An erotic excerpt from WITHOUT RESTRAINT

It's been far too long since I've checked in here. But I wanted to give you a sample of WITHOUT RESTRAINT, my August book from Berkley Sensation. Look for it August 4. It's available for pre-order at Amazon and Barnes and Noble.

By the way, this excerpt is NOT for people under 21. If that is you, please go take a look at this cat video. :)

The first novel in the explosive new Southern Shield series from New York Times bestselling author Angela Knight explores the intoxicating games between a female cop and a Navy SEAL—and the killer instincts of a secret enemy watching every move they make.

Atlanta deputy Alexis Rogers and Navy SEAL Frank Murphy know all about power and restraint, necessary force, and pushing their limits. When they meet in the darkness of a BDSM club, their skills are put to use. With each successive night comes a new adrenaline rush, and while they’re falling into something perilously close to love, their games are still too private, too extreme, and too daring ever to be exposed.

But their intimate lives are upended when a fellow deputy of Alex’s is killed. It’s not a tragic hazard of the job. It’s cold-blooded murder. And he’s not the last to be taken out. Now Alex and Frank have found themselves more vulnerable than ever—and exposed to a killer with a twisted vendetta who turns desire into the most dangerous sensation of all.

 ###

As Frank stared in stunned hunger, she balanced on first one foot, then the other to slip off the fuck-me heels. “I want you to prove you can master me. Two out of three falls.”

It wasn’t that unusual for a sub to undress at a BDSM party; half the women here weren’t wearing a stitch. But Frank hadn’t expected Alex to strip before they’d even finished negotiating.

He watched hungrily as she rolled the stockings down the sleek muscle of thigh and calf. However he’d thought their first scene would go, this wasn’t it. “Two out of three falls? Are you suggesting some kind of fight?” He didn’t fight women. Not if he could help it anyway; sometimes the women had other ideas.

“More like a practice bout. No punches, kicks, or choke holds—you’d kill me.” Alex sounded utterly matter-of-fact about the whole thing. “Just joint locks and throws. And pins. Loser taps out of the hold.” She looked up from rolling the other stocking down her calf. She’d bent almost double to do it, making him imagine all the erotic possibilities of a sub that flexible. “Unless you don’t want to.”

His cock lengthened, on the verge of escaping his waistband. Frank ignored its dicky demands; he needed to know exactly what she intended. “So you’re not talking about me actually hitting you? Because there’s a big difference between flogging somebody with a deerskin cat and punching her with my fist.”

She snorted. “I have no interest in trading punches with you, Frank. You’re too far out of my weight class.”

“Yeah, I am. What do I get if I win?” When he won was more like it; not only was he a SEAL, he outweighed her by a hundred pounds of muscle. She didn’t have a prayer.

Alex grinned at him as if reading his mind and shifted her weight, calling attention to those lush female curves. “What do you want?”

“You.” He showed his teeth and let the hunger show.

She smiled. “If you win, you get me.” When his head tilted in question, she clarified. “Sex. With a condom. However you want it.”

His smile broadened, and he started pulling off his boots. “I’ll win.”

“Maybe. I don’t intend to make it easy.”

“Good.” After dropping his socks into his boots, he stood, barefoot. And looked down at her from his seven-inch height advantage. Her eyes drifted down his bare torso to the fly of his jeans, which bulged from the pressure of his erection. “Dicks  are off-limits,” he added quickly.

“Well, not completely, I hope.” Alex glanced around before he could come up with a suitably suggestive response. “Let’s put the mats out.” Bending, she grabbed one of them to pull it into position in the center of the room. The sight of her round, perfect ass as she bent made his mouth go dry. Dragging his attention back to business with an effort, he caught the other mat and wrestled the bulky thing around beside the first one.

Frank straightened as she stepped onto the padded surface, falling into an easy crouch that did interesting things to her breasts. He moved to face her, his attention on those pale globes. Her nipples looked as pink and tempting as candy.

“What’s your safeword?” He referred to the emergency code a sub used to let the Dom know something had gone wrong during the scene, whether physically or mentally.

“Red for stop, yellow for slow down. Green for okay.” The stoplight system was commonly used because it was so easy to remember. “Stop,” ironically, was the one word that was never used, mostly because some subs liked to scream it when what they really meant was “Keep going!”

When he hesitated, Alex smirked. “We going to go, or are you just going to stand there looking sexy?” She crouched like a knife fighter.

“Oh, we’re going.” Frank felt a hot smile spread across his face. He’d heard of a lot of inventive ways to play BDSM games, but this was a variant he’d never tried.

Eyeing her tempting curves, he lunged, meaning to trip her and pin her to the mat. Shouldn’t take long, he assured his impatient cock.

Alex stepped to the side, smooth as oiled silk. Before he could whip around, she seized his wrist, kicked one foot out from under him, and fell backward, jerking him over. They landed on their backs, Alex at a right angle to his torso, his captured arm trapped between her strong thighs. Both hands gripping his wrist, she levered his arm across the fulcrum of her hips. If she chose, she could easily break his elbow, crippling him permanently.

And it hurt like a son of a bitch.

He tried to roll toward her, but she had his chest gripped in her legs. There was no way to reach her in this position, no way to fight her hold, despite his far greater physical strength. It was a classic Juji Gatame, a combination judo throw and joint lock, expertly applied.

