Inspiration: On my trip to Scotland, I had the misfortune of catching a cold and of course it rained a lot. All I wanted was something HOT. After deciding I wanted to do story about hot wax, I knew this would be the perfect setting.
Other books by Afton, available at Ellora's Cave:
Cicada - paranormal/light BDSM
Sexual Energy - futuristic m/m/f menage
See http://www.aftonlocke.com/ for excerpts, trailers, and more.
Tandy travels to Scotland ’s Loch Enya castle to attend a BDSM convention she hopes will overcome her control-freak tendencies. When Bryne pulls her into his room of fire, she fears she’s stepped into the lair of a crazy man. But as he mesmerizes her and sears her with his hot passions, she consents to a BDSM session of hot wax play that turns out to be the most intense journey of her life. Entrusting her body and mind to him might heal her, but the elemental fire fairy has an agenda of his own that threatens to consume them both in flames.
Excerpt (Rated R):
An Excerpt From: CANDELABRA
Copyright © AFTON LOCKE, 2009
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.
“Welcome to Loch Enya Castle ,” the ruddy-faced bus driver announced. “Are ye ready for the thrills awaitin’ ye?”
Thrills? Oh yeah. I’m thrilled enough to throw myself under the tires of this bus.
There should be a law against such cheerful bus drivers, Tandy Davis thought as she tried to rub the dampness out of her long, red hair. She was wet and miserable and her sinuses threatened to explode any minute from a lousy head cold.
“This historic castle is five-hundred years old,” the driver went on. “Rumors say it’s haunted but if you hear any bumps or screams, it’s most likely The Smoky Daggers, the wildest BDSM group in all of Scotland . You might be doing some screamin’ of yer own, I daresay,” he said, guffawing at his own joke.
Whatever had possessed her to go all the way to Scotland and experience BDSM sex? It had seemed like a great idea when she’d signed up for it. After almost losing her job and driving her family and friends nuts, she’d decided to finally do something about her “control freak” tendencies.
Little did they know the “seminar” she planned to attend was really her first BDSM session. What better way to learn how to hand over the reins than to be a sub? The hot sex would be a bonus. It had been way too long since she’d had sex…
I can’t do this, she thought as she got off the bus with the others and entered the gray, stony and very depressing-looking castle. Submissive sex with a total stranger? No way. She collected her ancient room key and orientation packet from the front desk.
Tandy squinted at the map as she stumbled up a winding flight of stairs and down a dark hallway to her room. With its stone walls and fireplace it looked just as foreboding as the outside. Warming her hands over the heater, she peeked through the drawn velvet drapes at the foggy, gray loch outside.
A pigeon cooed from somewhere on the complicated roofline. Chicken, it seemed to say. How could she face everyone back home knowing she’d chickened out?
She opened the orientation packet and saw the list of activities she’d signed up for—bondage, the ultimate challenge for a control freak, and wax play because she and an old boyfriend had messed around with a candle once and it had been kind of fun.
She decided to go to the orientation, which was in an hour according to the schedule. Then she’d skip tonight’s session and play tomorrow by ear. But first she desperately needed a nap.
* * * * *
Hours later, Tandy bolted upright and cursed. It was twilight—gloaming as they called it here. She’d slept for hours, missing the orientation and the evening BDSM session had already started. If she hurried, she could tell her assigned partner she was too sick to participate.
Taking her key, she got all the way down the hall before she realized she’d memorized the room number for her session but had forgotten her castle map. Oh well. How hard could it be to find?
Minutes later, she was hopelessly lost. She’d given up on finding it and was just trying to return to her room. When she found a door that resembled hers, she turned the key and breathed a huge sigh of relief when the door swung open with a squeak.
So why was there a naked man hanging from her ceiling? Another man flicked his whip impatiently with one hand and applied lube to his own cock with another.
“Excuse us,” he said. “We’re in the middle of something.”
Obviously. “I’m terribly sorry,” Tandy muttered. “I must have the wrong room.”
She closed the door and frowned at her key. How nice. They must use the same lock for multiple rooms here. She kept walking until she found another door like hers. This time she decided to knock first. A woman with pins and clamps lacing her nipples opened it.
“Top of the evening to you, little chickadee. Care to join us?”
Inside, men and women wearing various chains and clamps eyed her like prime tenderloin.
“Some other time,” Tandy said hurriedly before she shut the door.
Enough was enough. If she stumbled into one more scene like that, she wasn’t sure she’d make it out of the castle alive. BDSM? What had she been thinking? She decided to go downstairs and ask for directions.
On her way, she found a door she was sure was hers. She crossed her fingers and knocked. Her heart sank when it opened. Wrong again and she’d already viewed more than enough kink for one night.
Instead, she found herself face-to-face with the best looking man she’d seen on this entire trip. Dark, wavy hair brushed his shoulders, matching the neat goatee against his pale skin. But his eyes were what snared her. They were the color of brandy and as intense as a hawk’s. They blazed as if lit from within by a fire.
She forgot all about finding her room. She even forgot she had a room.
“Good evening,” he said, bowing to her. “I’ve been expecting you.” His voice, thick with an almost Shakespearean accent, sounded as historical as he looked.
Since he wore a leather vest with laces over a white peasant shirt, he must be part of the BDSM group and into role-play. Heat flooded Tandy’s face when she looked down and noticed an erection straining against his snug, brown breeches.
“N-no,” she stuttered. “I’m lost. This isn’t—”
But before she could finish her sentence, the man grabbed her wrist. Warmth and energy radiated up her arm from his touch as he pulled her inside his room—which appeared to be on fire—and closed the door. What the hell kind of scene had she stumbled into this time?
Then she was up against the wall, pinned in place by his gaze on her face, hands on her forearms and erection pressing against her pelvis. Everywhere he looked and touched, he scorched her. There was something unusual about him and it wasn’t just his historical outfit.
The flames burning behind him and all around them danced before her eyes in white, yellow and orange streaks until she couldn’t see anything else. The harder she breathed, the more she noticed the acrid tang of smoke in the air. Stunned, she couldn’t have screamed or moved even if he’d released her.
Find more about Afton at: www.aftonlocke.com
I will return in the New Year with more AFTERNOON DELIGHTS and excerpts from my 8 new releases coming in 2010!
Join me--as I recover from a broken arm!!!! Arghhh!