Armored Hearts excerpt

Here's an excerpt from my July 17th book from Changeling Press....(Note: if you're under 21, please take a look at this instead.)

Captivity makes the heart grow kinkier…

When interstellar mercenary Captain Nick Rand rescues a beautiful enemy from his own men, he thinks she’s the answer to his vampire prayers. On the verge of starvation thanks to the destruction of his hemosynther, he’s in desperate need of a female blood donor.

Lieutenant Zara Tahir needs him as badly as he needs her. Without Nick’s blood, Zara’s overactive immune system will kill her.

But Zara has no intention of embracing captivity. She’s willing to exchange blood for blood, maybe even play a kinky game or two with the handsome vampire dominant. Still, he’s the enemy, and she can’t allow herself to see him as anything more.

Then Rand’s enemies make things a lot more complicated…

Zara found herself impressed by the enemy vampire’s iron will. If anything, he had to be in worse shape than she was. That was saying something, because every cell in her body was howling its need for release, for the lushly erotic sensation of fangs sinking into her throat, drawing off the brutal pressure that had been building behind her eyes for weeks.

Never mind that he was her enemy, never mind that she didn’t even know his name. Their bodies recognized each other on a level that went beyond politics or war or anything but raw sexual craving. Each could fulfill the other’s hungers. That was all their bodies knew. All they needed to know.

She followed him into the temp shelter he’d seemed to pick at random. It was wrecked and empty, clothes, e-flimsies and furniture scattered wildly, a mark of her fellow soldiers’ desperation as they’d fled. They’d been too badly outnumbered, in too poor a position, to do anything else. Falaran High Command had given the order to retreat, and they’d obeyed.

Zara had volunteered to do her bit to delay the enemy, knowing what she was letting herself in for. It wasn’t as if she could have kept up with the desperate retreat anyway. Lieutenant Colonel Kassir had initially refused to allow her self-sacrifice, until Zara reminded the woman she was dead regardless. The last of the Falaran vampires had died in the Battle of the Sar Caverns five weeks before. Without a vamp to help her subdue her rampaging immune system, she’d be dead within the week. If her life was lost anyway, she wanted to die saving Falaran lives.

It had evidently worked; most of the others seemed to have escaped. She hoped.

“I am in need,” the vampire captain told her, his voice a dark, seductive rumble. Startled, Zara met his golden eyes. They seemed to blaze in the dim light. “May I take you?” he asked.

She laughed, the sound a little wild as she hunched her chilled shoulders. The fever had to be getting pretty high. “You remind me of a courtly wolf, asking the lamb’s permission to eat her.”

“Sometimes even a wolf needs the veneer of civility.” He moved closer until his broad, armored body loomed over her like a wall.

Zara studied him carefully, suddenly aware of just how alone they were -- and how much stronger he was. Yet nothing had forced him to come to her rescue. Hell, he could have easily gone to the head of the rapist line. “It’s more than a veneer, I think,” she said. And maybe if I give him what he needs, he’ll give me what I need. Better not ask him yet, though. What if he says no? I’ll wait until he’s done -- and hopefully in a better mood. Decision made, she smiled slightly. “Yes, Captain. Yes, you can have what you need.” Have it, not take it.

He studied her, his gaze intent, intimate. “What if I need more than your blood?”

Zara licked her lips, suddenly aware again of how very male he was. How handsome, how tempting. She shouldn’t, she knew she shouldn’t. Yes, for both vampires and their VSS, drinking[ blood was a deeply intimate act. In fact, interstellar vamps like the captain often had dominant/submissive relationships with those who fed them. Things were a little different on Falara because she and other volunteers had allowed themselves to be infected in order to better defend their people from invaders.

But she still needed him. “You can have that too,” Zara said hoarsely.

The vampire smiled and took off his helmet, then put it down on the bunk. As she watched in growing tension, he took his armored gauntlets off. He dropped them beside the helmet with a soft, heavy thump. She controlled her instinctive flinch when his hands came up to cup her jaw, his skin cool against her feverish flesh. “Thank you,” he said, his voice deep, sensual. “Thank you for your blood.” Leaning down, he took her mouth tenderly. “Your trust.” His lips soft, he kissed her, suckling her mouth, tasting her lips. “Your body.”

He deepened the kiss, suckling, nibbling gently before his tongue swept in to possess her mouth, swirling and licking. Her knees weakened, and she sank into him, his armor hard and chill against her body. She wished suddenly, violently, that she could touch him.

When he finally drew away again, he gazed so deeply into her eyes, it seemed he saw clear to her soul. He stepped back and took her shoulders, then turned her gently until her back was to him. She realized his air of desperate restraint was gone. Now he seemed to be spinning out the moment before taking her, savoring the erotic anticipation.