“What dan black belt are you?” Despite the painful pressure she was exerting on his elbow, the sensation of her bare pussy against his trapped arm made his cock jerk.

“Don’t have a black belt,” Alex told him cheerfully. “I’ve just been studying Krav Maga with Ted for the past five years.” The deadly fighting style was a hodgepodge of martial arts techniques from Judo, Karate, and similar fighting systems. Unlike most modern martial arts, it wasn’t a sport. Israeli commandos had created it for use against terrorists. If you studied Krav Maga, you weren’t fucking around.

Alex cranked back on his wrist until the vicious pain nearly tore a yell from his throat. “Tap out.”

He did, thumping the mat with his free hand despite howls from his male ego almost as loud as his elbow’s. She released him. As he rolled to his feet, Alex did the same, meeting his gaze with cool, watchful eyes.

That was when Frank realized this was a test. “Smart. Better to find out if I’m a hot-tempered prick with twenty people ready to come running if you scream.”

“Given the towering SEAL thing, yeah. I can handle most guys, but you’d take me apart.”

That stung. “I don’t hurt women.” Honesty forced him to add, “Unless they want me to.”

“Sorry, but my last master was an asshat.”

“He the one that demanded you kiss his boots?”

“Among other body parts. I’m afraid I’m not real good at being anybody’s slave girl.”

Frank unzipped his jeans and stripped them off, freeing his cock to bob at her. Now as naked as she was, he gave her a slow, hot grin and gestured for her to come at him. “Let’s find out what you are good at.”

Anything you want to do, Alex thought, eyes widening.

Naked, he appeared even more powerfully built, between brawny shoulders, narrow waist, and legs elegant and strong. The thick length of his cock jutted, its shaft curving upward above the furry, heavy weight of his balls. Gray eyes glinted at her, hungry and intensely male. His smile shone white and predatory as he spread muscular arms wide, hands flexed and ready.

Frank had underestimated her once. He wouldn’t be doing that again.

A cautious woman would have hung back, forced him to come after her. Alex had never been cautious. Sinking into a combat crouch, she darted in, seeking a grip on his wrist. He knocked her hand aside, pivoting clear with fluid skill. They circled in a flurry of attacks and blocks, attempted throws and dodges. She was faster and a bit more agile, but he had the advantage in reach and strength.

Spotting an opening, he stepped in and hooked a foot behind her ankle and his arms around her waist. A twist of his hips, and she found herself flying, held securely in his grip. He hit the ground first, taking the impact of their landing before rolling over on top of her.

Now she was the one trapped. His long legs coiled around her calves as he pinned her wrists to the mat. She bucked, writhing against his hold, but he was too just strong.

Bracing on his knuckles, he reared over her with a hot half smile. “Tap out.”

His erection pressed into her belly, burning and hard. She swallowed at the raw eroticism of being helpless, the feral need in his eyes. “Why should I?”

“So I can put you down again—and fuck you.” Leaning down, Frank kissed her, his mouth moving over hers in a slow brush of velvet and heat. His tongue slipped between her lips in an erotic thrust. When he drew away, his gray eyes gleamed. “Hard and fast and balls deep.”

Alex licked her lips. “Maybe I’ll take you down . . . and fuck you.”

“Well, as long as one of us gets fucked. Tap out.”

Instead she writhed. Deliberately. Slowly. Mostly to stoke the heat in that wicked Dom stare, to feel his cock thrust against her belly. “Not yet. I want to see if I can get loose.”

“You can’t.” He lowered himself on flexing arms until his mouth hovered a breath above hers. “I’ve got you. You’re mine—if I decide you’re worth keeping.”

She bared her teeth. Snapped, just short of that taunting mouth. “You want me to tap out, I’m going to need a hand free to do it.”

He freed one wrist, his gaze challenging. “So tap.”

“Okay.” Quick as a cat, Alex darted a hand between them and tapped his cock twice. It bounced against her belly, and she wrapped her fingers around it for a slow, teasing pump. His eyes widened. Glazed, just a little. “Well?” she breathed. “Think I’m worth keeping?”

Frank growled like a puma, a rumbling note of threat. Grabbing her hand, he pinned it to the mat and leaned down to seize her nipple in his mouth. He began to suck, drawing hard, his tongue lapping sensitive flesh.

Alex moaned at the sweet, swamping lust. “I thought . . .” she panted, “you wanted to take me down and fuck me?”

“I’ve got you down. Maybe I don’t see any reason to wait on the fucking.”

I hope you enjoyed it!

Best,

Angela Knight

---

 

Intestinal fortitude

Last week my intestines fell out.

And if that's not a conversation stopper, I don't know what the heck is.

I did not even know this was a possibility.  I had never even HEARD of this. That's the reason I'm writing about this, so other women will know A.) it can happen, OMFG!!!!! and B.) What to do when you find yourself looking at your own intestines. Here's a hint: running around the house screaming "What the F*CK should I DO!!?!" is not it.

I'm actually hoping for black humor as the tone of this piece. I don't know if I can pull it off, but that's what I'm trying for. Because really, I've tried balling up in a corner and sucking my thumb, and that didn't seem to do much.

So I was minding my own business in the bathroom, and I was sort of cleaning up, and Jesus, that doesn't feel right, and I looked between my legs, and there it was: a loop of my intestines, bright red, between my thighs.

It was a really surreal moment. "What the F*CK is THAT?!"

