger. She arched her back, asking for more.
“Keep still,” he told her.
“Keep still?” Had he lost his mind? Because she was definitely losing hers. She’d never experienced anything like this, exquisite and painful, creating a demand from the inside out.
“Part of your lessons,” he said, returning to her nipple and torturing it relentlessly.
She’d taken the first steps, she realized, and he was exerting his will more powerfully. He’d force her to be an active participant. Already she was learning there was nothing passive about being involved with him.
She began to squirm. Heat flooded her body. She wanted more. More pressure. More intensity. She wanted to orgasm.
“Distract yourself,” he said. “Think about something else, anything else other than how your body is responding to what I’m doing. Think about the fact I want you to keep still. Think about pleasing me.”
“I…”
“Can,” he told her. “You can. You’re a runner. Breathe. Use the same techniques you use there.”
“But –”
“Breathe.” He suckled, gently at first, then with unyielding force.
She squirmed. She was coming undone. He couldn’t possibly have any idea what he was asking of her, demanding of her. He’d assigned her a task, and she was doomed to failure. Staying still was nearly impossible with the way he tormented her. She’d never realized how sensitive her nipples were, never knew she could get so totally turned on from breast play.
She tried to follow his instructions.
When the only thing she could think of was how much she wanted to come, she forced her thoughts to her project and looming deadline. She met his gaze, saw the slight smile that toyed with his lips before he moved that skilful mouth to the tip of her other breast.
She wanted to do what he said, she realized, wanted to please him, wanted to see him smile at her.
He moved one of his hands between her legs. Helplessly, shamelessly, she ground her crotch against him, wishing she’d taken off her shorts, and he responded, pushing his thumb against her swollen clit. When she could no longer breathe in a controlled way, she settled for panting. Hearing his instructions echoing in her mind, she tried to fight the orgasm. She tried to hold it back, tried to keep still.
He moved to her other nipple and bit. She cried out.
The orgasm caught her. In a powerful wave, it crashed into her, over her.
She moved faster and faster against him, riding the wave of the climax, her pussy clenching.
He kept doing what he was doing as she ground it out, damn near achieving a second orgasm.
She was shattered. Complete. Overwhelmed. He continued to hold her in his strong arms, offering support and whispering soft, reassuring sounds.
Seconds later, when her breathing had returned to normal and her brain regained its functionality, she realized he was lying beside her. She placed her head on his chest and said, “That never happens quite so fast.”
“You’re as responsive as I hoped.” He kissed her forehead.
She’d always believed there was something wrong with her. When she’d been at MIT, her roommates had talked about their experiences, and she didn’t have much to share in return. She slept with few men, achieved the big O with even fewer. It seemed her friends enjoyed sex a whole lot more than she did. But now she was wondering if she’d just been with the wrong men.
“How are you feeling?”
“Satisfied.” She wanted to wrap her arms around herself. “I’d love to curl up and drift off to sleep for a few minutes.” Even better, she wanted him to hold her as she dozed. And when she awoke, maybe they could do it all over again.
After only a minute, maybe two, she lifted her head off his chest, not entirely sure she was comfortable with the intimacy. She wasn’t the kind of woman who relied on men, who turned to them for comfort. Self-sufficient, and independent, she needed no one. She ignored the little whisper inside that said it might be nice to allow someone to get close, might be nice to share the load, might be nice to have someone to hold onto, at least sometimes.
She met his gaze. Was it possible to get lost in the depths of his eyes?
A small smile played at the corners of his mouth, until he said, “You were disobedient.”
That got her attention.
“You didn’t have permission to come, sub.”
“But…” She needed permission to orgasm?
“I told you to distract yourself, to think about anything but the way I was pleasuring. I told you to keep still, to concentrate on pleasing me.” He paused, maybe to let his words sink in. “This time, I’m feeling generous. I’ll let you choose your own punishment.”
Sleepiness was banished. Nerves dried her mouth. “You want me to choose my own punishment? For orgasming without permission?”
His gaze returned to the collection of books on the bottom shelf. “I think you know exactly what I’m asking of you.”
Erotic fear churned inside her.
This man would never let her off the hook. Secretly, she didn’t want him to.
She had already started to trust him. Her sister had handpicked him, and the older Inamorata would kick his ass from Colorado to Colombia if he hurt her, and the long arm of Hawkeye would hunt him down wherever he tried to hide. Despite those realizations, terror made her freeze in place.
“But I will tell you this. No matter what punishment you choose, it will start with you being totally naked,” he said.
While he was still dressed. Suddenly she knew that was part of it. He was stripping her defenses, one by one, starting with her ponytail, continuing with her sports bra, and now with the rest of her clothing. She saw the power in it. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.
“Now.”
Just for the record, I wanna be Sierra when I grow up!
