There's always something good to read on Cover Reveals: Hooked by Nia Farrell

Hooked
by Nia Farrell
Replay Book Four
Ex-Navy SEAL Marcus Vos is a man with dark passions but enough of a conscience, he’s stayed away from the woman he wants…until she’s given a weekend at Replay, the local BDSM theme resort where patrons play in the past. The last time they were there as guests, he sent Gini home alone. But Gini’s returning—solo—for a pirate weekend over the Fourth of July, with plans to explore her own sexuality. She hopes to learn what she likes and why she’s drawn to some aspects of BDSM.

She doesn’t know that Marcus will be her guide.

Playing Captain Hook will be easy for this amputee. He plans to keep his PTSD service dog close by. He’s told Gini the truth about his sexual addiction, but she’s about to learn that he’s a Dominant, too. One who requires a service dog’s help to wake up from flashbacks and nightmares, episodes that occur up to six times a night.

What happens when the man you want is a haunted hero with wounds that you’re helpless to heal?

Welcome to Replay, the ocean-side BDSM theme resort where patrons come to play in the past. Each scene they bring to life is drawn from a page in history, but no one has to suffer through it… Unless that’s what they want.

Genre: Erotic Contemporary Romance
Content/Theme(s): Ex-SEAL, BDSM, D/s, PTSD, Cosplay, Roleplay, Sensory play
Release Date: January 1, 2017
Publisher: Long Branch Books

Excerpt & More

Purchase link(s): Amazon
Excerpt:
Captain Hook led her back to the bed and helped her onto it, positioning her in its center to lie on her back, atop what felt like towels that he’d added. From beneath them came the crinkle of vinyl or plastic. Maybe a shower curtain, to keep the bed clean and dry?

The bed that they would share. Tonight, and tomorrow night.

Oh, God. She’d be sleeping with him, wouldn’t she?

Trying not to think about it, Gini raised her arms above her head, stretching them out on each side. He let her smell the leather from the handcuffs that he fastened on each wrist, before securing them to the corners of the headboard.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, stroking her cheek with the backs of two fingers.

The mattress dipped when he shifted, reaching. Then the whisper soft sensation of a feather stroking her skin, teasing, caressing, leaving a riot of gooseflesh in its wake. Her arms. Her face. Her neck. Her chest. Her nipples peaked, her breasts ached. There was an emptiness in her core that only an orgasm could ease.

She pressed her legs together, hard.

He chuckled.

Bastard.

The feather drifted lower, down the midline of her body, over the taut plane of her abdomen to the top of her hairless mons. He inhaled deeply, as if smelling her arousal, then fluttered the feather over her belly from hipbone to hipbone in a decreasing spiral that ended in a point above her womb.

It drifted down again, further this time, over her mons to the seam of her thighs, pausing, then tracing a line down one leg, blazing a path back up the other.

“So responsive,” he hummed. “Those nipples of yours are begging to be clamped. Ask me, and I’ll do it.”

One of the things she’d most wanted to try, knowing how sensitive she was.

“Please, Master,” she whimpered. “Oh, please!”

He reached for the bedside table again. A cool metal chain dragged across her ribs, under her breasts. Then the bite of pleasure/pain as he fastened a clamp on one nipple, then the other.

Sweet Baby Jesus.

She almost came, then and there.

He growled a warning. “No orgasm without permission, wench, or you may go the rest of the weekend without. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master.” She pushed the words through clenched teeth, breath hissing as she fought to control her body’s response.

As if to test her, he slid the curve of his hook down her body, underscoring each breast, then catching the chain between them and lifting, pulling on the clamps.

“Please!” she bleated, already feeling her body seizing. “Please, may I come?”

“Not yet.” He released the chain, easing her torment but far from ending it. The exquisite pain from the clamps was a sharp contrast to the piece of fur that she felt next, soft, soothing, comforting. He stroked her skin, bringing every inch to a new awareness before setting it aside in favor of a Wartenberg wheel.

The sharp metal spokes tracked tortuous lines down her body. Breasts, chest, abdomen, groin. She bit her lip and moaned at the sensation. “Please, Master,” she grated when it halted, poised at the delta of her thighs. “Please, may I come?”

“Not yet.

He leaned away, and came back to her.

This time, he had ice.

The Captain held the dripping piece of ice over her right nipple, then her left, wetting them, teasing them with the promise of more to come.

And come it did.

Cold ice. Warm, clove-scented breath. Drips that ran and attention that followed. He teased her, relentless, merciless, torturing her nipples and refusing to let her climax each time that she asked until he’d reduced her to the point of crying. “Please!” she begged, ready to do anything to end this agony.

The blindfold hid her tears but did nothing to disguise the sob in her voice.

“Poor baby,” he crooned. “Which hand do you use?”

“What?”

He sighed heavily. “Which hand do you use to masturbate?”

Oh, God.

He was going to finally let her, thank goodness, but…but….

“Right,” she blurted. She knew that he’d be watching, but she was too desperate to care.

He freed her left hand from its cuff.

Evil, evil man.

“May I come, Master?” Her voice was deceptively meek.

“Soon,” he said. He hooked the chain between her breasts and slowly raised it, pulling it tight, then lifting ever so slightly, tugging her nipples, bringing her to the edge of orgasm with a single, insistent pull.

“Now,” he said. She shoved her hand between her legs, found her clit, and fanned it like a mad woman. Pressing out the heels of her feet, her whole body stiffened and she exploded, walls spasming, fluids bursting in one of the fiercest orgasms she’d ever experienced.
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Purchase link(s): Amazon
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