I since have been told that it could have been a uterine prolapse: that's when your uterus kind of turns inside out and tumbles out--or it could have been an intestinal prolapse, which is the same thing. Inside out and out your backside. Either way, may I say: EEEEEWWWWW!!

This turned out to be neither of those things. I had a full hysterectomy in August to clear up  this little ovarian cancer problem, so there was no uterus to fall out. Instead, my va-jay-jay, which had been sewn shut as there was nothing up there, tore. And my intestines said, "Hey, look, there's somewhere we've never been! Let's EXPLORE."

Holy God.

So here I am, erotic romance writer with her guts hanging out her naughty-bits. And for y'all who are thinking it's God's Judgement on me for being a Ho, let me say PBBBBTTTTT!!!

It was like being trapped in a horror movie. I went looking for somebody to help me. Half-nekkid, mind you. I didn't want to pull my pants on, because I figured cotton and red bits would be a bad combo. I knew my son had just left for school, and does not carry a cell. No way to contact him.  I went halfway up the stairs looking for my housemate James before I realized he must be at work. Lucky for him. I'm sure the sight of a 54-year-old half-naked woman with her intestines hanging out would have rendered the poor bastard impotent for the rest of his life.

I knew this, and I did not care. I was all, like, [Insert SAW-victim screech here.]

Now, I know there are those of you yelling "CALL 911, IDJIT!" Yeah, see how calm YOU are with your guts going walkabout.

Me, I was all like, "WHAT THE HELL DO I DO?!!" I wanted them back where they were supposed to be, and I figured there was something I should do. Problem is, no, there really wasn't.

Anyway, here's my guide to surviving your own personal splatter flick:

1.) Find phone

2.) Do not climb stairs or run around the house in a crouching position because it feels like someone is gutting you with a crochet hook.Running around is bad. Anything that contracts core muscles--and so encourages intestines to leave--is bad. I know this, because it's what I did for several moments of raw terror.

3.) Lie down.

4.) Call 911

5.) Stay there. Do not move. This is something you cannot fix.

My sister does CTs--that's CAT scans, to us mortals. She is always the voice of sanity whenever I'm losing what passes for my mind. I called her. No answer. Called my husband, the cop, who said he'd meet me at the ER. (I had finally called 911.)

I then called my gastric bypass surgeon's office. The conversation went something like this:

"Hi. I'm a patient of Dr. Ross's, and my intestines have fallen out. I would like him to put them back."

Loooooong pause.

"UH, he's out of town."

"Of COURSE he is. Because where else would he be when MY INTESTINES FELL OUT."

I love Dr. Ross. He is my doctor deity. He actually was in town, and I think he did consult on putting me back together.

Anyway, the Spirit of AUUGH! still had control of my brain, and I called my mother and said, "Mom, I need you. Intestines, dangling, ACK! Please come over!"

Now, there is no doubt I am going to hell for that phone call alone. There are several reasons for this. First, my mom hasn't driven a car since 1993; she developed a phobia, and can't drive. She's also morbidly obese, can barely walk, and uses a walker. Even though she lives about a block away, there was no way in hell she could get to me. And of course she's 76.

Fortunately, she was able to get my brother in law, who quickly arrived with my sister, Angela, AKA Saint Sanity. (I named my pen name after her. All my heroines are actually Angela. No matter what weird shit she has to contend with, she always handles it with level calm and an iron refusal to put up with any BS.)

With Angie there, I calmed down considerably. The paramedics arrived soon afterward, and loaded me up on a stretcher for my trip to the hospital.

By now, I had quit panicking and decided to Deal With It, even if "It" meant, you know, like, dying. Or something. Because really, I am 54 years old, not 14. So I had a verrrrrrrrry calm conversation about my current book, and writing romances, and OH SHIT, WHY IS MORE OF IT COMING OUT?! IS IT ALL COMING OUT? GET BACK IN THERE!!"

See, here's the thing, I was in pain, and my abs kept tightening, and every time they did, it encouraged my runaway bowels to go further and further. It felt unpleasantly like giving birth to a Burmese python.

I really want to thank that paramedic, even though I can't remember her name.

Got to the ER, where the attending trauma doc, whose name I again can't remember, gathered up my errant intestines and gently but firmly stuffed them back where they were supposed to be. I lay on my side with my jaws clenched shut and worked really, really hard on not deafening every human in the room by screaming my lungs out.

One of those humans was my dear husband, Mike. Mike has been a cop for 26 years, and has worked murders and car crashes and all kinds of god awful shit, but he had a ring-side seat to watching the doc work on me like somebody re-stuffing a Raggedy Anne, and this was something that freaked even him out. I gather he's currently every bit as shell-shocked as I am. He said it looked like a bright-red balloon animal the size of a grapefruit.

 I am told I was actually very calm by then. Calm, or just in psychic lockdown.

Anyway, my oncologist whisked me back upstairs and stitched me up, and my snaky bits are up where they belong, and please God, will stay there.

Somebody, trying to look on the bright side, pointed out that I now had a new experience I could write about in my books. I replied, "This kind of crap doesn't happen in my books."

So anyway, here's the cover of the newest book, which I just finished. Now I'm working on the next volume in the trilogy.

I also keep having these really disturbing flashbacks. This post is intended to help me recover from the experience. Thanks for taking a look at it.

And I hope to hell you never have the same experience. But if you do, at least you'll have heard of it, and you'll know what to do. Lying down and calling 911 is a very good idea.