She felt her nipples pebble against the material of the one-piece unisuit one of his men had found for her.

Smoothly, his hands moved up her arms to the closure of the uni, unsealed it, and pulled it off her shoulders to hang from the crook of her arms, leaving her breasts naked under his eyes. “You will not regret your generosity, lieutenant.”

His long, strong fingers flicked delicately at the hard tips of her nipples, then gently pinched and pulled, sending a jolt of pleasure up her over-sensitized nerves. “My name,” he said in her ear, “is Captain Nick Rand.” Big hands cupped her breasts, pulling her back against him.

He lowered his head until she could feel his breath blowing along her pulse. “And I promise you, captor or not, I will not take anything you don’t choose to give. Ever.”

A sudden, hot pain made her spine arch as he sank his teeth into her throat. He growled in pleasure and gathered her closer, pinching her nipples with sweet, wicked skill.

Zara gaspe as he released one aching breast and brushed his free hand down the front of the uni to find her bare cunt in the unbuttoned opening. Long fingers stroked between her lips. She’d begun creaming the moment she saw him, and now she was richly wet. A thick tapered forefinger slid easily into her core as he pinched and squeezed the hard tip of one breast with the other hand. His mouth moved over her flesh, feasting from her throat. He rolled his armored hips against her ass. She wished she could feel the length of his cock against her back, knew it would feel hard and demanding.

Closing her eyes, she sagged against him, surrendering herself utterly to the vampire’s appetite. This is only the beginning. Her body leaped at the thought, hot with need and lust. Once he’s had my blood, he’ll want to fuck me next. Godsson’s zealots being the jealous assholes they are, he probably hasn’t had access to a woman in months.

She shouldn’t do this. He was the enemy, and she shouldn’t sleep with him, no matter how much she wanted to. It was wrong.

But oh, sweet God, how she wanted to. The thought of sleeping with him despite every dictate of common sense maddened her with its sheer kinky recklessness. Gasping, she rolled her butt back against him hard, imagining the bulk of his cock driving inside her.

Whimpering, Zara felt the pleasure unspool through her like hot satin ribbons. His fingers pinched her nipple even harder, as a second finger joined the one plundering her juicy cunt. He drew hard on her throat, drinking her blood as his fingers pumped, his thumb flicking over her clit. Each skillful strum over her button intensified the pleasure until she writhed against his armored chest, pumping her hips, gasping, whimpering.

With a scream that blended pain, delight and erotic surrender, Zara came in the arms of her vampire enemy, barely aware of his rumble of predatory delight as he fed.

The last juicy throb faded, and she went limp in his arms, sagging, weak-kneed. “OOoh, my God,” she moaned. “That was so good.”

He rumbled back at her, a hum that sounded more than a little satisfied. And very male.

When he was through, he drew his fangs carefully from her throat. Pressed a surprisingly tender kiss to the point of her jaw. “I feel a little strange asking this, under the circumstances, but what’s your name?”

She grinned, enjoying the delicious post-orgasm glow. “Lieutenant Zara Tahir. Vampire Support Specialist.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant Tahir.” He pulled away slightly. Turning her head, Zara watched as he lifted his wrist and raked his fangs over the skin until blood dripped. Then, to her blank astonishment, he put the sliced wrist in front of her mouth. “Drink, Zara.”

She half-turned in his arms, staring up at him with wide eyes. He was actually going to give her his blood?

“I know you need it,” he said softly. “I can feel the heat of fever rolling off your skin. You’re bloodsick. That’s why you didn’t kick the collective asses of those fucking rapists.”

“Not rapists,” she said hoarsely. “They didn’t rape me.”

“Because I stopped them.”

She licked her lips, smelling the intoxicating scent of his blood. “Yes. You did.”

“Drink, Lieutenant.” His tone made it a dominant’s order.

She bent her head to his bleeding wrists. Sealed her lips over it. The taste flooded her mouth, rich and coppery, but with a hot pepper edge that was more than human. She swallowed, once, twice. Started to lift her head.

“More,” he said softly. “You’re sick enough to need it.”

And so she swallowed again and yet again. Swallowed at his murmured urging until heat rushed through her with a dizzying intoxication. When she finished, she felt stronger, as if his blood was already bringing her immune system under control, restoring her body to her previous power, speed and agility.

Her previous life.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “You didn’t have to do that.”

The vampire met her gaze frankly. “We need each other.”

“Yes,” she said steadily, “We do. But you could have taken me by force.”

His gaze cooled. “No, actually, I couldn’t. And I won’t.”

That sounded like a vow. Zara wondered if he’d keep it.

---

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.