I'm teaching a Savvy Authors class on Police Techniques

I teach a lot of online classes. I don't make a hell of a lot of money doing it -- it sometimes pays my book bill for the month -- but I absolutely love helping other writers either learn their craft or learn something they didn't know about the topic they're writing on. Since Romantic Suspense is currently very big, I decided to teach an online lesson on police techniques.

If you’d like to attend the class, you’ll find more information and a registration link here. The basic cost for the month-long class is $35.

It's a topic that especially interested me since I'm currently writing a romantic suspense about a cop couple with the working title of SOUTHERN SHIELDS. Now, I'll admit I have an advantage when it comes to researching the topic, since I'm sleeping with a cop.

I have been Lt. Mike Woodcock’s wife for 30 years, and he’s been in law enforcement for 26 of them. He began his career as a uniformed patrol officer during the most violent years of the drug war, and indeed was a member of the Spartanburg Police Department's Complex Team, which patrolled the city's dangerous housing projects.

He worked his way up to sergeant over a team of detectives who dealt with murders, domestic violence, and burglaries. He went on to become a polygraph examiner who has interrogated everyone from accused pedophiles to murderers to rogue cops.

He then created Spartanburg County’s first hostage negotiation team, which handled barricaded subjects threatening to harm themselves and others. As a hostage negotiator, he dealt with subjects who were often violent, including a schizophrenic who opened fire on him and other cops.

I've also had first hand-experience with police that had nothing to do with Mike. Though I’ve been a published author for the last ten years, for ten years prior to that, I was a reporter who covered everything from murders to fires to court cases.

I’ve followed particular cases through the entire criminal justice system, from the actual commission of a murder, its investigation, and through out the court trial of the subjects all the way to sentencing. I’ve also seen people get off when I was fairly sure they were guilty.

Though I worked in Cherokee County for the most part, several times I had to watch my husband handle crimes in Spartanburg County, including two different bomb calls. I once watched him hunt 14 pipe bombs at one scene with a team of officers, and listened in horror when a bomb went off. Luckily, no one was hurt.

The two of us have given talks about hostage negotiation at the Romance Writers of America National Convention, as well as other writer’s conferences around the country. I’m happy to say these talks have been well-received.

I’ve been thinking about doing a more general talk on police techniques for several years now. Mike and I finally got the chance to present a RWA National Convention workshop called “Hearts and Handcuffs: Creating Believable Police Heroes.” It was very well received, so I decided to present a more detailed online version of the class at SavvyAuthors.com. 

During this class, I’ll be interviewing Mike and a number of his police friends, and presenting lessons based on their comments. Here’s a rough outline of the lessons I intend to present.

1.)Introduction 

2.)  Finding, Screening and training cops. How do you figure out who would make a good cop? How do you make sure they're ready to go out on the street without getting themselves, their fellow officers, civilians or suspects killed? What do you teach them during field training and  what do they learn at the Criminal Justice Academy?)

3.)  Female officers—Why do women become cops? What are some of the advantages that women bring to the job? How do they deal with people that are generally larger and stronger than they are? How do they handle hand to hand? Since women are often the chief caregivers in the family, what are the techniques they use to juggle those demands and policing? I'll also talk briefly about my experience as a cop's wife and reporter, and how I handled my fear when he was in danger.

4.) Police tactics — How television gets it wrong; characteristics of a good police firearm and the techniques of using one; using lethal force — Why do cops aim center mass rather than trying to hit the legs, etc? What’s the professional, emotional, social and legal toll on officers who have to use lethal force? Non lethal tactics and their drawbacks; Police driving tactics for auto stops and high speed chases. What are the warning signs that a driver in a traffic stop intends to attack you?

5.) Hand to hand—What warning signs do officers look for that a suspect is going to attack them?How do you handcuff a suspect who is resisting? Why do cops pile on suspects? What’s it like fighting hand to hand with someone? What special pitfalls does a male officer encounter with female suspects?

6.) Investigating crimes — What techniques do detectives use to investigate murders? Sexual assaults? Child sex crimes? Criminal domestic violence?What's the impact on the victims, and how do you question victims of violent crimes, particularly children?

7.) Interrogation — How does television get it wrong? What are the techniques you use in interrogating suspects? How do you approach family members differently than other suspects? What are some of the signs a suspect is lying? What are techniques you use to obtain a confession?

8.) Evidence handling—How do you collect evidence of a crime, particularly blood evidence, DNA, hair, fiber, and fingerprint? What sort of evidence can the tech process in the department's own lab, and what type must be sent out? How do techs handle photographing autopsies? How do the tech handle the chain of custody? How does he or she handle court testimony?

9.) Uniformed patrol—What are the particular challenges faced by uniformed cops? What kind of dangers do uniforms face that other cops don’t? How do senior officers help rookies adjust to the job? How do they deal with adrenaline? What’s their shift schedule?

10.) Arson investigation — What are the signs that a fire is an arson? What are the particular challenges of handling an arson case?

11.) Narcotics—What’s the current drug that is causing the most problem on the street? What role do gangs play in towns like Spartanburg, SC, which is a blend of rural and suburban territories? How do you handle drug stings? Who becomes a confidential reliable informant? Why do you use them? What do they do? How do you ensure their safety? How do you make sure they’re not ripping off the department? Do cops in your department go undercover? If so, how do they deal with the problem of posing as drug users without actually using drugs?

12.) Forensic chemistry — Testing the different type of drugs. How do you tell marijuana from oregano or some harmless substance? High-tech mass spectrometers used in drug testing, and how they work. How meth is manufactured, and how do you dispose of a meth lab safely.

13.) Bomb techs — Why would a relatively small southern city like Spartanburg SC need bomb techs? What do bomb techs do? How do bomb techs deal with explosives while keeping safe? How do you disarm an explosive? The different types of explosives bomb techs must dispose of. Wearing a bomb suit. Using robots to deal with explosives. What reasons would people in Spartanburg, SC use bombs, and how common is it?

I’ll also take questions from the class and get them answered either by Mike or one of the other officers. It should be a really great opportunity for anyone who is writing romantic suspense.

There will be a special forum for the class where I will post lessons three times a week on a Monday, Wednesday, Friday schedule.There will be twelve lessons, plus any additional ones I decide to include. You can also ask questions at any time, and I’ll get them answered for you.

Savvy Authors' workshops are held on a forum: a bulletin board based system. Instead of an invitation to join a loop you will receive a reminder notice one or two days prior to the start of the workshop that includes instructions on how to access the workshop forum and register to receive your user id and password. If you have not received instructions by the day the workshop begins, please check your spam filter.

The forum will be available the morning (EST) of the day the workshop starts and will remain accessible to all participants thereafter, until 1 month after the workshop ends. With instructor approval you will be provided with a PDF of all the class lectures and assignments after the class is completed.  You will also be given simple instructions on how to create a  PDF of all your discussions along with our privacy and data retention policy.

I hope you’ll be able to join us. Thanks!

Angela Knight

Here's another excerpt from LOVE BITES. This one is from the story "The Bloodslave," in which Verica, a 25-year-old virgin, gets captured by three horny vampire mercenaries.

"Shit," Verica growled, cursing her weapon in the Terran of her childhood as her stomach sank like a stone. It was over. She was finished.

"Rifle gone dead?" a human voice asked in the same language. "Tough luck."

With a gasp, Verica jerked around to face the man who'd taken her so thoroughly by surprise. He must have come up the other side of the cliff, she thought wildly, looking up at the first human she'd seen in seven years.

Big. Much bigger than her father. And handsome, like the actors on Jonas' collection of simmies – dark, amused eyes set in a sculpted, angular face with a full, sensuous mouth and short-cropped black hair. Too bad he wore the enemy's colors on his black unisuit. And it was a safe bet the rifle he held so casually was fully charged.

"Don't you think it's time you surrendered?" he asked, his tone polite and interested.

Verica threw herself forward into a roll that carried her away from the edge of the cliff and gave her room to bounce to her feet. As soon as she got her legs under her, she swung the dead rifle like a club, right at her enemy's dark head. "The T'tcha Ker do not surrender!"

The weapon slapped into a casually lifted palm. His jerk ripped it from her hands so hard her arm muscles screeched in protest. Moving deliberately as she gaped at his strength, the human swung his own rifle by its strap across his back, out of the way. "You're not T'tcha Ker, girl. Or hadn't you noticed?" He tossed her beamer over the cliff edge.

She leaped forward into a hand-to-hand attack, throwing punches and kicks with every ounce of her strength. He blocked each blow with insulting ease, his big hands blurring to knock her fists and feet away.

"You know, she's pretty good," another male voice said.

"If he were mortal, he'd probably have his hands full," another agreed.

Jesus, there were more of them. Verica darted a look in toward the source of the voices. Two men watched her hopeless struggle, both almost as big and handsome as her opponent, one blond, the other with the darkest skin she'd ever seen in her life. The dark one crouched casually on top of an enormous boulder higher than his head, while his companion leaned against it.

With a defiant snarl, she snapped to face her foe and swung her booted foot in a high, hard kick at his head. He caught her ankle. Shocked at his speed, she just stood there for an instant, balanced on one foot as he gripped the other. Then another pair of powerful hands clamped around her shoulders. It dawned on her she was well and truly caught.

"I'm Captain Julian Bender," her enemy said. "And I really think it's time you gave up, don't you?"

But Verica had been taught to fight as long as she was conscious, so she drove a head butt back at the man who held her arms, simultaneously ramming her free foot toward Bender's groin.

Her head smacked back into a big hand just as Bender caught her by the ankle.

"Thanks, André," the blond man who held her arms told the third one, who wrapped his dark fist in her hair. "She might actually have caught me with that head butt."

Bender, both her ankles in his hands, pushed them apart and up, then stepped between. Verica squirmed and cursed, but the three men held her effortlessly.

Slowly, the mercenary captain moved closer, lifting and spreading her thighs until her shoulders were forced into the solid, muscular body of the man behind her, her head held in an arch over his shoulder.

"You know," the blond said in her ear, "this is starting to give me a hard-on."

"Everything gives you a hard-on, Dominic," André told him.

Bender moved his grip to the bend of her knees and stepped fully against her crotch. Looking between her trapped legs, she saw something cylindrical bulking under his unisuit, stretching in a long thick ridge the length of his belly. The feeling of that alien rod pressing against her cunt sent a trickle of heat through her.

So that's what a cock feels like…

Bender's eyes widened. "What do you mean, 'That's what a cock feels like?'"

"Good God," André said, astonished. "She's a virgin!"

Verica felt her face heat at the horrifying realization they had somehow read her thoughts. But the only humans who could do that were...

Dominic purred out a laugh in her ear. "That's right, darling. We're vampires. Very, very hungry vampires who've been living off synthblood since we were hired to fight this wretched war. And you, my love, are an answer to some very dark prayers."

"And maybe we can answer some of yours." André cupped her breast through her unisuit. His thumb brushed one nipple, which instantly hardened, sending juicy curls of heat up her spine. Watching her face with calculating eyes, he caught the little bump and began to roll it. She caught her breath in astonishment at the pure, liquid pleasure he conjured with such a simple gesture.

Opening her mouth to protest, Verica discovered she couldn't bear to say anything to stop that delicious sensation.

"Not so fast," Julian snapped at André. "How old are you, girl?" Reading the answer out of her thoughts, he looked relieved, then puzzled. "How the hell does a twenty-five year-old woman stay a virgin?"

"Shit," said André, on a tone of revelation, his hand going still on her breast. "She's been living with these fucking aliens since she was thirteen!"

Stung, Verica snarled, "Would you do me the courtesy of letting me answer your questions instead of just reading my mind?"

"Did it ever occur to you that a captive who's a hungry vampire's wet dream should keep a civil tongue?" Dominic growled back, tightening his grip on her arms in warning.

She started to tell him what he could do with his hunger, but before she could open her mouth, a waterfall of alien clicking filled the air. Her translator brain implant turned the voice into words: "I see you've captured the sniper. Good work, captain."

Turning her head, Verica saw one of the Jeranth holding a beam weapon in two of its six limbs as it clawed its way up the cliff, accompanied by a shower of rocks. "You're worth every cred the High Command paid you," it told the captain.

"Thank you," Julian said in English. Evidently the Jeranth had a translator of its own. "Luckily the charge ran out on her rifle just as we came up."

"Lucky indeed. But why haven't you killed it?" the Jeranth demanded.

Julian's hands tightened on her knees. "She's one of our species. We're taking her captive."

"Squeamish, eh? Would you like me to kill it for you?" The Jeranth scrambled over and put the muzzle of his weapon against her head. Verica's heart skipped.

With a growl, André grabbed the barrel and shoved it away from her skull.

"No!" Speaking rapidly, Julian said, "We have a use for her. She's valuable to us."

The Jeranth jerked and moved all its limbs in agitation. "It has killed a dozen of my soldiers! I want it dead!"

Julian lifted an arrogant brow. "Oh, she'll be punished, sir, far more thoroughly than any quick death."

"Yesss," Dominic whispered, his neat blond beard brushing her ear. "We'll punish her for hours and hours. In every single virgin orifice."

Verica's reckless temper snapped. "Shoot me, alien," she spat, glaring at Bender. "I'd rather die like a soldier than be tortured by the likes of these bastards!" She tried to kick at the vampire, but he controlled her effortlessly.

"Idiot!" Julian growled, tightening his grip on her thighs until she winced.

"It seems to find a beam in the head preferable to your company." The Jeranth produced a hissing sound the translator rendered as a laugh. "Keep it, then, if it dreads you so. In the meantime, Captain, my general wants to see you."

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Here's another scene from my WIP, Southern Shields.

Alex looked up to find a patrol car in her rear-view mirror. She blinked as it pulled around to pace her on the narrow street. Frank gestured, and she lowered her passenger window. His face was expressionless, and he gave her cold cop's eyes. The kind of stare you'd give somebody caught doing a hundred in a school zone. But I wasn't speeding, she thought in pure knee-jerk reaction, and immediately realized he wasn't really pulling her over.

Not to give her a ticket anyway.

Which was why he hadn't used his blue lights and siren. That would have automatically activated the car's dash cam. Alex had the feeling neither of them wanted this little encounter recorded for posterity.

"Pull over." He stabbed a finger toward a set of tire tracks that led off into the woods between one house and an empty lot. She blinked, hoped her beater of a car was up to it, and drove off the street and onto the tracks.

A set of tall, ferny plants grew in a cluster across the trail, but she drove through them, trusting that Frank knew what the fuck he was doing. The plants bent in front of her hood, then sprang up again after she was past, only to bend again for the patrol car.

They'd provide a dandy screen to hide them from any curious neighbors who might otherwise wonder what a cop car was doing pulling somebody over in the middle of the damned woods.

Alex's mouth went dry. She had a feeling she was in for a rousing game of Bad Cop.

She'd had fantasies like this when she was younger. Not so much anymore—she knew too many cops, knew how relentlessly religious and conservative most of the local guys were. But she wasn't exactly averse to acting out those fantasies now. Especially with Frank in the starring role.

Alex bumped along the rutted track as it curved through the trees until Frank flashed his headlights at her. She braked and looked around. They were well into the empty wooded lot here, with trees and brush screening their cars from the road. It was the kind of place no smart woman would ever have allowed herself to be pulled over by anyone, even a cop. "Why, officer," Alex purred aloud in her best Scarlett O'Hara drawl, "whatever do you have in mind?"

She rolled down her driver's side window as he swaggered up to the car. Big, brawny, and black-clad—her fantasy Bad Cop come to glorious life.

Her panties were already soaked, and he hadn't even started yet.

Frank wore a pair of mirrored aviator sunglasses and a scowl. Jesus, he looked menacing. "Get out of the car, please."

She put on her best Don't give me a ticket, I'll do anything, expression. "But sir, I wasn't speeding."

"I didn't say you were," he told her coldly. "Get out of the car."

She'd always loved role-playing, so she gave him big, worried eyes as she obeyed, closing the car door as softly as she could. That thump might carry otherwise. "I don't understand. I haven't done anything!"

"Quit trying to play me, lady. There's a warrant out for your arrest." He stepped right up against her, pinning her between the car and his massive frame. His voice dropped down into a low rumble she felt against her breast. Her nipples tingled, drew hard and eager. Dragging her over to the trunk of her car, he whirled her around as though to start searching her. "Says you're armed and dangerous." Pulling her little .38 from the pancake holster on her belt, he showed it to her with a threatening flourish. "And look here —you are."

She swallowed. Had he been anybody else, she might have broken out into the giggles right about then. But it was Frank. Frank who towered over her when damned near no other man did. Frank, who'd pinned her down and fucked her into a screaming orgasm just last night.

It was as if this silly fantasy scenario played out the same kind of inner truth. As if her body now recognized Frank as Dominant, maybe because he'd bested her the night before. Her instincts demanded she yield to him, as if he'd imprinted himself on the cellular level.

"I can explain," she said in a hoarse, ragged voice,

He gave a short, nasty laugh. "I'm sure you can." His voice hardened. "Hands on the trunk, feet apart."

Here's another teaser from my Work in Progress, SOUTHERN SHIELDS. Alexis and Frank are getting ready to do their first BDSM scene together.

Her lovely green eyes gazed up into his, a little dazed over those parted lips, so like silk against his. Her nipples looked hard as cherry stones beneath the snug bodice of her dress.

At least she wanted him almost as much as he wanted her. He reached up, unable to resist touching one of those blazing curls. It felt like cool, raw silk under his fingers. He caught a whiff of pomegranate shampoo. “Tell me, Alex—what do you want in a Dominant? What drew you to the scene?”

She swallowed and licked her lips, still looking a bit dazed. He almost bent down to take her mouth again. “I…” She shook her head, as if trying to bring her brain back on line. “I like testing myself. Being tied up, helpless, while a Dom does whatever the hell he wants. The risk, the heat…It’s sexy. Seeing how much I can take when he tests me, tries to drive me past my limits with pain or need.”

He traced a forefinger across her lips, was gratified when her little pink tongue darted out to taste him. “And the Dom?”

She lifted her gaze, met his eyes steadily. “If my Dom wants me on my knees, I want him strong enough to put me there.”

He gave her a slow smile. Resisted the urge to flex. “I think I can manage.”

She smiled back in a wicked curve of scarlet lips. “Oh, I don’t doubt it.” The smile faded into seriousness. “If you’re looking for a 24/7 sub, somebody to call you master and kiss your boots, I’m not your girl.” Her gaze flicked down his legs. “Though they are really nice boots.”

“So you’re a brat?” He wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that. He didn’t have the patience to deal with a lot of contrived drama.

“Hardly. I’m an adult. I don’t need somebody to spank me for being a bad girl. I’ve already got one daddy—two, if you count Ted. I don’t need another one.” She traced a finger over his pectoral in a delicate whisper of sensation. His cock bucked at the teasing contact.

“Then what do you need?” His voice sounded a trifle hoarse.

She hesitated as if thinking. Her brilliant green eyes widened, and she smiled wickedly, as if delighted with herself.

Alex wasted no time acting on whatever idea she’d just had. She rose in an abrupt lithe surge, despite the heels and snug skirt. Before Frank could even be impressed with her sense of balance, she started skimming the dress off over her head, revealing a lushly curved body clad in nothing but a garter belt and stockings. As he stared in stunned hunger, she balanced on first one leg, then the other to slip off the fuck-me heels. "I want you to prove you can master me. That way we’ll both know. Two out of three falls."

It wasn’t that unusual for a sub to undress at a BDSM party; half the women here weren’t wearing a stich. But Frank hadn’t expected Alex to strip during the negotiations, for God’s sake.

He watched as she started rolling the stockings down those endless legs. However he'd thought their first scene would go, this wasn't it. "Two out of three falls? Are you suggesting some kind of fight?" He didn’t fight women. Not if he could help it, anyway; sometimes the women had other ideas.

"More like a practice bout. No punches, kicks or choke holds —you'd kill me." Alex sounded utterly matter-of-fact about the whole thing. "Just joint locks and throws. And pins. Loser taps out of the hold." She looked up from rolling the other stocking down her calf. She'd bent almost double to do it, making him imagine all the possibilities inherent in a sub that flexible. "Unless you don't want to do it." Her lovely breasts swayed as she tucked the balled stockings into the toe of one shoe. Straightening, she considered him, the movement of her breasts downright hypnotic. Lean muscle flexed in her long legs as she braced her narrow feet apart. The girl definitely wasn’t one of those animated coat hangers like some fashionable starlets. Which suited him just fine; he liked a partner with curves. "Do you want to do it?"

His cock lengthened, on the verge of escaping his waistband. Frank ignored the demanding wave of hunger, intent on making sure he understood exactly what she intended. "So you’re not talking about me actually hitting you? Because there’s a big difference between flogging somebody with a deerskin cat and hitting her with my fist.”

She snorted. “I have no interest in trading punches with you, Frank. You’re too far out of my weight-class.”

“Yeah, I am.” He cocked his head. “What do I get if I win?” When he won was more like it; he had to outweigh her by more than a hundred pounds of pure muscle. That was aside from the whole Navy SEAL human weapon thing.

She didn’t have a prayer.

Alex grinned at him as if reading his mind and propped a hand on her hip, calling attention to those lush female curves. “What do you want?”

“You.” He showed his teeth and let the hunger leap in his hot gaze.

She smiled. “If you win, you get me.” When his head tilted in question, she clarified. “Sex. With a condom. However you want it.”

His smile broadened, and he started pulling off his boots. “I’ll win.”

“Maybe. I don’t intend to make it easy.”

He grinned up at her. “Good.” After dropping his socks into his boots, he rose, barefoot. And looked down at her from his seven inch advantage in height. Her eyes drifted down his bare torso to the fly of his jeans, which bulged from the pressure of his erection. “Naughty bits are off-limits,” he added quickly, imagining all the ways she could bring him down by targeting that hard-on.

“Well, not completely, I hope.” She looked around before he could come up with a suitably suggestive response. “Let’s put the mats out.” She bent and grabbed one of them, started pulling it into position in the center of the room. The sight of her round, perfect ass as she bent made his mouth go dry. Dragging his attention back to business with an effort, he caught the other and wrestled the bulky thing around beside the first one.

Frank straightened as she stepped onto the mat, falling into an easy crouch that, unsurprisingly, did interesting things to her breasts. He moved to face her, his attention on those pale, tempting globes. Her nipples looked as pink and tempting as candy. “What’s your Safeword?” The code words designed to let a dom know when something had gone wrong, whether physically or mentally.

“Red for stop, yellow for slow down. Green for keep going.” The stoplight system was commonly used because it was so easy to remember. “Stop,” ironically, was the one word that was never used, mostly because some subs liked to scream it when what they really meant was “Keep going!”

He watched her as she started to circle him, crouching like a knife-fighter. Frank felt a hot smile spread across his face. This was going to be easy—and deliciously arousing. He’d heard of a lot of inventive ways to scene, but this was a variant he’d never tried.

Eying her full, tempting curves, he lunged toward her, meaning to grab her and pin her to the mat. It wouldn’t take much effort.

She sidestepped, smooth as oiled silk, and snaked behind him. Before he could whip around, she seized both his wrists, planted one foot in the center of his chest, and fell backward, simultaneously swinging her long, bare legs up and across his chest on either side of his captured arm. They landed on their backs with her torso at a forty-five-degree angle to his, his captured arm trapped between her strong thighs. She had both hands wrapped around his wrist, extending it upward toward her chin, pulling hard and levering it across the fulcrum of her hips. If she chose, she could easily break his arm at the elbow, crippling him permanently.

And it hurt like a son of a bitch.

He tried to roll toward her, but she had his chest thoroughly pinned in the grip of her thighs. There was no way to reach her with his own legs in this position, no way to fight her hold, despite his far greater physical strength. It was a classic Juji Gatame, a type of judo throw and joint lock, expertly applied.

“What dan black belt are you?” he asked, despite the painful pressure she was exerting on his elbow.

“Don’t have a black belt,” Alex told him cheerfully. “I’ve just been studying Krav Maga with Ted for the past five years.”

That made sense. The deadly fighting style had been designed by Israeli commandoes from a hodgepodge of martial arts. Unlike Judo, Karate and similar fighting systems, it wasn't intended for sports competitions, but for use in deadly earnest against terrorists and others who’d kill you if given the chance. If you studied Krav Maga, you weren't fucking around.

Alex cranked back on his wrist, nearly tearing a yell from his throat at the vicious pain. "Tap out."

Not being a complete idiot, he did, patting the mat with his free hand despite protests from his male ego that were damned near as loud as his elbow’s. She released him, and he rolled to his feet. Alex did the same, facing him calmly despite the temper that probably snapped in his eyes. She met his gaze, unflinching, her own cool and watchful.

That was when he realized this was a test. "Smart," he told her, straightening his shoulders. "Better to find out whether I'm a hot-tempered, abusive asshole when there’s twenty people ready to come running if you scream."

She shrugged. "Well, you are pretty damned big, and a SEAL to boot, judging by the Trident you've got tattooed on your right arm. With my training, I can handle any guy my size or even a little bigger, but in any straight-up fight, you'd take me apart."

That stung. "I don't hurt women." Honesty forced him to add, "Unless they want me to."

"Abuse and BDSM are completely different. An abuser doesn't ask his victim's permission, and he doesn't particularly give a fuck about how much damage he does." She studied him. "Still want to play, or are you too pissed off?"

He lifted a brow. "So this wasn't just a test?"

"Not just, no." She spread her hands. "My last master was a bit of prick."

"He the one that demanded you kiss his boots?"

"Among other body parts. I'm afraid I'm not real good at being anybody's yellow-silk slave girl."

Which was a reference to the Gorean BDSM lifestyle inspired by the novels of John Norman, in which women were supposed to be not just submissive, but downright servile. It was a kink that had never particularly appealed to Frank, though he didn't believe in throwing stones at anyone who did enjoy it.

Deliberately, he unzipped his jeans and stripped them off, freeing his cock to bob at her in blatant testament to his lust. Stark naked, he gave her a slow, hot grin and gestured for her to come at him. "Let's find out what you are good at."